Holiday Rebound

'Twas two weeks before Christmas and there was magic in the air, and a warm, stirring feeling inside me. The joy I felt inside showed on the outside. I couldn't stop smiling and beaming as Jonathan and I pulled up in my driveway in his black Escalade.

Our first date had been perfect: dinner at the upscale Italian restaurant that had just opened uptown, followed by The Nutcracker, my favorite Christmas ballet. We had then strolled the main street uptown, hand in hand, viewing the outdoor light displays before heading home.

Jonathan came around to the passenger side and opened the door. I stepped out of the warmth of the SUV, into the freezing night, but when he took my hand, the coldness didn't seem to matter anymore.

"I really enjoyed myself," Jonathan said as we approached my front doorstep.

"I did too," I replied. "Thank you for a great evening."

He gave me a nice, firm bear hug and for a moment, I didn't want to let go. I pointed directly overhead to the mistletoe I had hanging over the porch lamp, and smiled. Without saying another word, he took the hint, pulled me closer and kissed me on the lips. I melted into the kiss and we stayed like that for quite some time.

Jonathan stepped back, and murmured, "No, thank you sweetheart. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Nite-nite," I said, in a suddenly high voice almost like I was a teenager again. I strolled inside my home and kicked off my boots. It had been a wonderful night.

And I also learned earlier that evening, that living well is truly the best revenge.

It started two weeks earlier, at Thanksgiving. I was trying to enjoy my dinner.....really I was. I had helped Mom season the turkey, and I knew it was flavorful and juicy, as it had always been. I knew the sweet potato and pumpkin pies had just the right amount of spice and sugar, because we wouldn't have had it any other way. I knew dinner had to be good, but I couldn't enjoy it. I felt too uneasy, the butterflies would not stop.

There was only the sound of forks hitting plates, eating and drinking. None of the adults were talking...not my parents, my brothers or their wives, or me. My little nieces and nephews were chattering, but I didn't hear any of them. I was paying too much attention to the vacant space next to me at the dinner table. My boyfriend, Derek, was supposed to be joining my family for Thanksgiving dinner, but I had not heard from him and my calls to him had gone straight to voice mail. I was worried something had happened to him.....he had been in a couple of bad car accidents since we had been together and I hoped he hadn't been reckless and got into another one.

My 10-year-old nephew, looked at the empty chair, then at me, and asked, "Where's your man at?" My other nieces and nephews started giggling.

And then, almost as if on cue, I heard and felt my phone vibrate. I looked down at my phone and it was a text from Derek. I felt my dad's disapproving eyes on me as I stopped everything I was doing to read a text message at the holiday dinner table, but as far as I was concerned, this was an emergency.

On my screen were these words:

"Can't do this anymore. Something's come up....I'll call you later so I can come get my things. Sorry."

I just stared at the words, kept reading them, but not believing what I was seeing. I'm getting dumped in a text message....at Thanksgiving? With everyone at the table now staring at me wondering what's going on?

I felt very single all of a sudden, with my parents, my brothers and sisters-in-law all at the table. All of the adults were with their mates, and all I had was an empty chair next to me. My face felt hot, and I felt everyone's eyes on me as I avoided looking up.

"Taryn, are you OK?" my mom asked.

I took a swallow of sweet tea, and in a low voice, answered, "Yes. I’m fine.” Everyone knew it was a lie.

The rest of Thanksgiving weekend was a blur to me. I totally missed the sales on Black Friday, because I just wanted to stay inside and be left alone. I kept listening for Derek’s ringtone to let me know he was calling, but I didn't hear it. I heard my other friends' ringtones repeatedly, and would get angry that everybody was calling but Derek.

I was sad that he had left me, angry about the way he did it. I thought about the text message. "Something's come up." Oh really? So he hadn't gotten hurt or anything. He wasn't dead. That would've been bad, but I wouldn't have been mad at him. He knew when he sent the message that I was with my family waiting on him. Did he wonder how I would react or how I would play it off with everybody around me? Or did he even care?

Now you know he didn't care, the voice inside my head responded to the last question. He cared enough to dump me with a text message at Thanksgiving. Certainly not worth shedding any tears. But telling myself that didn't stop the tears from falling.

It was 11 pm on Saturday. Instead of making love by candlelight, I was lying in my bed alone, in complete darkness. I reached for my phone and called Derek. My call was sent straight to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message.

I sat up in my bed, wiped my eyes, and got up from my bed. I yanked open my liquor cabinet, pulled out my biggest shotglass. Downed five shots of Hennessy, back to back. Then grabbed a trash bag and started throwing everything in it that belonged to Derek: clothes, baseball cap, the toothbrush he kept here when he stayed over. I did everything in such a tipsy frenzy, that I had to stop because I was dizzy and about to collapse. I left the trash bag in the middle of the floor and crashed across my king-size bed. This was a job for another day.

I went through the motions of acting normal once I returned to work after the holiday weekend. When my co-workers tried to make small talk and ask me how my Thanksgiving went, I just replied, "Fine," and didn't elaborate. I finally returned my friends' phone calls, letting them know I was still alive and OK, but I didn't want to talk about Derek.

I was not in a mood to socialize, to go out with the girls for drinks, to go to any holiday gatherings. I knew life didn't stop for anybody and I had to move on. But at the same time, the idea of ordering takeout and staying in with some good movies and wine for the next weekend sounded more and more appealing as the weekend drew closer.

After work on Friday, I stopped at the Chinese restaurant and ordered my favorite meal for carryout. While waiting on my spicy noodle dish and spring rolls, I heard this loud crash outside. I turned and this black Escalade had slammed into my parked Corolla.

I flung the restaurant door open and ran outside. Before I could stop myself, I was screaming, "You hit my car! It's red, how did you miss it, you piece of----" I managed to stop before I started cussing.

A tall, caramel-skinned man got out of the Escalade, glanced at me but didn't say a word as we both walked over to inspect the damage. We had both parallel parked in front of the Chinese restaurant, his SUV in front of my compact car. He had backed into my car when he was trying to move out of his parking space. The Escalade didn't have a scratch on it. My Corolla's front bumper and grille were dented. Not too bad, but enough that I knew Mr. Escalade was going to have to pay for it.

I stood there, hands on hips, waiting on Mr. Escalade to say something. While still leaning over my car, he finally spoke in a deep baritone. "Sorry, ma'am," he stammered. "I was in a hurry, and.....well, I'll take care of it."

Mr. Escalade seemed so genuinely sorry for hitting my car, I almost felt sorry for wanting to cuss him out. Almost. Still, I felt myself relax a little as I thought to myself, well, it's still drivable at least. I can still get home.

Mr. Escalade stood back up to his full height. He was very tall....well over six feet, and built like a linebacker. I like tall men. But I didn't want to think about that at the moment. I was cold and eager to get my dinner and go home.

The man sensed my eagerness to call it a night. He said, "Listen, I'm freezing, can we go inside so I can give you my information?"

I snickered uneasily as he read my thoughts. We went back inside the Chinese restaurant. I got my order and we sat down at a nearby table with pens, paper and our insurance cards. The warmth of the restaurant seemed to relax me a little more, as I turned my attention to the stranger sitting directly across from me, and the card with all of his information.

Mr. Escalade's name was Jonathan. I looked up at him and noticed for the first time that he was actually handsome. Clean cut, with warm, inviting brown eyes and dimples. I watched him copy the information from my card, and noticed there were no rings on his fingers, nor ring marks. I didn't realize I was staring until he suddenly looked up at me, and almost immediately, I looked down and pretended I hadn't been looking, almost as if he had caught me.

Yes, I was a little embarrassed. And I pretended not to notice him smiling at me when he realized he had caught me. I concentrated on writing down his information, and told myself all I needed was to get my car fixed, and I didn't need anything else from this man. Or any man. It was too soon.

We finished writing down each other's information, and Jonathan said he would call his insurance company and report the claim. I got my takeout order and together we walked outside. We said goodbye, and I was pretty sure I would never see or hear from him again. Which was fine with me. Even if he was fine as hell.

A few days later, I was driving home from work. My phone rang, and it was a number I didn't recognize. I almost let it go to voice mail, but something told me to answer.

"Taryn?" the male voice on the other end said. "This is Jonathan."

"Oh, hey," I said, pleasantly surprised. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I just wanted to say hello," he said, then added, "And make sure your car was coming along OK, since I hit it and all."

"Yeah, it's in the shop and I'm in a rental," I said. "I think I Iike the rental more than my actual car."

"Well, I'm glad you're happy," he replied. "Last time I talked to you I thought you were going to bite my head off."

"I'm sorry about that," I said. "It...well, I'll just say I'm not usually rude like that. I do apologize."

"I accept your apology," he answered hesitantly. "But there's only one other thing."

"What would that be?" I curiously asked.

"Well, I know this is kind of forward, but....would you like to meet me for a drink?"

"You mean now?" I asked, glancing down at my plain black slacks and boring sweater. I was not date-ready.

"Yes, I'm over here at Marvin's having a drink, just chillin' you know," he replied. "That is, if you're not too busy or you gotta go see your man."

I said nothing for a few seconds. I looked at my plain clothes, and thought to myself, I have let myself go, I need my hair and nails done. And isn't accepting last-minute dates from guys I don't know, a desperate move? Certainly this guy can't be serious.

I took a deep breath, then smiled. "I am headed that way now. I will see you in 10 minutes." I ended the call, and headed toward the sports bar. Hey, you only live once, and I was pretty sure Derek wasn't turning down date offers from anybody. The thought of him made me want an even stronger drink. I sped up just so I could get to my destination.

The next couple of hours were the most fun I had experienced in weeks. We talked, laughed, enjoyed each other's company. We learned a lot about each other, including the fact that we were both newly single again. And at the end of the two hours, we also knew that we wanted to see each other again, and so we made a date for the next weekend.

On the Saturday of the date, I went to the mall, and said to myself, This is me time. Christmas shopping I can do tomorrow. Today, I get back to sexy. And I went straight to the salon and got a completely new haircut, a French manicure and pedicure. And bought a new outfit to go with the boots I had been wanting to wear. I was feeling good. The holiday season was turning out better than expected.

Just as I had finished getting dressed for the date, my phone buzzed with a text. From Derek.

"Hey baby. I miss u. Can we talk?"

I was stunned. Stopped dead in my tracks. I hated I didn’t delete and block his number from my phone. But I figured, hey, here’s my chance for closure.

"Sure," I wrote back. "Be here in 10 minutes."

When my doorbell rang, I opened my door and stood there in silence for a couple of seconds. Derek stared at me like he'd never seen me before. I guess he hadn't because I was rocking a whole new look. I was perfect, from my short, spunky red highlights to my five-inch black leather, stiletto boots. His eyes rested on my cleavage, on prominent display with the plunging neckline on my red pantsuit.

In my hand, was the trash bag with all of Derek's belongings inside. Without saying a word or giving him a chance to say a word, I threw the bag at him.

"Whoa baby, what's going on? I thought we were going to talk about this," he complained.

I glared at him for a few seconds, then said what I had been dying to say to him. "Can't do this," I replied sarcastically. "Something's come up. Sorry. Merry Christmas, asshole." I slammed the door and locked it, feeling very glad he never moved in or had a key to my place.

I turned up the Christmas music louder on my stereo, and sang along as I poured myself a glass of Merlot. "Joy to the world, your ass is gone," I sang at the top of my voice. I giggled. Life does go on.

And when Jonathan rang my doorbell half an hour later, I knew he was going to be a part of my life, if only for a little while.