Claustrophobic Christmas by Ellie Marvel

James asked if she had ants in her pants.
    “This isn’t the first time someone’s told me I have a hard head,” she informed him.
    “Me neither. Aren’t we a pair?” He reached beneath him and held up another jelly bean. “This makes, what, four? How big was that box of candy?”
    “Thirty-five assorted gourmet flavors. I spare no expense when I trash my car.” She zipped her coat, thinking. The jelly bean was an annoying blip of discomfort. She could slip a hand up her sweatshirt and snake the damned thing out of her bra. He’d never notice.
    “Reckon this one is…” He put it in his mouth and chewed. “Green apple. Hoo. That is sour.”
    “You ate that?”
    “Yeah, why not? It was my butt on it. What flavor’s your favorite?”
    She recalled his behind with great fondness. “I like the hot butt.”
    “The what?”
    “Hot buttered popcorn,” she managed. She quit trying to retrieve the jelly bean and started laughing.
    “Is there an iced tea flavor?” he asked. “I don’t know how much longer I can go without a drink of something.”
    She propped her arm on the open window, inhaling the frigid air. The frames of her glasses chilled against her skin. She hoped the outlet would be enough, but she still felt a little hair-trigger after her close call. “You sure about that? We’re not very close to Memphis.”
    “Yeah, but I’m a guy.”
    “Brag, brag, brag. There are sodas in the cooler at your feet.” If he drank one in front of her, that would be cruel. She hadn’t seen any ladies approach the roadside, but it was dark and the windows were fogged up. “Seriously, how much longer do you think we’ll be here?”
    “One time I got stuck for twelve hours going over some mountains.”
    “Twelve hours!” She’d never survive twelve hours with this snow squeezing in on her like the trash compactor in the Death Star. “What did people do? Did they run out of gas?”
    Or air? Breathing in and out and in and out in a tight space for a long time—oxygen wasn’t self-replicating.
    Oh, no . Darcy’s body started to jitter in a too-familiar way and she closed her eyes. No, no, no. Go away!
    “A few did. The police came along and helped everybody eventually.”
    “What if somebody…” Suffocated? “Went into labor?”
    “Hopefully there was a doctor stuck there too,” he joked, reclining his seat. Getting comfortable.
    Her pulse sped up to match her breathing. “I can’t.”
    “Can’t what?”
    “James, I can’t sit here for twelve hours.”
    “Might only be four or five hours. They’ll rig up some industrial heaters or salt or something to thaw the ice on the bridge, if that’s what the problem is.”
    “Five hours?” She didn’t like to go more than an hour in the car without a break. It had been close to two. Three. God, she’d lost count. Her skin crawled and she lost control of her breathing. He was going to notice. “That’s too much.”
    “We’ll manage,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve been sitting here, what, thirty minutes already? Seems shorter, but there’s the clock.”
    “Thirty minutes!” She inhaled deeply, unable to get her lungs full. Was it stuffy in here? Airless?
    “Time flies when you’ve got somebody to talk to. Hey, in my truck I’ve got a deck of—”
    “I can’t do this.” Darcy smacked the door handle, shoved it open, and fell to the ground.
    She sank into several inches of snow, her hands aching, her sweatpants dampening, her breath wheezing. Her glasses dangled from one ear. The interior light shone around her in a yellow square that invited everyone to gaze upon the crazy lady in the Grandma sedan. No, the crazy lady jumping out of the Grandma sedan.
    The passenger door slammed and she felt hands on her shoulders, urging her out of the snow. “Darcy, honey, are you sick? Is it your stomach?”
    “No.” She wasn’t going to lie to him. She wasn’t a liar, she just let people believe things that weren’t true.
    He helped her