Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty (Festive Flames)
Holly, Jolly, and Oh So Naughty: Chapter 20

Two glasses of liquid courage may not be enough to fuel me through what I’m about to do, but it’s all I trust myself with.

Pacing my room, I stare down at my phone. Ever since my mother’s daunting “I’m coming to drag you back” text, she’s been ignoring my calls.

Because of course she has.

She only answers when it benefits her, and now that she has me where she wants me, she can get cozy and ignore all my attempts to contact her.

I shouldn’t be having this kind of struggle with my mother at this age, but my compassion for her grief is very slowly fading.

It takes a few routes around my room to replace the path that creaks the least floorboards—I don’t want to be called a bad guest, after all—then I drain my second glass of Scotch and hit Send on my text, telling my mother I’m coming home.

She calls me within twenty seconds and is sickeningly cheery.

“So!” Mom declares when I answer. “It’s about time you came to your senses.”

“I’m not coming home,” I reply sharply. “You’re not the only one who can manipulate someone with a fucking text.”

“You watch your language,” she snaps. “You can’t be serious. Oh, James, I was so hoping that you were finally over this terrible tryst of yours and were coming home.”

“I’m not coming home, Mother, and it’s about time you accepted it.”

“Then I am coming there.”

“No,” I snap, tightening my grip on my phone. “You’re not, and I’m going to tell you why. I am done, Mother. You hear me? I am done.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I am done with you and your meddling ways. All my life, Mom, all my life, everything has had to go through you, and for a long time, I thought that was the way it was supposed to be because everyone told me it was that way. I had to get permission from you and Dad about what classes to take, who to be friends with, what parties to attend, and who I could date!”

I take a breath and move to the drinks fridge, pouring myself another as I talk.

“I wanted to be a vet, but no, I had to go into medicine like Dad because that’s just the way it’s supposed to be. So I did that. I studied because you told me to, took extra classes and worked my ass off for extra credit just to… what, get a full run to university anyway because Dad knew the dean? Then, I had to spend years proving that I belonged there and that I was skilled and knowledgeable. But I did it because it made you both happy.”

“James—”

“No! I’m not finished. You have to let me speak. For once, Mom, just listen. You control everything. You were in charge of my clothes, my meals, my education, my entire life, and that was the way it was supposed to be. And any time I tried to be my own person, you would guilt trip me into slotting right back into the place where you wanted me to be.”

“James, I only ever wanted what was best for you.”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to shout at her. “No, you did what was best for you. What made you look good. Having a doctor as a son, following his famous father? How wonderful for you. It didn’t matter that I was unhappy or had other desires in life. All that mattered was people praising you for doing such a good job, and then, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, you picked out the woman I was supposed to marry.”

“Bernice is a good match for you!”

“No, Mother. If you had stopped to look or even spoken to either one of us, you would have seen that we were not a good match. We were just trapped in family obligations. But I’m done with that now, you hear? I am done living a life that only makes you happy.”

“Your father⁠—”

“Don’t,” I snap. “You bring him up trying to guilt trip me, and it usually works, but can’t you look at yourself and see what you are doing? Maybe Dad would hate me. I don’t know, but I like to think he would respect me for making my own choices.”

I resume my pacing with a glass in hand, liquid sloshing against my fingertips.

“I like it here. I like this town. I’ve earned my own reputation from my own good work. I help people here, people who otherwise would never be able to afford the kind of treatment I can provide. I’ve made friends and I found the love of my life! I missed out on her once and I won’t do it again.”

“What?” My mother’s tone changes, but I’m mid-rant, so I barely notice.

“I want to live a life I enjoy, not one that’s been bookmarked until the day I die. I want to take hold of everything that makes me happy and embrace it because life is short, and I don’t want to die unhappy on a train toward a meeting that was planned out years in advance.”

“James!” Mom raises her voice, finally silencing my tirade. “Will you listen to yourself? You are spewing nonsense! Are you drunk?”

I glance down at my glass. “Not drunk, but yeah, I needed a little courage to confront you. What does that say about our relationship, huh?”

“I knew it. You’re drunk, and you don’t know what you’re saying. I should have known.”

“No! Don’t discredit my feelings just because I’ve had a drink. You always do this! You always replace a way to twist things and disregard what I’m saying like it’s not important. And that hurts. I want you to hear me, Mom.”

“I hear you,” she snaps. “I hear that grief has led you down a ridiculous path and you have no idea what you are doing or what you are saying. I hear that your life is in shambles chasing some fairytale that doesn’t exist, and if you have any love for me, any at all, then you will stop this foolishness right now and come home.”

“See?” I laugh softly. “It’s not about whether I love you or not. Because I do. You’re my mom. I just don’t like you. This is my life, Mom. My choice. And if you want to be in it, you need to respect my choice.”

I end the call just as she yells my name, and when she calls back, I quickly block her number.

Silence falls.

My racing heart suddenly pounds against my ribcage, and I sink down onto my bed. My hands tremble, my legs shake, and my gut twists.

I finally said it.

All the things I wanted to say.

I finally did it.

I expect I’ll be written out of the will within a week, but I don’t care.

It’s worth it.

Emotion stings warm behind my eyes as I stare down at my silent phone, listening to the painful thump of my own heart. I don’t expect Mom to take all of this without some kind of repercussion, but whether it’s the adrenaline from the argument or the alcohol—I’m not sure—I feel great.

Free.

Confident.

My next call is Lily. She answers on the sixth ring.

“Yes, yes, you can do my hair after, but I’m not sure a hair salon should be using spaghetti hopes as coloring, y’know?” Lily says distantly, then she’s loud in my ear. “Hello?”

“Lily?”

“James! Is everything alright? You sound breathless.”

“Everything is great, I think. I want to ask you something, Lily.”

“Shoot.”

“Come out with me on a date.”

“Is Margret giving you hassle again?”

“No, Lily, come out on a real date with me, one that isn’t fake and pretend because honestly? I’m falling for you—or maybe I never stopped falling for you—and I’m having an absolute blast. I want to spend time treating you on a real date so please, say yes. Come out with me.”

There’s a moment of silence broken by the distant clatter of toys.

Then Lily speaks and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Alright. Yes. Let’s do it.”