Her Name Was December

Day 17

Emily and Greyson's shoulders collided on January 4th as one of their shifts ended and the other's begun. Greyson muttered a quick "Sorry," as he stood in the doorway, but didn't bother stopping on his way in. For a second time, his day of work began with hot coffee in each hand, heat gradually eating away at the skin of his palms. Though the pain it brought was not nearly as overpowering as the nervous excitement that welled up inside of him.

A soft grin was spread across his lips as he swept over to December's table, not bothering to stop behind the counter to drop off his jacket and his backpack. As his nose adjusted to the musty air of the bookstore, he held a hazelnut macchiato out to her without hesitation. She finished scribbling across a sticky note and stuck it inside her book as she looked up. Greyson's smile stretched beneath his big nose, pink from the cold.

"Oh," December said, "I've already got one."

On the corner of the table sat another cup that was identical to the one in Greyson's hand. The sky was full of dark clouds that afternoon, and the only illumination in the shop was the faded light of old lamps scattered around on side tables.

"Here," Greyson held his hand out further, "Take it."

"But I have one right here." she told him a bit firmer.

"Can't you have both?"

December looked back down at the text of today's book and lowered her voice. A lock of golden hair flowed into her face like a wave, and she held it back with fingers wrapped inside the sleeve of her sweater. "I'll be up all night."

Greyson chuckled softly and blushed at her dainty beauty. "Don't give me that. I've seen you down three of these within a few hours!"

There was a pause. "I shouldn't." she said, slowly turning the page.

"Why not?" Greyson asked, slipping into the seat across from her. He set the unclaimed coffee between them on the dark, wooden table.

December froze for a moment when he sat down. Her jaw clenched gently, and through the soft wall of her hair, Greyson convinced himself that he saw a soft flush of pink dance across her cheeks. Eventually, she spoke.

"This can't be a regular thing, Greyson."

Greyson slumped in his chair with a faint sigh, but then felt a bit inferior compared to December's beautifully straight posture. He straightened up quickly, taking the silence to consider the coincidence that December only ever said his name when she tried to push him away.

"Alright," he told her, "Then it won't be."

December looked up at him, and for a split second her misty, gray eyes twisted in hurt. Then, hesitantly, she raised an eyebrow and whispered, "Fine."

Greyson smiled again softly and relaxed in his seat, watching as December pulled the full cup toward her. Again, there was silence. This time it dragged on, and was only broken by the ringing of bells as a customer strolled through the doorway. Greyson left his obligations to the wind, and decided that he'd sit until the shopper was ready to check out. People usually liked to look around for a while, anyway.

December must have noticed his neglect to his work, because she sent a confused glance his way through the curtains of her hair. Their eyes met for a moment before her pen moved again and she looked away.

"So," Greyson said in an attempt to start conversation. He was unsuccessful, however, and silence invaded the space between them once again, along with the social anxiety inside Greyson. His face flushed in embarrassment.

"I've got a question." Greyson said after a while. He perked up at the potential of learning more about this mysterious girl named December.

December half-sighed. "This again?"

"Yeah, why not?" Greyson replied, crossing his arms on top of the table. He waited for her reply, but it never came.

"So, is there a story behind your name?"

"Why? Just because my name is December, there has to be a story?"

"No! It's just unique." he started. His face felt hotter and hotter by the second. "I like it. It's... it's really... pretty..."

December snickered under her breath and used the tips of her fingers to push her hair behind her ear. "That's sweet, but God... You're so awkward."

Greyson looked down at his hands and rubbed his thumbs together nervously, with a face as red as embers. Decembers small, soft giggles reached him from the other end of the table.

"Don't worry," she told him with a grin, "It's endearing."

She giggled once more and turned toward him. Apart from the open book resting in her lap, and the black pen she nibbled, this was the closest Greyson's ever come to having her full attention.

"So, my name," she started, "My parents weren't the most creative people, and I happened to be born on the same day as Christmas. They decided it'd be appropriate to call me December." She scoffed. "Those bastards."

"Really? The same day as Christmas?"

"Yeah, if you believe in that sorta thing."

"It must suck not having your own day to, you know... celebrate."

December shrugged. Her eyes followed the back end of her pen as she trailed it around the table. Greyson watched her soft, rose colored lips move as she spoke. "It doesn't really matter to me. I never got any big birthday blowout like others did, but I liked it that way." Greyson watched December nibble the inside of her bottom lip in thought. "I don't have anyone to celebrate with anymore, so it doesn't matter," and she shrugged again.

Greyson nodded and looked down in silence, wondering about the story of this girl whose gray eyes have seen it all. Quiet loomed over them, but for once it wasn't awkward. Perhaps it was a silence of thought, or of reminiscence; but not discomfort.

They sat in each other's space for a long while, though in their own worlds, before December pointed out the customer loitering around the checkout counter.

"Greyson." December said simply.

He snapped back into reality and nodded gently, stepping out of his seat. On his way to the counter he turned back to her and spoke in a soft whisper, "I still think your name is really pretty, December Hadden."

Greyson snuck a glance at her from behind the counter, just long enough to see the faded red of her cheeks through a cascade of blonde.