Copyright © 2024 by Quinton Li

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contact: www.quintonli.com/contact

  Cover Artist: Micah Carver (@heyguncle on Instagram)

  ISBN paperback: 978-0-9756222-2-3

  ISBN ebook: 978-0-9756222-3-0

  To A.L for all your years of love. I don’t think I’ll ever forget them.

  Contents

  Author's Note

  1. Perrin

  2. Inari

  3. Perrin

  4. Inari

  5. Perrin

  6. Inari

  7. Perrin

  8. Inari

  9. Perrin

  10. Inari

  Thank You For Reading

  Home for the Holidays

  Acknowledgements

  Books by Quinton Li

  Author's Note

  All You Want for the Holidays is a second-chance sapphic romance published as part of Home for the Holidays, a collection of standalone novellas connected by a singular theme: spreading queer joy during the holiday season. For more titles, please see the Home for the Holidays list at the back of the book.

  This book contains references, content and themes related to, in alphabetical order: alcohol (recreational use), confrontation from the past, mental health, panic attacks, and sexual content (chapter nine).

  Chapter 1

  Perrin

  Sunlit Creative Space is the home of beachside artist residencies, like an airbnb that is packed all year-round with artists of all kinds. Writers, painters, designers, sculptors, photographers, actors and more—at least one of each has participated in the highly regarded program.

  Here’s how it works: Apply for a short residency and a break from city life, succeed in a lucky draw out of hundreds, and you get a two-bedroom tuscan villa in a small beach town three hours out from Melbourne's CBD with the other chosen winners, just to do your favourite thing in the world.

  It gets very competitive in summer. The ocean is a goddess of a muse for anyone; the beach is a stretch of pearly sand perfectly-suited for long walks; the moon and stars can actually be seen in that town with the lack of light pollution.

  The only drawback for this particular selection round was that the residency dates landed right on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so you’d be spending your holidays with the other residents you were grouped with. I didn’t see it as much of an issue, and applied just the same as I did for every other round since the program emerged.

  So the fact that I was one of the artists drawn—me, an unimpressive photographer—almost had me exploding out of my skin. Instead, when I received the acceptance email, I clasped my hands together and thanked the wonderful universe for bestowing holiday blessings upon me. This would be the ultimate way to celebrate my first Christmas as an arts graduate.

  Change and sea salt are in the air as my personal driver for the getaway speeds along the curves of road leading to the villa. With the windows rolled down and the radio blasting summer hits, I lean back in my sleek, black leather seat and try to contain my excited buzzing.

  The coastline follows the horizon of my view for a while, the road flanked by trees that are just tall and thin enough to look through. I reach down for my camera bag and pull it out. If there’s any good reason to not let my excitement get the best of me, it’d be to make sure I didn’t drop my most prized possession. I cradle it gently in my hands, my fingers falling onto the familiar shutter and dial. It’s not as special as those larger cameras with switchable lenses, though it’s the first I ever purchased with my own money, right before uni. It turns three years old in a few days.

  The camera chimes, coming to life in my hands. I point the lens out the window and fiddle with the focus switch as I line my shot of the passing environment. The shutter speed needs a slight adjustment, but otherwise I’m happy snapping pictures of the distant beaches and the roads ahead. Then I turn it around to attempt a photo of myself in the car, but I’ve never been great at self-portraits. As expected, the photo looks awkward and poorly-framed, and I don’t hesitate to delete it from the camera’s memory.

  Maybe the people I’m sharing the creative space with would be willing to show me how it’s done. No one would know me there, and we’d probably only see each other while we were residents in the same round. It wouldn’t be too embarrassing to ask them what my best features may be and how to pose more photogenically.

  It’d be even better if they were photographers too, but I knew that the host of these residencies, Thalia Ainsworth, enjoyed variety. She often posted about the residents on social media, with quotes of their experiences. I slide my phone out of my pocket and rest the camera in my lap, one hand still holding it in place, and click over to the @sunlit_creative page.

  The feed is filled with bright and colourful pictures of the villa, the beach, and of course, the residents. The last residency had a fashion designer, a tattoo artist, and an illustrator. All of them wore some sort of pride flag on a piece of jewellery or accessory. It was a common theme across almost every single post and definitely influenced my love for the program.

  A few minutes of scrolling later, I look through my latest photos and delete the ones I don’t like. Sadly most of the photos get binned for being out of focus or having bad composition. If I was going to be here as a photographer, I had to have high standards and good pictures to show the others.

  On the road, trees make way to clean, modern houses on plots of land, each with wide grassy perimeters. Lawns are freshly mowed, and bright flowers are planted in neat boxes and beds. There are a whole lot of tall windows, balconies, and stylish weathered finishes that strike me as familiar after seeing these houses on Sunlit’s social page. Slightly out of place for how rich this neighbourhood seemed but still a sight to behold, many houses are fit with impressive Christmas light displays.

  My phone pings and I quickly pick it up. There’s a message from an unknown number, but the message itself catches my attention.

  Unknown

  Hello Sunlit roomie. I’m at the villa already, and I assume you will be here soon. I found a paper with our welcome package (guide to the place, a few landmarks, optional itinerary) and your number was on it. You have mine now.

  OMG!!! HIII!! I think I’m close??? I am SO excited. Is anyone else there yet??

  Unknown

  I don’t think so. Actually, your number and mine are the only ones listed here. That might mean it’s just the two of us.

  I almost toss my phone into the roof of the car. Just the two of us! This was either going to be the most amazing click ever, or I’d be spending my whole time avoiding this person—I’d never hope for the latter though. This opportunity wasn’t only to improve my craft, but to make friends—even if it’s just one friend.

  This person seems rather capable by the way they text, though it is impossible to judge someone purely by that. Maybe they were the type to text formally, but in person they were super laid back.

  Oh okay! I didn’t know Thalia did two artists only sometimes.

  Unknown

  Do you know Miss Ainsworth?

  Nooo…. But I’ve been following her since she started the Sunlit Creative space. This is a dream come true.

  Unknown

  Well that’s nice. See you soon.

  See you soon! I’m Perrin (she/her) btw :)

  Moments after sending that message, I wonder if it was ill-timed to introduce myself just then. We’re about to meet in-person, after all.

  The car slows down as we approach the gorgeous villa, settled neatly behind a hedge garden and spaciously flanked by sprawling green grounds that is only broken by a fence on the west side. The terracotta roof and sandstone walls create a tall silhouette, and the driveway is more like a fashionable runway with its tiled pavement and statues sitting at both ends.

  I straighten in my seat to look at the hedge garden, making note to take a picture later and to possibly get a better view from the upstairs balcony. It looks like one of the bedrooms had a balcony facing out towards the front. That’s going to be my room.

  We come to a stop in front of the garage roller door and I rush out of the car, almost forgetting my phone in my seat. I grab it before I shut the door and bounce on my feet as I wait for the driver to pop the boot, keeping my hands behind my back. As it comes up, he meets me at the back and takes the liberty of unloading my luggage for me. I balance them in my hands and on top of one another.

  “Thank you for the ride!” I call out as I head towards the front door and give him a big wave. He waves back, already back in the front seat.

  I pull the keys from my pocket, but it turns out the door was left unlocked by the mystery roomie, so I steel myself with a deep breath in and push my way inside.

  An air-conditioned breeze blows through my hair and pushes my fringe away from my forehead. The interior captures my breath in an instant. The entryway opens into the living room, and is as spacious as anything, with a high ceiling supported by exposed wooden beams and a large, very comfortable-looking couch in the middle. A rectangular, braided rug lays under the couch and leads the path between this room and what seems to be the kitchen. Open archways tease gimplises of the rooms beyond with a vanity in view on one side and a wooden table
on the other side. The trim along the ceiling is ornately carved into a string of flowers, and with shelves and wooden consoles furnishing the space, stuffed with little trinkets and some eye-grabbing pieces in the form of an old globe, a greek inspired bust statue and a painting signed by one of the past residents, this place looks incredibly lived-in. A small Christmas tree is set up in the corner of the room. How cute!

  “Hello?” I call out, remaining attentive for wherever the answering voice may come from. “It’s me, Perrin!”

  There’s no response. Weird.

  I walk through the sitting room and into the brightly lit kitchen. All the curtains are tied up and a large glass sliding door on one side welcomes a view of a tilted patio fit with an outdoor dining space and barbeque. Further away, a large swimming pool in the centre of the backyard with outdoor seating by the side.

  The kitchen is big enough for a large family home, with ample counter space, a well-sized sink, six gas stoves, a dishwasher, an oven, a grill, a microwave… I step over to the fridge and open it slowly…

  The rumours were right! The fridge comes fully stocked. Moving over to the cupboards, it seemed the pantry did too.

  I’d love to live here forever. But there’s a reason this is a shared experience that Thalia generously offers artists. It is a little pocket of wishes that every artist aspires to have for themselves in the future.

  But one thing is certain. The mystery roomie isn’t in this room or the backyard either.

  I bring my bags back to the main room and pop through another archway. This one’s an entertainment room with not only the table to play games on, but a wall-spanning shelving unit of console games, DVDs, and board games.

  Another archway leads to a separate toilet and a small bathroom. Some complimentary soaps and skin care items sit upon the vanity.

  By the time I’ve checked the ground floor, I still haven’t found them. So they had to be upstairs.

  I carry my bags up the stairs one at a time, all the while looking at the paintings that decorate the wall. I leave my suitcases on the landing before heading back down to get my camera bag and small duffle. A screen partition separates the landing from the rest of the floor and when I move it aside, my understanding of Sunlit Creative Space truly comes to life.

  Beyond, a creative studio is flooded with sunlight. The scents of paint and clay float in the atmosphere despite the empty easels and an inactive pottery wheel sitting against a wall. Sunbeams highlight four workstations with a large sitting-standing desk and desk chair each, ports for electronics, and notepads and pencils. Two of the workstations are empty. One has a photography binder opened to blank pockets and a piece of paper on top reading my name. In the corner, there are alternative seating options, such as kneeling chairs and tall stools.

  And the last workstation sits the mystery roommate.

  I can’t tell much from their back, but they’re clicking away on a laptop. A writer? They’re wearing a button-up shirt I know from Dangerfield and they have a wolf cut. Probably queer.

  As I step closer, I notice the magazines scattered next to the laptop. I recognise one as Whispering Wattle Works—a Melbourne based writing magazine. Writer checks out then.

  I don’t say anything as I continue to observe, but they stop typing and straighten up in their chair. Then they turn around.

  My greeting catches in my throat.

  Their eyes are still that deep brown. Somehow that wolf cut looks even better on them than the two-block hairstyle they used to have. That button-up, the magazine—it all makes sense. It’s them.

  Inari Kan, my best friend from high school. We haven’t spoken in years.

  And with them as my Sunlit roommate, we’ll be spending a week and Christmas together.

  Chapter 2

  Inari

  With my bags packed away, a glass of water nearby, and my laptop set up, it’s time to start my newest project: writing an entire novel in one week.

  This residency provides the perfect time, perfect location, and perfect everything for it. It’s designed for artists to immerse themselves, to network with fellow guests, and to leave with significant progress on our chosen projects.

  But this once-off experience is more than that, too.

  It’s an opportunity for me to truly do something for myself. Not just to please someone else, not just for an assignment or for work. This was my choice and my getaway from the constant need to mask and work hard under another person’s terms.

  There is comfort in not knowing the resident on their way. How easy would it be to tweak my personality to something that felt more like me, to express myself in new ways I never got to try at home, to show myself how good life could get when I move out next year and set out to make something of myself?

  In the big wide world, I’m a young grasshopper that could be squished at any moment by the realities of life and society. But here, in this villa, I am sculpting my adulthood and my practice. I am rounding out the completion of my studies. I have left behind the dramas of family Christmas get-togethers that require far too much socialising.

  I take a deep breath, ready for a fiery start to this manuscript. It will be a testament to my next chapter.

  Then my phone screen flashes and a message stares back at me.

  Sunlit Roommate

  See you soon! I’m Perrin (she/her) btw :)

  Everything freezes—time, birdsong, the AC blowing somewhere behind me—and I have to double check that I’m still breathing.

  I’ve only ever known one other Perrin, and she was an artist too. Throughout all of high school she claimed cameras as her expression, the only way she knew to show others how she understood… anything. The last I saw her was some time after high school graduation a few years ago, but with so many young artists gunning for a spot at Sunlit Creative Space, there was no way this would be the same girl.

  I flip my phone face down and take a deep breath. Before this Perrin arrives, I need to clear my mind of the old Perrin. Considering it was just the two of us, it’d be unfair to project any expectations of my ex-friend onto this person who seemed really excited about this residency.

  Only about five minutes pass, during which I’ve just set up some files for each chapter and re-read my outline, when I hear a call from downstairs.

  “Hello? It’s me, Perrin!”

  My fingers stop over the keyboard. Recognition cracks through me like a lightning bolt. A voice I used to know every day and a voice that carried both comfort and regret, melding the years together from a time before I was Inari to a time difficult to remember in detail through teary eyes and the constant stress of missing classes.

  I get out of my chair and sneak over to the staircase. I crouch down on the landing and look through the staircase bannisters. Her suitcases are just out of view as she moves towards the kitchen.

  I hear her opening the fridge and squealing. I almost laugh at the obscenity of the situation. We’re in this wonderful villa, provided for without a worry in the world except for our chosen projects, chasing a perfect summer holiday experience, but all with the girl I swore I’d never see again when we finished our formal schooling together.

  Then she heads back this way and checks out the other rooms, and it’ll be a matter of time before she comes upstairs. We’re the only two in this place until the end of the week and even with the town a few minutes away, it’s not like I can escape without causing a fuss.

  Her suitcases are rolling this way, so I spin around and fix up the wooden screen partition before throwing myself back in my seat, as if delaying the inevitable reveal would help anyone.

  I stare at my blank document. I click to my outline file. I go back to the blank one. Words aren’t coming to mind at all.

  I text my childhood friend instead, through the laptop so then it feels like I’m doing something.

  Girl help