Eggnog & Evergreen

45 • Sugar Plum Fairy

My mom leans against me as we walk through the front door and into our cozy living room. I say goodnight to my parents but don't plan on sleeping just yet. I pull a saucepan from the cabinet and turn on the burner. I unscrew the cap on the jug of eggnog and pour it into the pan.

I dark to my room to discard my booties and jeans and sweater, trading them all in for flannel sweatpants and a pullover sweatshirt leftover from high school. In no time at all, the kitchen smells of spiced cloves and nutmeg. I toss an orange slice into my cup and scurry to the couch.

The fire that roared earlier has now been reduced to nothing but embers burning earnestly in the night. I cozy up on the couch with my warm tree-shaped mug and inhale the milk punch; it's like I'm breathing in an old holiday movie.

It feels ...How only Christmas Eve can feel. Exciting, even though I'm not a little kid and no longer anticipating all the presents. Magical, regardless of my knowledge that Santa was a figment of my old imagination. Still, as the grandfather clock inches closer to midnight, my heart can't help but swell with emotion –with hope.

I run down the Christmases past in my mind. My last three with Preston, the ones before that –as far back as I can remember. It brings me to tonight, 11:27 PM, snuggled up alone and with eggnog in-hand. Fathoming it all has been the arduous part –somehow worse than the break-up, worse than the aftermath.

What do my future Christmases hold in store? I find myself talking to the snowman figurine on the end table. Maybe the seaside Santa knows. I slide a book from the coffee table and pull it towards me.

The Night Before Christmas.

I let it fall open in my lap and, wedging the mug between my knees, flip to the first page.

The night (and spiked eggnog) settles over me. Maybe it was laced with magic or fairy dust or Christmas spirit, because I barely remember carrying myself to bed.

My eyes flutter open and closed and open and closed, obscured by visions of sugarplums and gingerbread houses and Trotter wearing a red clown nose.

...

Preston and I are lounging on a beach. The water glistens; the opalescence is blinding, as if the sea were made of shimmering diamonds. It's sunset and the deep pink sky is slowly fading blue on the horizon. Snorkel gear is stacked in the sand at our feet and I'm wearing a little black bikini.

Preston is maddeningly handsome in his neon trunks. My eyes fall over his perfect bod and the daquiri on the beachside table. His laptop peeks out from under his chaise lounge.

"Do you have to work tonight?" I whine.

"Only a bit. Big case coming up," Preston says, kissing my palm.

"Workaholic," I grumble. "Come on, it's Christmas!"

"It's Christmas Eve," he corrects me.

"Same thing."

"I promise, tomorrow I'm all yours," he says, his deep voice tempting me to jump onto his towel.

"I bet." I roll my eyes. That's when I notice it.

The new keychain on Preston's crossbody briefcase that I've never seen before. It's a reindeer of all things. And there's another. A green wreath.

"What the–"

I reach across and pull his lanyard from the table, knocking off a seashell into the sand. The cool metal feels extra cold and heavy in my hand.

"What's with this?" I ask, holding up the set of keys.

"With what?"

Instead of looking up into Preston's eyes, I discover Nik's staring back at me. His head is cocked in concern and his hair covered with snow.

"This keychain?" He asks, scooping his key ring from my hands. "You bought it for me, or did you already forget? You said it looked like Trotter because of his white stomach."

"Right," I nod.

I stare at Nik –at the row of glass-front buildings behind him. The New York City skyline comes into focus.

"Yes, and let's hit that Greek place, you know the one next to the bodega," Nik says.

"Ah, I loved that place last time," I find myself saying.

Nik slips his hand across my waist and spins me into him. I stumble backwards a step or two, but he steadies me. I laugh into his face as he kisses my forehead. I turn forward again but notice the nearest food-truck has turned into an extra-large reindeer. The skyline is now a tree line and the paved streets of NYC are now pure white, blanketed by feet of snow.

I stand alone in the middle of a quiet forest. A song from The Nutcracker is stuck in my head, blaring like some kind of soundtrack. The sky is hazy, and everything glows in a pinkish-purple mist like this is all happening inside some giant gumdrop.

Of course.

The purple sunset. The keychain jump. The skyscrapers turning into trees.

This is a dream!

I roll over and my face collides with my phone. It sits innocently on the side of my pillow, but my cheekbone feels differently.

I click it bright.

12:02 AM.

It's Christmas.

I stifle a yawn and plug my phone into a charger. I replay my dream on a loop, dissecting it thoroughly. They felt so real. The moments. The feelings.

My head falls to my pillow in a heavy exhale. Maybe I watched the Polar Express one too many times as a kid, but for some reason I'm back on the train again. I hear the fanatical carolers, only their verve doesn't irk me anymore. The North Pole Mail Call poster flashes into my vision.

Could writing a new letter to Santa help now?

I bolt upright, realizing I never wrote my stocking wish!

I grab a piece of scrap paper and a loose pencil from my bedside table.

Hmm.

I wait too long. I'm back on a lavender-lit beach and it's crawling with reindeer. I walk headfirst into a snowman made from sand and a sandcastle molded from snow.

The last thing I remember is the cerulean blue ocean churning into white, creamy waves.