Page 3 of A Cozy Kind of Christmas
TWO
JILL
“So you’re in for Bend, yeah? Are you really sure?
” Jill asked Owen, squeezing around the ever-growing stack of art supplies in their “home on wheels,” aka camper van.
The shiny airstream was decked out for the holidays with vintage Christmas lights and a tabletop tree adorned with ornaments Owen had hand-carved over the years.
She and Owen were minimalists—except for when it came to Christmas. They both lived for the holiday season.
One might call it obsessed.
But hey, there were worse things in life to hyper-fixate on, as far as Jill was concerned.
There was something uniquely magical about November and December—the pop-up Christmas tree farms displaying Fraser firs, Scotch pines, and blue spruce trees immaculately trimmed and pruned to fit in cheery front windows, shops featuring tins of Christmas candy and shiny packages of chocolate biscuits, and the general hum of happiness in the air.
Even though they didn’t have room to spare in the van, they made an exception for Christmas.
The holiday season in Europe was even longer and, if possible, more festive than her memories from Portland—the big tree in Pioneer Courthouse Square, the winter beer fest, the Santa pub crawl, and holiday lights dripping with rain.
Italian Christmases involved caroling, bagpipes, holiday markets, food, food, and more food, with the festivities spilling into January with Epiphany.
Every year since they’d been together, on the day after Halloween, Owen dragged out giant tubs from storage, and they spent the day drinking Christmas wine and decking their roving halls.
His childhood holidays hadn’t always been very merry, so he made up for those harder years by leaning into the festive spirit and going slightly overboard with décor.
Red-and-green knitted stockings hung from the front windshield intertwined with strands of popcorn and cranberries.
Photos of them at holiday gatherings were framed like packages and taped to the walls and fridge.
Bright tea towels and Italian Christmas dishes lined the open cupboard in the small galley kitchen.
“I’m about to book the tickets, but I want to double-check that you’re still game,” she said, tapping her laptop screen.
“Why wouldn’t I be game?” Owen did that thing where he scrunched his face like he wasn’t tracking the conversation. Jill used to find it cute and endearing, but lately, it was starting to annoy her. She wanted to shake him and scream, Make a decision already. Any decision.
“Well, my parents want to see me after Matt’s birthday, and you didn’t exactly sound thrilled about the idea of spending another week or two with them.
” Jill reached for the invitation, which was printed on expensive cardstock with calligraphy and gold embossed lettering.
It was a strange mix—like a wedding invitation meets a corporate event.
Matt was a technical writer for a green-energy company in Bend, Oregon—Blazen.
Jill found it slightly odd that the company logo and motto were included on the invite: Blazen into the future for Matt Parker’s 30th.
Owen dragged his hands through his shaggy ginger hair, shooting her the sheepish, lopsided grin she’d fallen for those many years ago. “Yeah, darling, count me in.”
“You’re sure?” Jill hesitated, her finger hovering over the keyboard as she double-checked the dates on the invite. “I know that they’re—well, a lot.”
“It’s fine. I’ll turn on the Irish charm.
How can they resist the accent or this face?
” He grabbed an empty frame from Jill’s traveling art studio and posed like he was sitting for Michelangelo.
His freckles and affable grin made him look younger than thirty-three.
Owen had classic Irish features—skin that burned to a crisp if he spent any amount of time in the direct sun, burly shoulders, and cheeky personality.
Jill was more refined with long, silky hair, olive skin tones, and narrow bone structure.
“Owen, I’m being serious. Remember the last time we met up with them in Austria?
It wasn’t great.” That was an understatement.
It had been a complete disaster, with Owen cracking jokes while her parents lectured her about her life choices.
They envisioned their only daughter would outgrow her art phase and seek out a respectable profession like being a lawyer.
When it became evident that Jill had no intention of following their prescribed path for her, tensions had mounted.
They’d threatened to cut her off, especially when they learned that a healthy chunk of the funds they earmarked for law school had gone to buy the camper van.
As for Owen, they found him amusing and witty, but far from husband material.
In their minds, Jill was destined for bigger things, better things.
Their only daughter wasn’t supposed to be on a permanent road trip with an artist. She should be on track to marry a doctor or lawyer and live in a fancy house in the West Hills.
Ever since that trip, Jill opted to see them on her own, traveling to Portland for a visit or meeting up with them in Mexico or the Cayman Islands. It was better to leave Owen behind and pretend like she wasn’t serious about him. It was easier that way for all of them.
He’d made it clear since they met that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, so why cause any of them undue stress?
Maybe “stable” was a better word choice.
They’d been serious about each other for over seven years, but Jill was naturally more serious and reserved.
Owen had brought out her playful side and her sense of adventure.
They’d balanced well, like perfect colors in a palette, but things were changing now, in ways she wasn’t quite ready to face.
If she told him the truth… She trailed off, not wanting to deal with that right now.
“Okay. I guess it’s just a week, and there will be so many holiday events going on anyway.
” She dragged her teeth along her bottom lip, hovering her finger over the Buy button like it might detonate at any moment.
“As long as you’re really sure.” She grabbed a handful of candy from the custom dispensers Owen had built and mounted to the camper van—one of his many “important upgrades” like the cappuccino maker and Guinness tap.
The dispensers were the type that used to be at restaurants and toy shops.
For the holidays, Owen had filled them with peppermints, chocolate balls, foil-wrapped Santas, and jelly beans.
“I’m sure. Yeah.” Owen set the frame down and reached for her hand, massaging it gently and tenderly.
He brushed his thumb across her knuckles in slow, soft circles.
It was the kind of touch that made her believe he meant it, even if he was part of the reason she’d been stress-eating chocolate since ten in the morning.
Moments like this gave her a tiny flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—there was a future for them.
“Be sure to pack the Christmas letters I sent you. Meg thinks there’s a story there,” Owen said, still fondling her hand. “She might be right. You should bring them and see if she can work her literary magic. Another New York Times Christmas piece or maybe a novel. That would be something, yeah?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Jill wasn’t concerned about Christmas letters at a time like this. She needed him to be serious. “But my parents? Are you sure?”
“Best behavior.” He grinned like a puppy who had been told he was about to go to the park. “I promise. I’ll swear a blood oath if necessary.”
Jill laughed and shook her head. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s them.” What she didn’t say out loud was that there was much more her parents wanted to discuss.
Big things. Life-altering things.
Things she had yet to mention to Owen.
Like moving to the San Francisco.
Like the loft they’d purchased for her.
Like saying yes to the offer they’d helped facilitate for her to teach at the prestigious San Francisco School of Art.
But how could she tell him?
They had carved out a different life—one that she used to think she would want forever.
She already knew Owen’s answer. He wasn’t looking for a conventional relationship.
He lived for the open road and border crossings, new countries, adventures, and inspiration for his art.
He was the kind of guy who thought a permanent mailing address was merely a suggestion, not a requirement.
His idea of adulting was making green smoothies for breakfast before hitting the beach.
He was perfectly content chasing sunsets in the camper van, and until the last few weeks, Jill had been right there with him, too.
Lately, though, something had shifted. A tug she couldn’t ignore toward putting down roots and stability, a place of permanence.
Jill’s hand drifted to her stomach.
It wasn’t just turning thirty or feeling slightly homesick.
She was carrying something bigger than herself now. Bigger than both of them.
Whether she was ready or not, this trip back home to Oregon felt like a turning point, a crossroads. This holiday would either make or break their relationship.