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I’m assuming he’s on the phone.
“I need you to hold the car until we’re all down there. Don’t let Mr. Armstrong leave without us.”
I roll my eyes. He just called my driver. Andrew works for me. I sign his paychecks. And his generous bonuses. He wouldn’t directly defy me if I went downstairs and got in the car. But he knows Michael, Danielle, and Crew well by now, and I wouldn’t put it past him to stall until they made it downstairs to go with me.
“Thanks, Andrew,” Michael says.
“I can’t believe he was going to go over there without us,” Danielle says.
I do feel bad. A little bit. I've been something of a Grinch about this Christmas.
I've never decorated much in my apartment. It's always just been me. Even when my grandfather and I did spend time together during the holidays, we would just go to a restaurant for dinner. We didn’t exchange gifts. What do you give a billionaire who loved hockey so much that he bought a team?
Before my grandmother died, we’d have dinner at their house, but it was prepared by a cook and was still somewhat formal. After she passed, my grandfather and I started spending the holidays in the Caribbean.
I haven’t had a true, warm family Christmas since I was a kid.
There never seemed to be a reason to decorate the apartment. When Crew and Danielle mentioned putting up a tree, I said no. I didn't want needles all over the floor. Then I pointed out the fact that we would not actually be here on Christmas since we were going to see everyone's families.
So Crew had taken Danielle out to shop, and they had decorated her apartment. It now looks like the North Pole threw up in the tiny space above the bookshop and bakery where she and Luna live together. A lot of it has trickled down the stairs and spread out through the bookshop and bakery as well. There’s tinsel and garland, brightly colored balls and snowflakes, huge stuffed reindeer, plastic Santas, felt gingerbread men, and Styrofoam candy canes everywhere.
We all spoil Danielle in our own ways, and even though making her apartment and bookshop into a mini replica of Santa's Village wasn't my style, I smile thinking of the two of them piling carts full of bright, gaudy Christmas decor, and bringing it all back to her place, and decorating. Crew’s credit card has a very high limit on it as well, and when he spoils her, it’s in a more colorful, loud, over-the-top way than what Michael or I do.
But he makes her smile, and that makes me smile.
It also keeps the stuffed reindeer and plastic Santas out of my apartment.
I glance over at the mantle above my fireplace.
Despite there not being an inch of her own living space not covered with fake snow and red and green felt and tinsel, Danielle has managed to get a little Christmas spirit in my apartment anyway.
Crew assured me that the tiny gold hooks they'd stuck to the edge of the mantel are removable. From those hooks now hang four stockings in varying Christmas patterns. There’s one with each of our first initials on the fuzzy white trim. And she’s added a simple garland to the top of the mantel. It is all understated and looks very nice. Nothing gaudy or over-the-top about it.
Looking at them makes my chest tight with emotion.
I haven’t had a stocking since I was a kid.
Just then, Crew comes stumbling out of the bedroom. He’s dressed in blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. His hair is tousled, but the long shaggy curls always look a little mussed so maybe he did do something with it other than just roll out of bed.
He staggers for the refrigerator, yanks it open, and grabs a bottle of orange juice. He unscrews the top and tips it back, taking three long gulps. It’s a full-sized bottle of orange juice that most people pour into glasses and share with their family, but we've given up on Crew not drinking straight out of the bottle and have simply labeled the side with CREW in black sharpie.
After he swallows, he looks at me. "Hey, man."
"Morning."
"So, what should I bring him?"
I frown. "Bring him? What do you mean?"
"We're going to see your grandfather for Christmas, right? I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of it. What should I bring him as a gift?"
I shake my head. "You don't need to bring him anything. He won't even know that it's Christmas."
"What? But we’ll tell him, right?"
"We don't need to. We can just make it a visit. He won’t remember anyway."
"Yeah, but for the ten or fifteen minutes or whatever, he will. It's Christmas, man.” Crew spreads his arms wide. "Everybody deserves to have Christmas, even if it's only for a few minutes."
