The Seven Days of Christmas

Chapter 1 The first day “They outdid themselves!” Trey frowned, keeping his attention on the book he was reading while doing his best to ignore whoever was babbling. It was Thursday evening, a week before Christmas, and he was trying to unwind at his local bar before going home. “I mean look at all this. The wreath and fairy lights on the back bar mirror, the decorations, the snowflakes hanging everywhere, hell, there’s even Christmas candles on the tables.” The woman swept her hand around, almost hitting Trey. “Sorry,” she said, “but you gotta admit they did a great job. You can feel the Christmas spirit.” “You’re definitely feeling the spirits, but I’ve got the feeling they come from a gin bottle,” Trey grumbled, turning his back to her after getting a whiff of her boozy breath. “I’m just trying to be friendly.” She reached around him to tap his book. “Is this good?” “I wouldn’t be reading it if it wasn’t.” He closed it, using one finger to mark his place, picked up his beer, and moved down to the end of the bar. “What’s with him?” she asked, loudly enough to be heard from where Trey had found a new seat. “I was just trying—” “To be friendly,” the woman next to her said, laughing. “Guess he’s not in a Christmas mood.” “No s**t,” Trey muttered under his breath. “Not your thing?” Trey sighed, looking up to see Marty, the bartender. “Nope, not really. Especially today.” “Oh boy, what happened?” “You do not want to know.” Marty chuckled. “But you’re going to tell me anyway.” “Nan, she’s my assistant at the shop, got a call this morning.” Trey shook his head, continuing bleakly, “Her father had a massive heart attack. He…her parents live on the other side of the state. Of course I told her to get out there to be with him.” “Damn. I mean, okay, that has to suck for her, especially with Christmas right around the corner.” “Yeah. She flew out late this afternoon, leaving me high-and-dry except for Carol, the temp I hired for the holiday. Any other time I wouldn’t care but it’s right in the middle of our second busiest season. How the hell am I going to deal with all the customers waiting until the last minute, hoping to get Santa costumes—which have been rented for weeks now—to say the least of elves, and carolers, and f**k all? Maybe I’ll close the shop and take off for somewhere where they don’t know what the hell Christmas is.” “Which would be where?” Marty asked, then said, “Hold that thought,” before moving down the bar to see to a man who had waved to get his attention. “I wish I knew.” Trey sighed, taking a long pull on his beer. “Whoever invented Christmas should be shot.” “I love Christmas,” the woman who had accosted him said, squeezing in between Trey and the man seated next to him. “You’re back,” Trey said scathingly. “Go bother someone else. You’re not my flavor du jour.” “Huh?” “Du jour. Of the day, or in my case, ever.” “But…” The woman’s friend appeared beside her, saying, “He means he’s into men, Pattie, so give it up.” “Well, he could have said so to start with.” Pattie gulped down the last of her drink then held up her glass, waving it at Marty, who was now waiting on another customer. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” Pattie’s friend said. “But…” “Her word du jour?” Trey asked, smirking. Neither woman replied as Pattie’s friend took her arm, steering her toward the exit. “Looks like you girlfriend took off without you,” Marty said when he returned, grinning at the disgusted look Trey gave him. “You want another one?” He pointed to Trey’s empty bottle. “Naw. I should leave, too, before all this glitz and glitter gives me a stomach ache.” “You’re a grump, or should that be a Grinch?” “Both?” Trey replied, bookmarking his page before closing the book and getting up. “I’ll see you…hell, who knows when. First I have to survive the next week without strangling some middle-aged Santa and his gold-digging, elf wannabe girlfriend.” Marty laughed. “Breathe deeply, smile, and remember what you make on rentals pays the bills for the next three months.” “The only reason I’m willing to tolerate the damned season,” Trey replied, waving over his shoulder as he headed to the exit. He knew he wasn’t upset with Nan, per se. She could hardly ignore the fact her father might be dying. It was having to handle things without her able assistance that was exacerbating his dislike of the season. There had been a time when he had loved Christmas and celebrating with his family. Of course I was a kid. Okay, I even liked it when I’d go home from college over Christmas break. And then I met Dylan. * * * * Trey loved his boyfriend—most of the time. His family—not so much. Dylan’s parents were polite to him whenever he and Dylan visited them, but beneath the surface Trey knew they thought he wasn’t worthy of their son. They were well-to-do, and inordinately proud of Dylan, who was a doctor. They were equally as proud of their two other children who flown the nest, as Mr. Carter put it, to build successful lives of their own. Trey came from a large, working-class family, and had gone to the local college, not a big university. It didn’t seem to impress Dylan’s parents that he had dual degrees in costuming and business, and had subsequently opened his own small but successful costume shop. He and Dylan would spend every Christmas with Dylan’s family. The trade-off was spending Easter with Trey’s. His family welcomed Dylan with open arms, treating him as one more son, brother, or uncle. Dylan fit right in and, so he said, hated when the vacation was over because he’d had so much fun. “Nice people, good food, watching the kids hunt for Easter eggs, and their parents trying to keep them from eating them all. What more could a guy want?” “Me?” Trey replied with a grin. “Definitely you,” Dylan agreed. “You’re the best of the lot. I’m damned lucky to have you in my life.” When they went to Dylan’s parent’s home for Christmas it was a different story altogether. Trey would sit and watch as Mr. and Mrs. Carter interacted with Dylan and his sister and brother. They rarely, if ever, tried to include Trey in the conversations. When they did, it was to ask him how his shop was doing, or how he felt about some person in the news, or the most recent television show or movie, barely paying attention to his reply before moving to something else, as if what he had to say was inconsequential to them. That was doubly true when he tried, almost always unsuccessfully, to join into a conversation they were having. Even Dylan tended to ignore him, despite the fact they would be sitting next to each other on the sofa, or at the dinner table. He talked with his family as if they only saw each other once a year. It was the truth when it came to his siblings, but he kept in close contact with his parents, who had a large house in one of the upper-class suburbs in the city. Trey and Dylan would visit them at least once a month, and while the Carters were marginally more open with Trey when it was just him and Dylan, they were still standoffish. He had tried talking to Dylan about his feelings only to have Dylan brush him off, telling him he was imagining it, or that he should jump into the conversations. He didn’t understand or accept that when Trey tried, the others reacted as if what he had to say wasn’t important—as if he wasn’t important. Things had come to a head almost a year after Trey and Dylan had begun living together, having been a couple for three years prior to that. It was Christmas day and Trey was dreading the visit with Dylan’s family—but he loved Dylan, so he did his best to put a good face on things. That is until Dylan’s brother, a stockbroker, looked at Trey over the rim of his glass of eggnog, and said snidely, “So the shop is still doing well? I’m surprised you can make a go of it in this economy. It seems to me people would have better things to spend their money on than frivolities like costumes.” “Luckily for me, they want something to take their minds off their workaday world for a while,” Trey replied with a smile, not falling for the bait. “Like caroling in costume with their friends to entertain the neighbors or patients at a hospital, or having Santa visit their children Christmas day.” “Throwing good money after bad if you ask me,” Dylan’s father retorted, getting a nod of agreement from his wife and Dylan’s brother. “I disagree,” Trey said tightly. “There’s nothing wrong with people wanting to enjoy themselves, especially over the holidays. After all, you seem to delight in spending a great deal of money decorating you house and yard, and buying that—” he gestured toward the huge tree in the corner of the living room, “—and trimming it lavishly for the party Dylan said you had for your employees last Saturday night.” He took a deep breath, wondering if he’d overstepped his bounds, but he wasn’t about to shut up quite yet as all his pent-up feelings boiled to the surface. Especially since Dylan hadn’t come to his defense. “You’re like a few of my richer customers. You want to make a big impression on the people who work for you, and in front of your neighbors and friends. That’s all the holiday is for you, a way to show off that you can do things bigger and better than…than people like me and my family. I’m the poor cousin. Well, not a cousin. I’m Dylan’s less than acceptable boyfriend and you do your best to put me in my place by ignoring me during these wonderful…” he sneered, “family gatherings. Well, all I can say is, Merry Christmas. I hope you enjoy the rest of the day. I’m sure you will, because I’m leaving. I’ve got better things to do than spend the stupid holiday with a bunch of phonies who wish I was somewhere else.” As he remembered when he thought about it later, he’d made a dramatic exit, only to realize he’d have to walk home since he’d driven over with Dylan. He had hoped Dylan would come after him to apologize for the way his family treated him. That didn’t happen. He walked for a few blocks until the cold began to get to him, and then saw a service station up ahead that, surprisingly because it was Christmas day, was open. He went inside, called a cab, and by the time it came he had warmed up physically, if not emotionally. When he got home, he changed into a comfortable pair of sweats, got a beer from the fridge, and settled down in front of the TV to wait for Dylan to arrive. He had the feeling they were going to fight about what happened—and he was right. Dylan showed up around seven, slamming the door as he came in. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” he said, standing, hands on hips, in front of Trey. “Do you know how much you embarrassed me with your little tantrum?” Things escalated from there. By the time they finished, Trey was in the bedroom, throwing some clothes into a suitcase. “I’ll find a motel for the night,” he spat out. “And pick up the rest of my things in the morning. I’d appreciate it if you weren’t here when that happens.” “Don’t worry. I’ll be at my folks,” Dylan replied angrily. “I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear you’re no longer hooked up with a loser like me. Consider it my Christmas present to them,” Trey said scathingly. “They finally succeeded in driving me away. Now they can find you some proper young man who meets their high expectations.” Trey didn’t wait for a reply. Grabbing the suitcase, he stalked out of the bedroom—and out of Dylan’s life. Since then, Christmas had been just another day. One that definitely helped pay the bills, but that was it. He knew he should let it go, but each year when Christmas approached so did the memory of what had happened. Try as he might to push it away, he couldn’t. It was like having eaten something that made you violently sick, and never being able to face it again. The pain from that night, when Dylan had done his best to negate everything that Trey had been feeling as if he had somehow deserved what had happened, was too deep.