How My Neighbor Stole Christmas

by Meghan Quinn

I love her, but she sure knows how to take the J-O-Y out of jolly.

“Okay, if I’m going to sit back and watch this story unfold, the least I can do is set you straight. It’s just Cole . . . no Connor involved.” Narrator: Yes, but Connor rhymed with honor, it worked better. “You’re giving readers the wrong impression.” Narrator: Would you have preferred if I found a way to rhyme Cole with A-hole? “Never mind.” Narrator: That’s what I thought. You focus on your part, and I’ll handle the narrating. Now, back to the story.

Max takes a step back, shielding his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?” “Showing you my jolliness.” “Well, fuck, stop. It’s terrifying.”

There comes a time when you realize that there aren’t many years left on your life card, and you start thinking back to everything you accomplished. And you start wondering . . . did I do it right?

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m new at this.” “New at what?” “Uh, well, to name a few . . . talking to people I don’t know, smiling, acting like I’m pleased to see another human walk by me, and offering a Christmas-y hello. All out of my wheelhouse, man.”

“I will have you know—I’ve never copulated on the first date.” “Yeah, because you use words like copulated,” he shoots back.

I wasn’t fumbling around, thinking about the kiss we shared, or how pretty she looks today, or the fact that the feelings I’ve tried to repress for a long time are miraculously starting to show up out of the goddamn blue.

There he is. There’s the nice boy I once knew. No malice. No snark. Just personable and good-natured.

“If you allow fear to take over your actions, then you’re never going to accomplish anything.”