Red Mistletoe

Christmas love? story with a slightly weird ending.

11:50 p.m.

I waited in the cold dampness of the arrivals section in the airport. The plane should have landed approximately an hour and a half ago, yet still no sign of her. Not that it was her fault, really. Today was special, though, and I’ve been planning her return for a long time. I tapped my watch and started to pace against the shiny floor, the harsh white light projected unto the floor, and it reflecting ugly images from the light. 

“Flight 3206-B Flight 3206-B from Puerto Rico has arrived.” 

Hurriedly, I rushed to the terminal exit and peered out for the familiar flash of bright auburn hair. The automatic doors opened and out poured a barrage of rapid-fire Spanish, Latino women with their children and huge baggage pointing and gesturing at the dwindling crowd. 

S**t.

If she isn’t on this flight, then where is she? She told me she was going to London, but then you would never know. I bought her a bushel of Phoradendron leucarpum, also known as mistletoe. It was starting to droop, and mistletoe doesn’t even droop. If only everything went according to plan… 

Closing my eyes, I could see everything that was supposed happen: she catching my subtle glance, the slight dip of her head as she tossed it back, taking the hint I installed as her own… I let out an exasperated sigh and was going to leave for the night. The floor tapped against my feet and the sound echoed throughout the empty airport. I took out my phone and weighed it in my hands. Not the best choice leaving one’s girlfriend in an airport, but seven hours of waiting with Jack Daniel’s whiskey mulling over my tongue, dulling logic.

“Jack?” There was a soft voice behind me. I snapped my phone shut and turned around.

“Dear, I was waiting for you outside.” My little cherub smiled, and I returned the gesture with a devilish grin. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t see you at all: I was at the other terminal.” 

Her hair had little wisps of snow in it, and her eyes were shining in the harsh white light of the exit. She was wearing a new coat, a red one with a soft white frilly sweater underneath: new clothing. She definitely didn’t buy this herself: the sweater was loose and the coat looked like a straight jacket. And I certainly didn’t mail clothes over. I don’t usually pay much attention to clothing, but today is important and she had to look gorgeous, just like the way I thought she would. 

I laughed and ran to her, lifting her off the ground and twirled her in the middle of the empty floor. She kissed me lightly and there was a whiff of alien cologne. 

I cringed and she noticed. 

“Here you go, it’s a beautiful bushel.” I handed her the mistletoe and she sniffed it, pretending the moment never happened. She linked her arm in mine and together we exited the airport. 

11:55 p.m. 

The walk to the car was silent, with her thinking about her trip, and I lost in my thoughts. It was getting a bit too cold �"�"�" today needed to be warm and relaxed.

“How was London, dear?”

“Well, I didn’t go to London in the end. My boss told me to come to Puerto Rico, and I was not in a position to refuse him.” She lifted a curl of hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“I’m sure you weren’t.” I stopped walking. 

She caught a break in my voice and chastised, “Oh Jack don’t be jealous, nothing happened on the trip. Come on, let’s go, it’s almost Christmas already.” She pulled her coat tighter and shivered, walking shakily to the car in the distance. 

So far, so good. I suppose the calculative aspect could be credited to Daniel’s, but I preferred to think that I knew every move she would make, out of sheer sense.

“Do you love me?”

That stopped her. She turned around and rapidly strode in front of me. We were both silent for a while as the snow continued to fall around us. Finally, she nodded.

“No, I don’t believe you anymore.” The whiskey was intoxicating my words and bringing them forth without restraint, “This is the seventh trip to ‘Puerto Rico’ with your supervisor and each time you return with a tinge of cologne and new clothes. So tell me again, do you really love me?” I was panting a bit. We were standing in the middle of nowhere, with the airport in the distance and the car far away. None would hear our conversation �"�"�" No one would hear anything. She nodded slowly, again.

“Prove it, then. Prove it!” I grabbed her shoulders and shook her. I did it more to stabilize myself, but it seemed to wake her up. She trembled lightly.

“What do you want me to do, dear?” It was a very very soft voice. 

I shook and bowed my head, feeling nervous with doubt. Would she get the hint? I glanced at the bushel of mistletoe in her hands. She caught my subtle glance and held the bushel up in the snow.

“Let’s each eat a mistletoe.” She declared, swiftly plucking two berries from a branch.

“I’ve never heard of anyone eating them before.”

“Well, dear, if kissing under them is a sign of love, eating them must mean eternal love. Here, place it in the middle of your palm, and on the count of three let’s both take it. Then we would be bound together forever, two little mistletoes, one heart.” She placed a red berry in my palm. I fought back a smile at how true it was. One beating heart.

I looked at her, flushed cheeks and encouraging smile, and for a second I wavered: maybe this could go on after all, maybe the plan didn’t have to work. She flipped her hair casually and I inhaled a wisp of cologne. It made me nauseous and sick. 

Determined.

“Okay dear. Let’s do this together. On count of three.” I held my hand ready.

“Three.” She lifted her hand and gulped. 

“Two.” Her head slightly dipped as she tossed it back.

“One.” She jerked back her head and bit on the mistletoe, swallowing the berry. I lowered my hand and just stood there watching her. 

“Jack? Jack what-“ She spluttered and coughed, clutching at her throat. I smiled slightly as the phoratoxin slowly spread throughout her body.

Her face bulged out and she gasped for air, scratching and tearing at my clothes. I gently took her hands and folded them together. Her fingertips were pink and I kissed them. I slowly removed the engagement ring and tucked it into my pocket. 

She was gasping and making horrible swallowing noises, like a drowning fish. There was blood on her lips and it gave her a raw and beautiful feel, sharpening the aura of betrayal. She should be thankful �"�"�" She betrayed me, and I gave her a gift. 

“Merry Christmas, dear.”

She fell slowly, gently, like a tarnished red rose petal. The snow fell hastily, covering up the hot blood and a bushel of red mistletoe.

Author's Note

Red mistletoe if ingested can cause great internal damage and in some cases, death. Please let me know if this was under-stated or if I should include this somehow? Thank you! (in advance for reading it :))