Faking Under the Mistletoe

by Ashley Shepherd

the Secret Santa hat comes around to me and Asher. He snarls at it like the Ebenezer Scrooge he is. “I’m not participating,” he says. “Yes, you are,” I tell him. “Your name is in there. You have to.” “I didn’t put it in there.” “I did.” “That’s forgery. It’s illegal.” “As if I could forge your terrible penmanship,” I say.

“By creating some elaborate scheme about how we’re dating? As if I would ever date someone who I’m fairly certain has escaped a mental facility.”

“When do I get accused of murdering you? Because I won’t even try to deny it. I’ll walk into the courtroom and say you’re welcome.”

“Asher, you didn’t order a car.” “I didn’t?” “You ordered twelve lemon loaves from a Starbucks in Utah.” “We’ll never make it there before they close.”

I’m the human embodiment of someone hitting play on every single Taylor Swift song at once.