Orange Peel New Year

Atlas slipped his overcoat on and felt a little thump in his pocket. He reached in with gloved fingers and pulled out the paper-wrapped offender: a palm-sized snow globe featuring a log cabin, pine trees, and a blue bird.

It was meant to be a Christmas gift for Flynn but in all the hullaballoo of the holidays, the constant come and go of families, the volunteer work, and food comas, he had forgotten he had bought it at all. Christmas had now come and gone and they were just heading out to ring in the incoming year at a friend’s house down the street.

“What are you looking at?”

Flynn called down from the top of the stairs. Atlas hastily wrapped the globe back in its brown paper cocoon and slipped it back in his coat pocket.

“Just my watch, babe, we’re going to be late,” Atlas responded.

“Super funny guy. Parties don’t have a starting time,” Flynn responded, taking the handrail and stomping slow heavy steps down the stairs. He grimaced with each step.

“What’s with the long face?”

“I don’t know,” Flynn said.

“You know you want to tell me. If you don’t then we won’t be able to ring in the new year right,” Atlas said.

“I mean, that’s kind of it. Starting a new year, like, do we have to?”

“What do you mean, aren’t you ready to see this year farewell? It wasn’t exactly the best,” Atlas said.

“It wasn’t. It wasn’t a good year at all. It felt like one disaster after another. I was forced to take a pay cut, then my father died, I broke my hand, the HOA issues,” Flynn said.

“What about Christmas?”

“Christmas was fun. It always is, but sometimes it feels manufactured. Something they created to force us into false happiness, but then we must go right back to start the next year and do it all again. What horrors will this new year bring. Stay tuned to find out!” Flynn said with jazz hands.

“That’s deep, babe. Are you okay? Do we need to skip the party?” Atlas asked.

“No, that’ silly. I’ll have fun. I’ll get into it. I’m just ready for a year to be something different. A year for us,” Flynn said

Atlas took Flynn’s arm and ushered them out the door and into the feathery snow that had begun to swirl in the night air. They walked out of the carport, down the pebbled driveway and past the mailbox before Atlas stopped abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” Flynn asked.

“I, uh, need to use the restroom,” Atlas cocked his head, held his stomach, and clenched his teeth in a wide smile.

“I understand. Go back, I’ll find us strong drink,” Flynn said.

Atlas and Flynn had a great time at the party that night. They chatted with their best friends, ate some homemade æbleskivers, drank some warm glögg, kissed at midnight, and left for home before 1am.

Atlas headed up the stairs to prepare for bed. Flynn wanted to stay up and watch old Christmas movies.

“Goodnight,” called down the stairs.

“Goodnight,” Flynn called back.

It only took the time it takes to flip a light switch before Flynn was calling back up the stairs.

“Babe, babe!”

“What?” Atlas called down.

“I think we’ve been broken into.”

Flynn stood with their back against the wall, dim golden light shimmering across the ruffled beanie hair.

Atlas came down the stairs.

“What do you mean broken into?”

“Someone put the white lights from the tree on our ceiling. Oh, and look, the stockings above the fireplace are filled back up.”

“So… someone broke into our house, undecorated, redecorated, and left us gifts?”

Atlas was grinning at Flynn.

Flynn’s face twisted into half a smile. They took a few hesitant steps toward the stuffed red sock with FLYNN emblazoned on it and reached their hand inside.

“Is this… is this…” Flynn tossed something to the floor.

Atlas smirked and leaned against the stair rail.

“Trash?”

“I don’t know, what is it?” Atlas asked.

Flynn continued to pull small bits and pieces out and listed off the items:

“Balled up newspaper, torn wrapping paper, nut shell, nut shell, nut shell, orange peel, there is like an entire orange peeled in one go in here, ew, banana peel? Another orange peel, newspaper and… What’s this?”

Flynn pulled a gift wrapped in the white backside of one of their excess Christmas wrapping papers. It was round, palm-sized, and had fit perfectly in the toe of the fireplace stocking.

“I don’t know, is that writing on it? Read it,” Atlas said.

Flynn turned the gift around and followed the childish uneven crayon scrawling.

“Dear Mr. Flynn, I see you’ve survived another year. One of these days I will best you, but for now I will continue to honor our agreement. You’ve dug through the trash of your life, here’s your reward. You’ve also been warned. It’s signed… Jack Frost?”

Atlas wrapped his arms from behind and kissed Flynn on the cheek. Flynn opened and shook the globe. Settled firmly in the center of a small, blustery, glitter snowstorm was the cabin where they’d met.

“This is cute, but I don’t understand. Why did you do this?”

Atlas gave Flynn a dramatic look of shock.

“I know just as much as you do, babe. Sounds like this Jack Frost guy might visit again though, so we better continue to work through the trash so that we can always get back to our reward. We don’t want him to freeze out our kidneys,” Atlas said.

“Freeze our kidneys?”

“I hear that’s what he does,” Atlas said, extremely serious.

“Thank you,” Flynn said.

“This will be our year,” Atlas said.

“What did Jack Frost put in your sock?”

“Mine is just stuffed with orange peel.”

The glass of each window pane began to form crisscross flakes of frost.