Here's part of the scene where Jake (currently an angel) shows up at the family Christmas Tree farm currently being run by his ex husband, Tony.
“Who the fuck is this?” I mutter as I stop to watch the showy, big-ass motorcycle cruise up Cedar Lane. The fancy paint job—metallic red and creamy white, Santa Claus colors—is right on point for the season. All that’s missing is a wreath between the handlebars. Which, I guess, might be what he’s here for since no one in their right mind would attempt to carry a Christmas tree home on a bike, not even a super-sized, full-dress tourer like this one.
Then again, considering that Biker Santa is wearing a red and white stocking cap in lieu of a helmet, who’s to say that he is in his right mind?
Safety first, my dude. Safety first.
As he gets a little closer, I can see that he’s a ginger. His hair, the little I can see of it poking out beneath the hat, gleams copper in the sunlight. He’s got the kind of tall, rangy build I tend to fall for, a dark, scruffy beard; and my heart leaps at the sight of him. Which it fucking shouldn’t. Because even though I know it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me (like it tends to do every December) I’ll be damned if this jerk-off doesn’t remind me of my ex.
Except for the beard. And the longish hair. Those are totally out of character. And…wait a minute. Is dickhead smoking a cigar? Yes, he sure as fuck is. Which clinches the matter. I’ve never known anyone more dedicated to the preservation of his own health and well-being than my former husband. So, this must be some sort of Christmas-memory induced madness messing with my senses—more gravy than grave, as Scrooge would have it. Because Death-Wish Dude here can’t possibly be Jake.
Except… Holy Guacamole. As he slows to a stop and his eyes meet mine, I realize that this is, in fact, my very own Ghost of Christmas Past. “Jesus fucking Christ. Jake? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Whoa. Nice language,” Jake scolds. “You sing Christmas carols with that mouth?”
“Do I…what?”
“You know: ’Tis the season, deck the halls, fa-la-la? What else are you gonna do with your mouth this time of year?”
“Well, I can think of a few things, actually,” I’m goaded into replying. And then immediately regret it when I catch sight of the twinkle in Jake’s eyes. It’s a very familiar twinkle and it hits me like a punch in the gut.
“Oh, I’m sure you can.”
“Fuck. You.”
“That an offer?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Also, don’t make me ask you this a third time. Why. Are. You. Here?”
Jake spreads his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Wasn’t my idea. I’m here because you want me to be, apparently.”
“Except I don’t!”
“Beg to differ. As I understand it, I’m the answer to your prayers.”
“Oh, the fucking hell you are.”
“Okay, could we please not mention the burny place? That’s twice now and it’s making my skin crawl. You asked for a Christmas miracle, right? Well, that’s me.”
“But I just told you— No, don’t. Stop!” I hold up a hand. “Do not get off your bike, Jake. I mean it. You’re not staying.”
Of course, he ignores me. Because I guess some things really never do change. Still flashing me that “try-and-make-me” smile, he swings his leg over the bike, sets the kick stand and then, cigar still in hand, he saunters over to where I’m waiting with my arms crossed, still glaring at him in helpless fury.
“Look,” Jake says. “I don’t make the rules, all right? And I can see that you’re no happier about this than I am. My best guess is that someone up in Heaven has a twisted sense of humor, because when you asked for help, they decided it would be a fun idea to send me.”
“I did not ask for help. Why can’t you get that through your head? And if I had asked, it would never have been from you. I know better’n that by now. Been there, done that, burned the T-shirt and salted the ground beneath the bridge.”
“So not how any of that goes,” Jake mutters then adds, “Fine. So, you didn’t ask for help. But you still wished for it, right?”
“Could you stop? I didn’t do that either. I didn’t wish for you, hope for you, pray for you—or any other way you want to phrase it. In fact, I can’t even recall the last time you so much as crossed my mind.” A total lie, but he doesn’t have to know that. “And the only thing I want is for you to leave. Now. Before anyone else catches sight of you.”
“No can do. Well, except for that last part. Apparently, that won’t be a problem.”
“What won’t?”
“No one’s can see me unless I want them to. Personally, I think it’ll be easier for both of us if they could, but it’s not entirely necessary. I’ll just make myself invisible to everyone else. You’ll be the only one who can see me.”
“All right, that’s it,” I say as I reach into my pocket for my phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re talking nonsense.”
“That supposed to be a crime now?”
“No, but I’m sick of it. Also, we’re closed for the day, which means that, technically, you’re trespassing. So, either you get back on that bike and get the fuck out of here, or I’ll have you arrested. Your choice.”
“You’re not thinking this through. Didn’t you just tell me to make myself scarce? How’re the cops aren’t gonna arrest someone they can’t see? They might take you in, however, for observation, but they ain’t gonna bother with me. I’ll be just fine.” Then he paused and said, “Well, not actually fine. But as fine as I can be, given the circumstances.”
“Look, Jake. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way,” I tell him, glancing from him to his bike and back again. “Because it’s not a compliment. But no one could possibly miss seeing you or your flashy-ass bike. If you’re still hanging around when the cops get here, they will arrest you.”
“I wouldn’t bet the farm on it, if I were you. Watch. Y’see this?” He lifts one hand, drawing my attention to the cigar he’s holding.
“Your dog rocket? Sure. I can smell it too; it stinks.”
“Dog rocket,” Jakes scoffs. “Shows how much you know. This just happens to be one of the finest cigars ever made—if I do say so myself.”
“Why? Are you secretly a Cuban tobacco farmer now? What’s it to do with you?”
“Never mind. It’s complicated.”
“Which is your middle name, if I recall correctly.”
Jake rolls his eyes. “Just answer the question, wiseass. Do you see it or not?”
“Of course, I see it!”
“No. Ya don’t.” He twists his hand in a quick, little flourish and the cigar disappears. “Ta-da!”
I cover my surprise with a sneer, but I have to admit he’s impressed me. Even the smell is gone. “Cool trick. So, what’re you, a magician now?”
“It’s not a trick. This isn’t magic.” He stops and wags his head considering. “Well. I guess it might be a kind of magic. See, the thing is…Oh. Fuck.” A change comes over his expression. His eyes grow wide, his voice trails off, his lips roll in. If I didn’t know it to be impossible, I might even think he was actually concerned about me when he suggests, “Wow. You know what? I uh…I think maybe you should be sitting down for this next part.”
I fold my arms and meet his gaze with an implacable stare. “No.”
“Really. This…it’s kind of a thing. It’s pretty big. It might be a lot to take in.”
“You’re forgetting how well I know you. There’s nothing you could possibly say that would surprise me to that extent, so no.”
“Stubborn.” He sighs. “Huh. I don’t remember that about you.”
“I’ll bet you don’t.” Mostly because I’d always let him walk all over me, before.
“Okay look, I really didn’t want to blurt it out like this, but…well, I guess there’s just no easy way to say it. The thing is, honey, I’m dead.”
Christmas Angel
An Angels in the Afterlife Story
Being fully transparent is good for a relationship, right? Well, maybe not when it’s literal.
Christmas Angel is a second-chance, holiday romance with a celestial twist. Probationary angel Jake Hennessy's been sent back to earth to mend fences with his ex. Or has he? Certainly Tony doesn’t seem to think that's the case.
Tony DiCecco might have ninety-nine problems—and then some—between dealing with his meddlesome family AND running the family business (a Christmas tree farm in rural Texas) but he's pretty sure that playing catch-up with his ex-husband isn’t supposed to be one of them.
And what would even be the point? It’s hard to imagine what kind of future the two of them could have when one of them is alive and the other...isn't.
