“Your father gave you that,” she told me. “I don't know why he did what he did. Don't know how he could convince himself it wasn't wrong, but we've had enough taken from us. It might relieve a little stress to take that vehicle from you, but it wouldn't do a damn thing for the ache in my heart. The only thing that helps with that is having you back here. Having you and Gwen here makes me feel so full, I don't even notice what else is missing.”
Except it's impossible not to notice what's missing now.
Dad is gone. So is the old house.
No more giant Christmas tree with an abundance of decorations. Instead, we've got one of those fake half-size ones, covered not in expensive ornaments, but just the more personal ones. Things I made in school, a few things by Gwen, some candy canes.
But for all the changes, Gwen doesn't seem to notice as she liberates a doll I recognize from some TV show she loves out of its packaging. I cross from my position against the wall, and take a seat on the couch by Mom. I wrap an arm around her shoulder, and pull her close. She leans all her weight into me, and I choke back the emotion building at the back of my throat.
“Christmas is Christmas,” I tell her. “That hasn't changed. It won't change.”
She reaches up to rest a hand against my cheek. Her fingers brush over my unshaven jaw, and she grips my face and looks at me.
“Thank you, Wilder. I know this hasn't been easy. And I know you've given up so much.” Tears well in her eyes, but she presses on, her hold on my jaw tight. “I'm so sorry for that. I'm really close to being back on my feet, and then you can go back to—”
I cut her off by pulling her into a hug.
“Stop, Mom. I'm happy where I am. It was about time I grew up anyway.”
It's one of my unwritten rules that I'll just keep saying that until it's true. One day it will be.
We pass the day together. Mom bakes cookies. We watch Christmas-themed movies on the small TV that came with the furnished apartment. Gwen starts playing with her toys, and Mom and I both get dragged into an imaginary tea party with a few stuffed Disney characters, a Spiderman figurine that Gwen unearthed from a box of my old toys, and a worn out old baby doll that is less cute and more Chucky.
Around nine that night, Gwen finally passes out with her cheek pressed flat against the carpet and Spiderman in her hand.
“I got her,” I tell Mom, and then bend to scoop her up. She flails sleepily in my arms for a moment, fighting my hold before burying her head in my neck and going slack again.
I walk her down the hallway, and into her small bedroom. I balance her in my arms with one hand, and pull back her covers with the other. I lay her down on her mattress as gently as I can, but she still wakes up, peering up at me with bleary eyes. She whines for a second, as if she can’t decide whether she wants to be awake or asleep.
“Are you gonna see Kalli?” she finally asks.
I stiffen, and then pull her covers up to her neck. I’m still out of practice at the whole brother-ing thing. I probably shouldn’t let her get attached to the idea of seeing Kalli again, but hell, I’m not doing a very good job of keeping myself from that.
I finally settle on honesty. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You said you were. At the dress store.”
“I know. I’m still not sure about some things though.”
“I like her. You should have brought her to our Christmas.”
Gwen’s cheek is imprinted with the texture of the carpet where she’d fallen asleep, and I run a hand over the reddened skin. “You go to sleep,” I tell her. “And be good for Mom.”
She nods, and falls back asleep with an easiness that I envy.
I sigh, turning on the lamp by her bed that she prefers to keep on, and then leave the door cracked just enough so that Mom can see inside.
I’d been doing my best not to think about Kalli today. One, because the way I feel about her after just a few encounters can’t be healthy. I keep telling myself that I don’t know anything about her, and yet my mind always counters with images of her smile or the way she talks to Gwen or the mischievous and almost hopeful look she’d had right before she turned my own showerhead on me.
Maybe I don’t know her. But I wasn’t lying when I told her that I wanted to. There’s only one other thing I’ve ever wanted this bad, and I gave it up for Mom and Gwen. So even though she ran from me, even though she’s been skittish and distant, I’m still going to go for it. You don’t get a shot at a girl like that every day. Hell, I doubted that most people ever got one. There’s just something about her. I can’t put my finger on it. She puts me at ease, like the way you feel around an old friend, as if there’s no need to pretend, no need to worry about how you’re coming off. And yet at the same time, I’m anything but calm around her. She’s too gorgeous. Too perfect for it not to mess with my nerves.
As such, I’m restless when I re-enter the living room.
“You want some hot chocolate?” Mom asks. “I was thinking of making some.”
I hesitate. I’d like to head over to Lennox’s party now, but I don’t know how I feel about leaving Mom alone. Maybe I should stay a little while longer. Until she’s ready to go to sleep. I’m just about to say this when she continues, “Unless you’ve got other plans. With the boys?”
I smile. Ellis Rook and I have been friends since elementary school. We met Owen in high school. He was two years above us, and took us under his wing. We’re all well past grown now. Hell, Rook is a full foot taller than Mom at 6’4”. But she still calls them the boys as if we’re little kids playing video games in the back room.
“Nah,” I tell her. “Owen went on a ski trip, and Rook’s family is in Missouri for the holidays.” It’s an unspoken thought between us that this time last year I probably would have joined Owen, but now every spare penny I have goes to Mom or school. “There’s, uh, this party I was thinking about going to.”
Her lips remain in a smile, but I can see the corners twitch down just for a second.
“Not that kind of party. It’s for some people who weren’t able to go home to see family for the holidays.” God. She’s going to think I’d rather be with the people who can’t see their family, than to actually spend time with my own. “But that’s whatever. I think I’ll stay and hang out with you for a little while.”
“No.” She crosses and pats at my arm. “You go. See your friends. I’ll probably conk out soon.”