Together by This Christmas Tree

cally mcgregor

I sighed, looking critically in the mirror and bit my lip. “Dress casual,” John had said on the phone last night before letting me drift off into sleep, and I stared at my reflection, marveling at how frail I looked in a dress like this. It was casual, according to the label, but I wasn’t sure. I looked unlike myself, fake, unreal. I tugged down on my skinny jeans, and the big striped sweater I was so in love with, a varsity jacket I had stolen from my then boyfriend. My blonde hair had been left loose, half curly and half straight, an awful mess.

I bit my lip harder as I realized what today was. Christmas Eve. I held back tears from my recently made up eyes and stood straighter as the door bell clanged loudly, absurdly loud in the small and empty apartment, with Damien moving on with his life. Another reason to step back and look at mine.

John stood in my doorway, wearing jeans and a sports coat, and his jaw dropped when he saw me. “You look beautiful, Cally,” He murmured in my ear as he kissed my cheek, noticing the array of candles on the kitchen counter, all midnight blue, my dad’s favorite color. He raised an eyebrow, picking one up gently. “What are these for, love?” He murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist and staring at the arrangement, one I was proud of. I bit my lip hard enough that I tasted blood, like rust in my between layers of white teeth.

“A tribute to my father, John,” I whispered, and he stood there with me for a moment, holding me close. I knew what he meant, what he was trying to say, even if he didn’t. He was here for me.

Moments later, I had blown the candles out and locked the apartment, walking to John’s shitty van and sliding into the passenger seat, sliding my heels off and pressing my cold feet as his dashboard as he turned the radio down low, the sounds of Ivory humming softly through the speakers. In the backseat lay his guitar case, and a few sheets of paper, spread out across the backseat. I raised my brows, and John chuckled, putting the car in drive, pulling out onto the road, the old van groaning. “You ready for the best night of your life, Cally McGregor?” He said, chuckling.

“Only if you tell me where we’re going, John O’Callaghan,” I said, mock mad. He had kept it all very hush-hush, like it was all a big secret. He and I had been preparing for this all this time and all of a sudden, I was sitting shotgun in his shitty car and he stank of Axe cologne and fucking sunshines, and it felt like everything was supposed to add up to something. Like life, like endings, I put too much faith in reality and what was really going to happen. I tugged on my hair, suddenly nervous.

He smirked, pulling out onto the highway and heading towards the outskirts of Tempe, where the big houses and rich people lived, and the houses that I used to envy when I lived here as a kid.

“We’re going to see my parents.”