Page 8 of Holiday Hostilities
It’s crazy to think that when I moved in here initially, I was hoping it would be a place that felt like home, where I could share the space with people Ifit with. Like living out my own episode ofFriends.
Ridiculous, really.
“I can hear the bagpipes from here,” Jake says with a wince by way of greeting. “What in the hell is he even trying to play?”
“That one’s called ‘Highland Laddie,’ apparently.”
My brother rolls his eyes. “Should be illegal.”
I shrug. “Makes a nice change from ‘Danny Boy,’ which was Greg’s flavor of the month until this morning.”
“You need to get out of that hellhole. Are you sure you don’t want to crash at mine for a while? You know you’re always welcome.”
“It’s not that bad,” I assure him as I buckle my seatbelt. “The building security is great.”It isn’t.“And my roommates are just… quirky, that’s all.”One way of putting it.“And anyway, I’m on a red-eye to Frankfurt tomorrow night, so I might get some sleep during crew rest.”
Jake snorts. “That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one—going to work to get some actual sleep.”
“Not if you test mattresses for a living,” I deadpan. Sofia chuckles but Jake, predictably, doesn’t laugh (not that I blame him, it wasn’t that funny). “You have practice this morning?”
My brother nods. “At nine.”
“What about you, Sof? Are you working today?” I ask my brother’s gorgeous girlfriend. I still can’t believe he landed her; he’s definitely punching above his weight.
Sofia is petite and fine-boned, sporting that pixie-like build on which all clothes seem to fall perfectly. She’s a fashion stylist with an impressive list of high-powered clients, and it shows. In comparison to my scrubby outfit this morning, she’s clad in a rose-pink silk camisole and linen pants, her chin-length dark hair elegantly slicked back off her face, and her minimal makeup flawless.
Meanwhile, I’m 5’9 with a solid frame that my father passed down to both Jake and me. Plus, my unruly red waves will not be tamed, no matter how many times I flat iron them.
I couldn’t look as put together as she does if I had literal hours to get ready—and she had mere minutes.
She grins back at me. “I have an appointment at eleven. Unruly politician’s wife. It’s gonna be a fun one.”
“What are you doing up so early, then?” I demand playfully.
“Wanted to hang out with this guy before he hits the road for his away games.” She and Jake share an intimate look, and I avert my eyes. She mustreallylove him if she’s willing to leave her cozy bed this early in the morning to eat greasy fried food at a diner with her boyfriend’s little sister in tow.
I honestly can’t imagine feeling like that about anyone. I’ve dated over the years, but nobody’s ever looked at me the way they look at each other. Nobody’s ever changed their plans for me, or made me want to change my plans for them.
“It won’t be long this time, Sof. At least I’ll be home for Thanksgiving next week,” Jake reminds her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.
Seriously. Who is this guy and what has he done with my brother?
“You’re still coming, Liv?” Sofia asks.
“Sure am.” When I got my schedule for November, I was shocked to see that I’ll be flying in from LA bright and early on Thanksgiving morning, and then will have the next two days off.
When Jake heard that I’d be here, he invited me to watch his game that afternoon with Sofia and have dinner with them afterwards. I readily accepted. I’m enjoying spending time with my brother and his girlfriend.
Plus, this was the reason I chose to come to Atlanta in the first place: to spend more time with family and put down some roots.
Besides, being a flight attendant during the busy holiday season means I’ll surely be away for Christmas. It’s my first year with AmeriJet, so I’m super likely to get assigned a work trip over December 25th, especially since I managed to score Thanksgiving off. I get my schedule for December sometime next week, and I’m confident I’ll be spending Christmas pouring ginger ale at 30,000 feet with no bad roommates in sight.
As if reading my mind, Jake chuckles. “Just don’t expect her to come for Christmas.”
“Really?” Sofia peers at me. “You don’t like Christmas?”
“Ah, I’ll probably have to work,” I say avoidantly. It’s easier than explaining to Sofia that I don’t reallydoChristmas.
Might be an unpopular opinion, but to me, the whole “magic of the holiday season” thing is about as real as Santa Claus.