Page 1 of His for Hanukkah

Chapter 1.

Christmas in the City

“Merry Christmas!” The cashier’s voice was bright and perky, even though she must have said the same words hundreds of times today.

Adam snatched the shopping bag from her hand, mumbling under his breath. I don’t fucking celebrate Christmas.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cashier draw back. He must have been a little louder than he thought.

Puffing out his breath, he turned to face her. Just because he was pissed off didn’t mean he wanted to be an asshole. “Happy holidays!”

They exchanged fake smiles before she turned to the next customer. Adam tried to press through the crowd of happy “holiday” shoppers. As if there were only one holiday in the world.

I should have fucking used Amazon. But the washing machine had ripped a hole in his favorite hoodie because he’d loaded it too quickly. And he was feeling forgotten and alone.

And if he couldn’t have his favorite hoodie, he could at least have one that was really soft. Not that this new one was soft enough. Maybe if he washed it a hundred times.

Dammit, he missed his old hoodie. It was falling to pieces, and that was kind of what he loved about it. It even had that cool thing where the cuffs had disintegrated so much that he could stick his thumbs through the holes.

He vaguely thought that skateboarders had hoodies like that, though he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how to skateboard, didn’t even know anyone who could skateboard. And he never wore it outside the house. But he always felt cool when he wore it because of those thumb holes.

And now, because of the stupid washer, he couldn’t wear it at all.

Jacob, his ex, had always hated the hoodie. When they first broke up, he’d worn it almost every day. Partially in defiance. Partially because it was comforting, and he’d needed that comfort like he needed air.

Which was the problem all along, apparently. He was too clingy. He needed too much. He took up too much of Jacob’s time.

That should have been bullshit because Jacob had said that he wanted to take care of him. That he wanted to be his Dom and meet all of his needs.

Apparently, that was only when he didn’t have too many needs. Or the wrong kinds of needs. Or when his needs couldn’t be boxed up except for a few hours on the weekend.

And now he didn’t have the hoodie or Jacob. There was probably some kind of metaphor in there. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but it boiled down to him being alone.

Stalking through the double doors of the department store, he ran smack into someone. They both rebounded, and he hit the doorframe hard. His shoulder actually hurt.

“Sorry,” he said automatically. But the other shopper was already past him. So much for holiday cheer.

He needed to get out of here. He could feel himself spiraling. Not just out of here, but out of his whole damn sorry life. Out of being alone. Out of being too shy to find a boyfriend.

Out of having two weeks off at fucking Christmas time when he was fucking Jewish, all because he hadn’t taken any vacation time in almost three years and his boss said he had to.

He should have just told her that he didn’t care about carrying it over, but even that little bit of stern compassion was more than he could push back against.

Now he’d been on “vacation” for about six hours and he was going out of his mind. Shabbat was for shul. Sunday was for laundry and cleaning house. Monday through Friday were for work.

Work, where he was supposed to be right now.

He’d done alright on Saturday and Sunday because he knew what to expect. He’d even enjoyed the time off for about four hours this morning.

Then he’d started to get antsy.

His anxiety always circled around time. Or plans. Something like that.

Basically, when he didn’t know when things were going to start or end, when he didn’t know how he was going to fill gaping, voracious holes of endless time, he started to freak out.

It was no wonder Father Time was such a terrifying figure in literature. He could be Adam’s archnemesis.

So this afternoon had been a disaster, culminating in this frustrating trip to the mall, of all places, a few days before Christmas.