12 Days 'til Christmas ✓

chapter six

Okay, so maybe I'm going in a bit hard. But my instincts are to protect Casper and I don't like Eric, and it's getting close to four o'clock which, way up here in Saint Wendelin in the middle of December, means the sun has already set. I want to get home and light a fire, and find a place on the wall for my new piece of Emmy art, and I need to get back to wrapping.

"Beth?" He says my name like he's testing me. Maybe Casper's never mentioned me. But then Eric says, "Oh. You're Bethlehem."

"The one and only."

He scans me again. I hate the feeling of his eyes on my body. His judgment is silent but powerful, and there's a moment that I half expect him to feign care for my health as an excuse to call me out on my size. I've come across my fair share of guys like that in the past – and women, too, but mostly guys – but I hope Casper wasn't dating one of them.

Eric says nothing. He disappears, and then unlatches the door to roll out a full-size suitcase. "The case is his too," he says.

"That's everything?"

"He doesn't have much stuff. I'll let him know if there's anything else."

There's something so acutely sad about the fact that all of Casper's belongings – according to his ex, anyway – fit inside one case. I know he whittled his stuff right down when he moved in with Eric almost a year ago, but this is ridiculous. I'd probably need fifty of these, if not more, to pack my life away.

"Okay. Thanks." I take the handle, relieved that at least the case is heavy, and roll it towards the stairs. Eric watches me for a moment, before he eventually closes the door, and I hear him slide the latch across again.

It takes a few minutes to get down the stairs with the suitcase, which is almost half my height, and I burst onto the street with a huff. Casper's still huddled up in the front seat, facing away from the place he used to call home, and he doesn't notice that I've emerged until I yank open the back passenger door and heave the case onto the seat.

"You don't have much stuff," I say when I get in next to him, taking off my glasses to clear the sweat-induced fog.

"That's everything?"

"Yes. According to He Who Shall Not Be Named."

"Voldemort was there?"

"Shush!" I turn on the car and pull onto the quiet road. "I didn't check inside, but I'm assuming he didn't fill it with shit and rocks. Do you really have that little stuff?"

Casper shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know. I guess? Most of it's probably clothes. I don't have much stuff and we shared everything else, but it was all stuff he bought. Music, films, all that." Another shrug. "I don't buy much."

"Wow."

"Who knows, though. It could be rocks and shit," he says. "But that would be totally uncalled for considering he broke up with me. Only the dumpee gets to retaliate with a bag full of pebbles and poo."

"We can work on that tomorrow," I say. "Right now, I want to get home and get a fire going."

He gives me a small smile, one side of his mouth lifted up ever so slightly. "Thanks for doing that, Holy City."

"Any time, Ghost of Christmas Past."

*

While I make a fire and get back to wrapping presents, Casper takes his case upstairs to sort through what little he owns. I have a Christmas playlist playing and I'm making do with the coffee table in the sitting room as my wrapping station, so I can keep an eye on the crackling wood. When the fire's still young, sometimes the logs get into the habit of jumping out of the grate, with a patch of singed carpet as proof.