Together by This Christmas Tree

cally mcgregor

I always hated Christmas. Even as a kid, when that was the greatest thing ever, I just never liked the idea of some fat, old guy sneaking down our chimney and leaving things around. Maybe it was because I was the overprotective older sibling and people in our house uninvited freaked me out.

Or maybe it was because when I was eight my dad crawled up the chimney pretending to be Santa, and got stuck, broke his neck, and fell down while I was roasting marshmallows and chestnuts over the fire. Just my luck, right?

Even more my luck is that I’m stuck on a flight home from England a day later than everyone else I knew and loved who was flying home, and even better, on December 1st, where everyone is legally allowed, it seems, to blare Christmas music and be overly cheery. I sound like such a cynic, but in all honesty, I’m just venting as I rip my belt from around my waist and throw it in the bin, pissed at all these new rules as well as the TSA guards who look more than willing to give me a pat down.

I never thought I was stunningly beautiful, like my super model friends, but I knew I wasn’t ugly. My long blonde hair had a slight wave that made it unique, and I had skin as dark as caramel and bright green eyes that shone through, searching those around me for a cuddle buddy or someone to prove to me that every boy wants to get in your pants and get out. Just once, I wanted to be happy.

I grabbed my heavy backpack and headed towards my gate, tying my hair up on top of my head as I scrolled through my phone, doing a thousand things at once because that was the Cally McGregor way.

And I slammed right into a tall, thin and bony body. I groaned, falling back on my butt as my BlackBerry went flying, a tall lanky boy with caramel hair and kind green eyes looking down at me, perplexed. He laughed, leaning down and getting my phone, leaving me stunned on the floor. “You dropped this,” He said, handing it to me before giving me another stunning smile.

Despite myself, I stammered. “Thanks,” I said, finally regaining control over my tongue and my thoughts, brushing myself off and standing. “Sorry for running into you. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

He smiled again, and I stared at the heavy sweatshirt he was wearing, the obvious swagger he was used to having around girls. The kind of boy I always tried to avoid, but ended up falling for. “Clearly,” He said, thought not unkindly. He was smiling, and finally winked at me before walking towards his gate, gate four.

Looking down at my ticket, still blushing a heavy scarlet, I almost died all over again. I was gate four.