Luke sighs like he’s relieved. “Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all. Thank you for the gifts you picked out for Shade, for covering for me when you weren’t sure if I’d get the job done, for the tree and the decorations and the rice, and…and everything else, for picking up the groceries, chicken, and the beer for the chicken, for not letting the opossum die, for all of Shade’s smiles today, and especially for not getting weird tonight when I told you all that stuff about Brittany. Just…thank you.”
I’m pretty sure I’m as fire red as a fire-roasted tomato. “I can’t take much credit for the opossum. He was actually fine the whole time.”
“For all of the other stuff, then.”
“Okay.” I feel strangely warm, and the glow is back. It’s an inner glow, something I haven’t felt before. I’m scared Luke might be able to see it, so I powerwalk straight into the living room and grab the controller. I park hard on the far side of the couch since I know Luke hates sitting there because he’s complained many times about how he can’t see the TV properly. “You’re welcome,” I grind out. “For the rest.”
CHAPTER 14
Luke
Well, at least that’s one more Christmas done and over with. I can live with being absolutely exhausted and going through the motions of putting Shade to bed like I’m a damn robot. Lucky for me, he falls asleep after page two. I gently tuck his quilt around him and place a kiss on his forehead. I do the same thing every night, whether he’s awake or not.
I linger in Shade’s doorway for just a few seconds before I turn out the light and pull the door almost all the way closed.
Feeney’s room is just down the hall. I don’t have to pass it on the way to mine, but I do have to use the washroom. Actually, no. No, I don’t. I just want to go and stand at her door for some inexplicable reason I can’t even begin to fathom.
What the hell happened last night in the kitchen? An arrangement was the plan, the idea—what I thought could work. I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out after no time at all had passed. No wonder she looked at me like I’d lost my mind. She was right. It was the whisky I gulped down. Or maybe it was the beer in the chicken too. Dear god, Shade ate the chicken. No, I’m pretty sure the beer just made the meat moist. I’ve cooked it before, and nothing’s happened. I learned last night that whisky is a terrible idea. I knew it was all along, but whatever happened was just further proof.
I walk slowly to Feeney’s room. I know I should tell her I’m sorry for last night even though she set me straight and extended some sort of olive branch by playing a round of video games with me. I did beat her badly, but she just laughed at me, set the controller down, and told me goodnight like nothing even happened in the kitchen right before that.
Like our whole worlds didn’t just go spinning wildly off into the wider universe. I’m surprised we didn’t see Mars or Jupiter or something along the way. Shit. Maybe it was just my world that spiraled out of control, maybe it’s just me I don’t even recognize anymore, or maybe for her, it was nothing—just a few seconds of whisky fueled irresponsibility and irrationality brought on by the stress of the holidays.
Feeney’s door is closed tight, and the light is off underneath. I’m not surprised as it’s just about midnight. Trying to do two Christmases in one day is ridiculous but doing it with my dad and Britt’s parents was a nightmare. This year, I got lectures from both of them while Shade was preoccupied with presents in a different room. My dad called me a fuck up and an asshole. Not in those exact words, but the point was made. Dad told me I was doing only half of what I should be doing. He went a step further and said I’ve been this way before I even met Britt. Also coded in there was that I’m a massive disappointment because I’m not like him, which is not bad for just a few sentences on his part.
Britt’s parents aren’t open the way my dad is. And by that, I mean, they’re not openly rude. They just subtly hinted all night that Christmas is never going to be the same for any of us again. Not without Britt. That her memory is sacred, and I’m not doing enough to honor it. She’s gone, but she’s not gone. It’s like she’s still here when I go over to their house. Her mom talks about her like she’s going to walk in the door any second, and the walls are filled with her photos. I think they’re half living in denial, but maybe not, though, because I do notice how they never look at Shade. Shade is a part of Britt, and instead of loving that part, their grief makes it hard for them to handle the memories he evokes. It doesn’t really make sense, but not much about grieving and loss does. Losing your daughter in the prime of her life doesn’t make sense. They pretty much think I shouldn’t give myself a right to be happy when she’s gone even though we all know it’s what she would have wanted. I’ll always have that guilt.
The guilt of knowing I’m the one who survived. That I’m the one still alive.
I keep trying to get my thinking around to the side of living for her. I know it’s what she wanted because she demanded it of me right after she was diagnosed with cancer that very first meeting. She demanded that I find a way to be happy without her, have a good life, and also give Shade a good life. She made me promise I wouldn’t let her absence wreck me because she couldn’t stand to think she’d caused the people she loved so much pain.
God, parents are so exhausting. Grief is exhausting, life is exhausting, and I’m just so tired.
All of a sudden, the world really does shift. I feel drunk because there’s a sound, and then I’m teetering forward and falling, falling into thin air that wasn’t there a second ago. I must be seriously drunk. Blacking out, I feel myself going down.
“Mmm-hmm.” A soft mutter comes from above me. “I thought I heard you out there creeping on me like a first-rate stalker.”
I’m not drunk, and I’m not blacking out. The world didn’t tilt. Feeney just opened the door suddenly, and I’m so tired that I didn’t even hear it coming. Now I’m flat on my face, sprawled out on her beige carpet, and I have to admit that the shit feels good. It’s soft, tickling my cheek, and it broke my fall. Instead of getting up, I dig my palms in and just lie there.
Feeney squats down right beside me, where I can see her bare feet. God, she has cute little toes. They’re so small. Her feet are tiny, but the rest of her is pretty petite too. I notice her toenails aren’t painted, and I like how they aren’t. I expected them to be fake ones—gel or pink and glittery or something, but nope. They’re just plain, average, everyday toes.
“What happened to you? Are you okay? Why aren’t you getting up? Did you have a drink again? Please tell me—”
“Nope. It’s not a habit. Last night was a one-off and one I regret. I wanted to apologize to you for that. Properly.”
“That’s why you’re face down in the carpet?”
I sigh hard, my chest hampered by the floor, so it comes out sounding more like a long belch. Ugh. “I’m just tired.”
I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of fighting so hard. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of having to be an asshole to protect myself so that no one gets close to me again. I’m tired of not being good enough for some people while being too good for others. I’m tired of just not being able to get it right. I’m also so exhausted. I’m exhausted from trying to raise Shade alone, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m exhausted by what I’m doing right now with Feeney. I need her in ways she can’t imagine, and I need to get her to understand that, but right now, that’s what makes me feel the most exhausted.