He straightened up and inclined his head to Perdie, giving her a wink as she hung Bananas’s leash on the hook by the door. Two weeks. She was supposed to go on that San Francisco trip as well. A mild panic overtook her, but she clamped it down.
Seeing her frozen at the door, Carter padded over, chatting easily on the phone. He was wearing the sweatshirt now, the one that belonged to Lucille’s dad. Of course, it was a Knox Family Christmas sweatshirt, this one with a nineties-style puff-painted Christmas tree. Perdie bit her lip so she didn’t laugh.
Carter leaned the phone against his cheek and shoulder, then rubbed up and down the faux fur sleeves of the coat she’d thrown on, then he stripped her of it and hung it up on the coatrack next to the door. He caught her hand, bringing her fingertips to his lips in a silent kiss.
“Uh-huh, yeah, I know. I’ll make the gallery showing. That’s when? Easter? Plenty of time.”
His eyes glimmered as he released her, and then his hand snaked behind her waist, yanking her towards him, their pelvises pressed tightly together. She was so close, she could hear the voice on the other end of the phone, although she still couldn’t make out the words.
“All right, Ma. I gotta go. Sorry about Christmas.” He winked again at Perdie. Perdie’s eyes narrowed.
Carter’s mother apparently wasn’t ready to give up the conversation because he gave a rueful smile as he continued to affirm her on the line.
“Yes, yes, yes...” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Tell her I’ll be there. Okay.”
For a brief moment, he caught Perdie’s eye. “I love you too. Talk later.”
He hung up the phone, and a moment of silence drifted between them until she spoke, her voice creaking. “You were going back to San Francisco for Christmas?”
“Not much to do about it now. The airport’s shut down.”
She pulled out of his embrace and stalked over to the kitchen. He followed closely, Bananas trotting behind him. “I bet the snow will melt soon enough. You could probably drive out by tomorrow. It’s not like you have to stay here with me or anything.”
Opening a cabinet, she rummaged around for her coffee mug, the Will Provide Legal Advice for Tacos one, but all she could find was Lucille’s ugly Garfield mug.
“If you want me to leave, you might have to wait a day or two. Or make me sleep out in a snowbank.” Carter’s voice sounded light but serious at the same time.
She whirled around. “Need coffee.”
He gestured towards the pot brewed on the counter. Oh, that’s right. He had made coffee earlier, hadn’t he? She swished by him, grabbed the pot, and poured it in her least favorite mug. She sipped the lukewarm liquid. Fine. That’s totally fine.
Carter leaned against the counter next to her, one ankle hitched over another. She avoided eye contact, lest his puffy-paint Christmas tree shirt lessen her sudden ire.
“You seem angry.” He lifted an eyebrow, curious.
Perdie swigged the coffee, then let it bump down on the counter before hastily picking it up again. She plopped down at the kitchen table and fiddled with the poinsettia sitting there. “I’m not mad... You were going to spend Christmas with your family, like your actual family. And instead you’re stuck here with me. A colleague you screwed last night. And you probably want to get the hell out of here, but you’re too nice to say anything because you know we’re trapped.” She stared at her coffee mug.
Carter let out a low whistle, which made her eyes up. “Wow.” He pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.
She scrunched her nose when he grabbed the coffee out of her hand and took a sip.
“Ugh, that’s cold.” He set the mug down and took her hands in his. “Perdie. Have you lost your fucking mind?” he asked it so deadpan, that a laugh cracked through her icy exterior.
“What!” She snatched her hands away and crossed her arms like a petulant child. “Don’t tell me you’re not disappointed about being away from your family for Christmas and instead having to hang out with some hookup for potentially days on end depending on when this snow clears up. This is Charleston, we don’t have the technology for snow.”
He winced a bit and his hand scratched his forehead. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re being obtuse purposely or accidentally.”
She glared. “Um, rude.”
He chuckled. Then he pried her hands from their tuck within her folded arms. Again, he held them across the table. His voice was steady. “I’m a thirty-two-year-old man. I don’t need to run to my childhood home for holidays. At any rate, I’d rather be with you, right here, right now, than back in San Francisco. Or back at my place. Or any other possible place. This is where I would choose to be either way. I happened to have gotten lucky that you can’t kick me out.” With a wink, he released her hands and leaned back.
Her jaw dropped but then she closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. “I want you here too.”
“Good, then we agree. We both want to be here together.”
“Even if it’s the holidays and it’s kind of weird for us to be spending them together after only knowing each other for a relatively short period of time?”
He let out a puff of a laugh. “Sure, even if. Especially if.”
She fiddled with the handle of her mug. “Do you want to watch TV and eat cereal on the couch?”
“Can we make out later?”
At first, she feigned offense. But as she stood to leave, she glanced over her shoulder. “Obviously.”
A handful of leftover Froot Loops soaked in two bowls resting on the end table of the living room as Perdie and Carter lay cocooned together under a blanket, their eyes fixed on the television. Carter’s hand had crept underneath the hem of Perdie’s sweater, the hot, flat flesh of his palm pressed against the bare skin of her belly. She reveled in that touch, in the casual way he drew her near to him, like he had to be touching her at all times.
They rounded their fourth hour of Daria together. Perdie and Lucille had bought the box set back when those were still a thing years ago, and they could both practically recite every episode by heart.
“You know, I don’t think you’re actually like Daria at all.”
“No?”
“You’re cynical like her. But she’s so flat. And you’re so...”
“Careful with your words there, Pretty Boy.”
“Spiky.” He grinned.
