Unwrapping the Best Man

The goose bumps return to my skin, the coldness of his simple response washing over me. The need to say I’m sorry burns my tongue.

He says it like it’s nothing, but how can it be? I want to reach out for him, say something, do something.

‘I either learnt to cook or I starved,’ he says into the silence as though there’s nothing amiss. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m no chef but I can rustle up a mean chilli, even bake bread—not that I do much of that these days. It’s therapeutic though. Good for stress, pounding dough.’

I smile a little. ‘Yes, I’m with you there. My mum and gran have their own recipe and spend many a Sunday—Shit!’

He freezes in his dishing up, his brows raised. ‘Sunday shit? Doesn’t sound like a tradition I’ve ever heard of...’

‘What time is it?’

He angles the wrist that’s supporting the saucepan in his hand and checks his watch. ‘Just gone half eleven.’

‘Oh, God. I’m supposed to be at my parents’. It’s Decorate the Tree Day.’

‘Decorate the Tree Day?’

‘We all get together. Mum, Dad, Gran, my brothers and their families...’ I swallow as emotion chokes up my throat, my mind comparing the Carey brood to his non-existent one.

‘You decorate the tree together?’

‘Yes, and Mum cooks a roast. It’s her dry run for Christmas Day.’

He nods and all I can think is how lonely his Christmases must be. Is that why he hates it so much? I want to ask him. I want to probe even though I know it won’t help, that understanding Jackson more will only make me fall deeper and deeper... I press my thighs down harder on my hands and force the thought out.

‘Why don’t you give your parents a quick call? I can drop you around there as soon as you’re ready.’

I frown. ‘Really?’

‘Absolutely.’

It’s a big ask, and yet he’s offering it voluntarily. ‘Haven’t you got better things to be doing with your Sunday?’

‘Not at all.’

I swallow, nerves and a far more disturbing emotion turning my voice soft, my insides softer. ‘Okay...thank you.’

I slip off the stool and realise I have no idea where my bag and phone are.

He looks up from the plates and smiles. ‘They’re on the sofa, just over there.’

He nods to the living area and I see them immediately, piled up with the garish white and green of my costume. My cheeks burn as I recall it now and give a quick, ‘Thanks.’

I hurry over to them and feel his eyes following me.

‘That shirt looks better on you than it does me.’

My stomach flip-flops with pleasure and dangerous delight, and I want to giggle as I tug at the hem of the shirt. ‘Thanks for letting me borrow it.’

I bend forward to open up my small sack-style bag and the cool air rushes over my exposed thighs right up to my buttocks. I go to tug the T down again and stop. Somewhere deep inside me is the cheeky elf that ventured out the night before, all confident and determined to drive Jackson crazy.

I pull out my phone and cringe when I see the notifications—several missed calls from Coco, one each from my brothers and another from Mum. I fire off responses to all and tell Mum I’ll be with her soon.

As I head back to the kitchen he slides a plate in front of me. As promised, two types of egg, pancakes, bacon, every sauce bottle you could imagine ready for me to use. Juice. And then coffee, a full steaming mug with a small jug of milk, cream and a bag of sugar.

My eyes are wide as I take it all in. ‘Thank you.’

‘I hope it’s okay.’