Together by This Christmas Tree

cally mcgregor
John was everything i wanted, everything I needed, and yet, somehow, I wasn’t scared. He made me feel safe, careful, but at the same time, I knew that if I fell, he’d be there to catch me. I smiled, turning back towards the bright window and pulling down on the back of my sweater, revealing the birds on my back. “These were for my mom,” I said, turning around slowly and then tugging on my fingers, sliding the ring off my finger, revealing the dark blue ink and the word “forever” and an infinity.

“Who were those for?” John asked quietly, like he was honestly fascinated. Most people were asleep, wanting a quiet flight home. I had wanted one too, but here I was, with this amazing guy who seemed so ... real. I cleared my throat, and then giggled a little before covering the tattoo back up.

“That was for, well, when I got my heart broken. I was so hurt and I wasn’t thinking, and well, instead of a booty call, that was the result.” I smiled, so unlike me. “Oops.” John smiled.

“We all make mistakes, Cally. It’s a part of life.” John smiled, and I forgot we were still holding hands, his thumb gently caressing between my thumb and my pointer, until I suddenly pulled away, my heart screaming in agony. John, for the love of God, just seemed to get it, to understand what was wrong. He smiled brighter.

“A shitty part of life, don’t you think?” I said, my smile turning downward and becoming a frown, but quickly, like I had been taught, to smile and make it a positive. “But hey, a mistake led me to some of the best things in my life.”

“Like what?” John asked, sounding completely fascinated with my pathetic and slow life, one that was only exciting during the model parties I was snuck into, and begged to become a fake, skinny, plastic girl wearing nearly nothing to get money. I’d rather work where I did, at a pub on West Andover.

“My stepdad, Aaron,” I said, and John grinned, and I just kept going, feeling so open with a boy I hardly knew. “And my best friend, Gemma.”

“Let me guess,” John said, teasing. “Gemma’s a Brit,” He said, and I gently smacked his arm, but smiled and nodded all the same. “And you were supposed to stay here through Christmas, but decided to come home instead?”

I laughed. “Not quite. I was supposed to spend Thanksgiving with my extended family, and as much fun as it is to spend every waking moment being criticized, I would have rather been in England, where Thanksgiving is a foreign thing.” John’s brow furrowed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we had a future together.

I scolded myself. He’s just talking to me for entertainment.

“Why do they criticize you?” John asked, giving me a quick once over. “I don’t see anything particularly bad about you, Cally.” I smiled.

“I just didn’t make any valid life choices. I skipped college to go to Juilliard, and well, when that didn’t work out, I just chose to work at a pub over the river and through the woods, which totally isn’t okay,” I shrugged. John laughed.

“If those aren’t valid life choices, my life must be a mess,” John said, half teasing and half being serious. “I screwed up my life seven ways to hell and back,” He said, and I burst out laughing, for reasons I had no idea. I was clutching my stomach, doubling over, earning dirty looks from everyone around me. John laughed, covering my mouth with his hands, shushing me. I kept giggling, covering my own mouth with my hands and leaning against his chest without realizing it, being shameless and having no boundaries. “Cally, ssh!” John said, laughing. I giggled again.

“I don’t know why that was so funny,” I whispered, getting my laughter under control and gently snuggling into John’s shoulder, burying my face in it to avoid the blush that was slowly creeping over my cheeks again, leaving me wanting so much more from this experience, and hell, from this Christmas. I inhaled slowly, looking back up at him. “What made you think you’ve screwed your life up so much?” I looked him up and down. “Judging by the nice clothes and quality tattoos, as well as your nice haircut,” I ran my fingers through his hair, “You either come from money or have a made a considerable living this young. And if I guessed right, and that you’re a singer/songwriter, then the girls must be all over you, so you can’t have screwed your life up that bad.”

John looked surprised. “How did you know?” He asked, in complete awe of me, something people rarely were. I was average, basic, the epitome of boring and the same old same old.

I shrugged, blushing a deeper scarlet. “I can read people really well. Besides, your scratchy voice and the dry skin on the corners of your mouth indicates a lot of open mouth. So either you’re belting out lyrics or you’re giving out blow jobs,” I said frankly, and John giggled.

“Well, I guess maybe I’ll just have to tell you then,” John said, his voice trailing off, like he was talking to himself and not to me, but his eyes were boring into mine. Being with John was so easy, so simple, like everything was a movie and we just fit together perfectly in a mesh net, catching both of us before we fell too deep.

I nudged him with my elbow, somehow already infatuated with his bright green eyes that stared straight through you, with his tall and lanky figure with different bones sticking out at all ends, with his tattoos, inked in black and sketched out with meaning, and even his messy caramel hair, flat against his big forehead.

What made him different, I wasn’t sure. But I was wishing for him.