Sister’s Man For Christmas – #1

She’d written a letter to Father Christmas, put it in an envelope, addressed it, and stuck it at the bottom of her Christmas tree.

Miles up in the sky, and thirty minutes into the flight bearing her from Lagos to Asaba, Chieze Kingston sipped from the cartoon of juice she’d decided she wanted a minute ago, and imagined Father Christmas had read her letter by now. And as he was diligent in carrying out his Christmas duties, he would have started work on her wish.

Patience was all that she needed now. Which, since she’d never mastered the art of staying put and waiting for solutions to come her way, was the trying part. Her step-mum, when exasperated with her, said it was because Chieze wanted to have everything at the instant the desire struck.

It didn’t have to be the exact instant she asked for it, Chieze mused, but not too far along would be nice, and welcome. Perhaps Father Christmas could work hand-in-hand with Cupid, or it could be the Easter Bunny, to grant her wish. That was time enough.

It was one wish, when all’s said and done. Had she been tempted by greed, it couldn’t have been more, seeing as she’d had a really good year. Taking what was a satisfying sip, Chieze sent a considering glance to the pecan leather handbag on the arm of her seat. She had her monthly fashion magazine inside and could flick through the pages for the remainder of the flight.

Yikes no, the idea did not appeal at all. She would rather leave her mind to wander and keep itself busy for the next thirty-something to forty minutes.

Matter settled, she chose a snack from the selection the hostess served, decompressing as the lyrics of her favourite Christmas song floated into her mind, it’s the most wonderful time of the year. Those words had been true most of her life and all the more within the last two years.

It wasn’t the holidays alone that proved to be wonderful, she’d had good things going for her all year round. She was fast becoming a sought-after actor and had starred in four megahit films in the last eighteen months, Chieze thought, enumerating her good fortune, and sending out thanks to all the good spirits as she did. Three of the films had been nominated for different categories in the Africa Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards.

In double blessings mode, she’d won the AMVCA award for best actress and the award for best supporting actress the same night. As a bonus, a stunning one if she said so herself, she was nominated for Best Actress in a leading role category in the AMA Awards.

The icing on the cake was the multi million naira sponsorship deal she signed last month, with a leading telecoms company, no less.

A grandiose year, and it called for a celebration and champagne in tall glasses. Yet… And that yet which presently cast a loom of dissatisfaction over her was why she’d composed her less than two-hundred-word letter to Father Christmas.

The first and only other time she wrote a letter to Father Christmas was when she was eight. Their mother had encouraged her and her sister to write him a note, telling him of their Christmas wishes.

She had to help Kosi write hers, since at five she was yet to know all her spellings. Chieze didn’t know them all herself, but being a few years ahead in school, she had a lengthier vocabulary.

Their wishes circled around dolls and candies and pretty Christmas dresses. It was nothing like that in her second letter, and apart from being older, there was a more important reason. While she soared career-wise, her personal life was in the dumps.

Wallowing in the dumps didn’t stop that part of her life from making waves, though. The perpetually proactive media had sensationalised the tales of her record-time breakups in a single year. All four of them.

Now if they’d caught a sniff of her dinner date with Robert at an exclusive restaurant, they would have upped the number to five. Which would have been giving the oil company worker she’d gone out with that one time too much credit.

Too much attention, to Chieze’s thinking, as it’d turned out that was what the man wanted. He hadn’t been genuinely interested in her, and in the end, it was the same for her. She hadn’t been interested in any of the others either, and it got harder to stay longer than a couple of months in a relationship, if only not to appear capricious.

It was demoralising to do, but she had reached the conclusion that the trouble was her. She simply could not fall in love.

Hey, that was aiming too high, Chieze chided herself. She should start with the basics and confess that she’d never even experienced a powerful physical attraction. Certainly not the kind that made anyone throw caution to the wind and live in a lust-haze for a distressing period of time.

Thirty-three years of age, and she could not boast of a time she went wild over a man. Ladies she knew bemoaned the awful fate of being dickmatized and losing their head, along with their dignity, over a man. Chieze wouldn’t mind if she briefly lost her head and dignity in a fatal attraction affair.

Once. Let that be her fate just one time.

But no. Always, she had to be sensible over men. Much too sensible. And no one wished to be tediously sensible when it came to love, or lust, or just sex. People wanted passion, heat, kissing in the rain, erotic text messages, and whispers which echoed promises of love.

Chieze wanted that.

There was such yearning for her heart to quicken with love for a man. A longing so deep-seated to fall in love, suddenly and senselessly.To stay in love with the same man every day for the rest of her life.

I want that, Chieze whispered in her heart, and because the longing was so fierce, her eyes stung.

As she didn’t care to turn into a crying hag aboard a plane, or anywhere else public, Chieze brutally snuffed out the melancholic woes. Apparently she needed more than the thoughts in her head for company, and so adjusted in her comfortable business-class seat to badger the man to her left.

“Tris,” she called in a loud whisper, and tugged the earphones over his ears.

He growled and slapped away her hand. It was the exact reaction she anticipated, and Chieze sniggered. When Tristan Aigbe shut his eyes, even if only to catch a few winks as he’d told her earlier, he didn’t want to open them until he was good and ready.

Telling herself to be gracious and to give him two minutes or three more, Chieze sat back and studied him.

Second to Kosi, Tristan was her best friend in the world. She’d met him at her first movie set nine years ago. Like her, he had a supporting role in the rom-com that had taken them three weeks to shoot. Before those few weeks were over, they were fast friends and she’d learned he was the scriptwriter and aimed at becoming a movie producer.

He was that now, a screen writer and producer. And a darling for consenting to join her on a two-week Christmas holiday at her hometown. It helped that her hometown was the capital city of Delta State. Tristan cared little for the small town vibe.

“Tris,” she called again, done with being generous. “Tristan. I’ve something to tell you.”

“No.”

Laughter caught in her throat at the grunt, and she tugged off the earphone. “Yes. Open your eyes and look at me.”

He opened them, angled his head, and glared at her. “You’re a pest, you know that?”

“A tiny, non harmful pest, which is why you love me.” She deposited the chips she’d half eaten into his lap and dug out a bottle of water for him. “Guess what I did two days ago.”

Tristan chugged down water, wiped his mouth, and dipped into the chips. “You can’t interrupt my nap and expect me to play your guessing game.”

“Spoil sport. Still, I’ll tell you.” Chieze pushed into his seat. “I wrote a letter to Father Christmas.”

“Uh-huh,” he scoffed around a mouthful of chips.

“I did, I’m telling you. The letter’s under the Christmas tree in my living room right now. Unless, maybe after reading it, he took it along.”

“Right.”

“I left him biscuits and a carton of milk in the fridge, so it stays fresh. The milk, I mean. I wasn’t entirely sure if he’d visit immediately, or traditionally on Christmas Eve,” Chieze explained, ignoring the fact he did not look remotely interested. “But our houses here don’t have chimneys. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

Tristan stopped chewing to peer at her with a frown. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

When his thick, quirky brows drew together with a ridge between them, he looked like a darkly handsome warrior. He was a hefty man. The kind who could sweep a woman into his arms without breaking sweat. He’d swept her up in a playful moment one time, she recalled with affection at the memory. Now if he wasn’t her dearest friend, and one she never wanted to lose, she would have made sure the moment wasn’t playful.

“Do you know you’re one huggable bear?” A bear perfectly described him, with his brawn muscles, cuddly large chest and fluffy bearded face.

“I know all about my irresistible good looks. Be real with me. Did you actually write a letter to… Father Christmas?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” Satisfied she at last had his attention, she retreated once more into her seat. “A short letter, and I had only one wish.”

“Let me guess. You asked for eternal youth and beauty.”

“One wish, and you think it’s going to be eternal youth and beauty? I am vain, but not that vain.” Now if she’d written a longer letter, Chieze might have found a spot for that particular wish. “I asked for a man.”

“That was going to be my next guess.” All traces of glowering was gone from his face and now he looked amused. “Not to cast aspersions on Santa’s super powers, but I think your wish has more chances of being granted if it went to God, not the white-bearded old man.”

“Children believe in Christmas miracles, and it’s what I’m going to do.” She would not second-guess her action. It could prove to be counterproductive. “I’m no longer the eight-year-old with an innocent heart and stars in her eyes. But I’ll borrow her faith in the magic of Christmas and Father Christmas.”

“You still believed Father Christmas is real at eight? I should have known you were gullible for far too long.”

Chieze smiled, refusing to take offence. “I’m beginning to feel like the Tin-man, Tris. Almost as if I’ve no heart.” Her hand crept to her heart where she could swear there was a feeling of emptiness. “I want to know what it’s like to fall in love with a man, and to have him love me back.”

“You love me and I love you back.”

“In love, not just love, Tristan. I know you know the difference.”

He’d loved once and lost, and never again loved.

“It may be why I know love’s not all that it’s made out to be.”

“Don’t be cynical. I keep telling you it doesn’t suit you.” Still, knowing the pain remained even when he said differently, Chieze soothed his arm with a rub. “I want a man who will inspire great love and lust in me.”

Tristan reached for a drink from the side bar. “We’re talking lust too, not only love.”

“They go hand in hand, don’t they? I’ve never really felt either one, Tris. It’s worrisome.”

“Could it be you’re looking at the wrong species?” Tristan winged up his brows.

“I checked, and I’m as straight as a ruler without a curve.”

“You checked. What exactly did that entail?”

Chieze scoffed at his roguish grin. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“But you know you can tell me anything and I won’t judge.”

“What I’m telling you is that I want to fall in love and I asked Father Christmas to make it happen. And I believe he’s going to do it.”

“We’ll get back to you checking out your sexuality later,” Tristan said. “For now, it’s my duty as a friend to assure you that Father Christmas is a fairy-tale idea children under seven believe in. You’re long years over seven, Chi.”

“Christmas miracles happen, Tris. And Father Christmas is real if you believe.”

“I hear conviction in your voice, and that worries me.” Pursing his lips, a telltale sign he was about to be mischievous, Tristan leaned close. “We’re up in the clouds, and that might make it confusing for you, but this here is a plane and not a luxurious coach driven by an herd of reindeers.”

“You sure about that? I swear I can hear hooves galloping.” Chieze gave him a gentle shove. “Tease all you want, Tristan, I’m keeping my faith in Christmas.”

“Can’t argue with faith. But I’ll recommend you give Mr White Beards a long time frame, because he’s going to need it to work this miracle.”

“Christmas wishes don’t take long to come true.”

Tristan rolled out a quiet laugh. “I’m certain I heard that one when I was four.”

Clown, Chieze thought fondly, and told him, “Go back to catching a few winks, I’m done talking to you.”

“Too late now for those winks as we’ll be touching down anytime now. But there’s time to give me the lowdown on that checking.” A wicked glint came into his eye as Tristan dropped his voice. “Did it involve mouth to mouth?”

Chieze laughed. “You’re such a perv.”

The good thing was that the gloom brought on by the lack of romance in her life had faded. And thinking of them landing soon, her hands tingled with the excitement of seeing her sister and grandma, of hugging them.

***

Sister’s Man For Christmas is coming soon.