He stomps up to me with his arm thrust out, a small paper bag clutched in his grip. I accept it graciously, though the waves of tension radiating from him don’t feel very Christmas-cheery.
“Thanks.” I open the bag to peek inside, a grin forming on my lips. Cake pop. Yum.
“You eat yet?” He grumbles, not waiting for an answer before he’s stalking toward the kitchen.
My brow furrows as I follow him. “It’s kind of early…” He glances at me over his shoulder when he reaches the marble island, cocking a brow. “But yea, I did,” I continue. “Like five times already.”
There’s the subtlest quirk to his mouth, though it looks like he’s trying to keep it contained.
I have a never-ending appetite, and when I’m on any kind of break from school, it’s usually a guarantee that I’ll spend half the day stuffing my face. Thank God for my fierce metabolism, I guess.
James turns back to whatever it is he’s doing, sorting through envelopes, a quiet, broody air about him. It’s not unusual. My father, for all intents and purposes, isn’t a wordy man. He’s a strong silent type for sure, and emotions turn him into even more of a statue.
I won’t say I don’t understand it, because I’m an introvert myself. But no one sulks quite like James McAllister.
And because I’m me, my need to fill awkward silences becomes an itch I can’t not scratch. “So when are you leaving for Boston?”
He stiffens. I can see it most in his hunched shoulders as he mutters, “That’s not happening.”
My surprise whirls. “What do you mean… You’re not going?”
He takes in a long breath, then turns slowly, leaning up against the island. “Leslie and I broke up.”
The sudden wave of feels hits me head-on, damn-near knocking me down. “Oh…” My mouth is just hanging open, for many generous seconds, before I follow it up with what I’m hoping comes out as a normal response. “What happened?”
He stares at me for a moment, dark gray eyes locked on mine in a way that makes my fingers twitch. I desperately want to look away, but I can’t. I’m stuck.
“She just… wasn’t the one,” he huffs, his tone final as he spins and saunters away, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna grab a shower. We can order pizza later, if you’re still hungry.”
And then he leaves me, standing like a stumped moron in the kitchen with my mouth agape.
Blinking myself out of it, my body’s first human reaction is a secret smile, tugging at my lips uncontrollably. I bite down on the bottom one to keep it in check.
They broke up. My heart is pumping wildly in my chest.
Of course I would never wish unhappiness for my adoptive father. He’s the only family I have in this world, and I definitely don’t want him to become a grumpy old hermit who never finds love.
But at the same time, after enduring two years of that snobby, pretentious woman, I can’t find it in myself to be upset about this news.
James deserves better. Let’s be real here… Leslie was a bitch. She didn’t like me, and I’ve never been able to figure out why, since she barely knew me at all. You’d think if you were trying to get serious with someone, you’d at least make an effort to bond with his son. But she hardly ever came around.
Part of me held onto that, knowing that if she were making more of an effort to get to know me, it might’ve actually worked out between them. I’d been secretly hoping she wouldn’t try, which she didn’t. Good. Who needs her?
Not my James. I mean, my father…
Ugh.
Shaking it off, I waltz back into the living room, a renewed sense of excitement flooding my limbs. I try to push it away, because it’s foolish. I would’ve been fine spending Christmas alone. I had plans, after all.
Bake enough cookies and cupcakes to fill a small village, then eat my feelings while watching Elf on repeat until I passed out from a sugar coma. I never said it wasn’t an entirely pathetic plan.
But now I get to spend my favorite holiday with the only person who matters to me. The person who makes everything good, who I can sit next to in complete silence for hours and hours and still feel nothing but contentment and comfort.
My… dad.
A sickening nausea slinks through my gut any time I think of him that way. Because of my own internal hang-ups I’ve been trying to stuff down for years.
Let’s not do this, Jesse. Lock it the fuck up and throw away the key.
Emotions war inside me as I plop onto the couch and turn on the TV. It’s already dark outside, and the only light in the room is coming from the Christmas tree and the fluttering glow of A Charlie Brown Christmas on the flatscreen.
I watch the movie, lost in my thoughts for the duration, and I’m trying not to ruminate on it, but James has been upstairs a while.
I can’t help but wonder if maybe he wants to talk about it… About the break-up.
They were together for two years, after all. Even if I’m choosing to believe he didn’t love her, maybe he did. Maybe he’s… upset that they’re done. Not ecstatic like I am.
The next movie in the lineup, Rudolph, is playing as I hear him finally descend the stairs. I can tell by the noise he’s tinkering with the wood stove just around the corner, which is good. I’m wearing sweatpants, a hoodie, and fuzzy socks, but I’m still sort of cold. It’s frigid outside, reminding me of all the snow we’ve been getting.
Which then reminds me of the car accident that took my parents.
I don’t actually remember it. I was only two. But I definitely have vague memories of my parents’ existence, and a strong awareness of it being snuffed out.
I was in the car with them that night…
They died. I lived.
And ever since that horrific night, I’ve been an orphan. Though not really, because my godfather, their best friend, took me in. He assumed guardianship and raised me. He was only one year older than I am now when he became my adoptive father. What a strange notion that is…
I can’t even imagine raising a kid right now. I’m a selfish teenager, and I like it that way. Not that I’m self-centered in any way whatsoever, but I like that I get to focus on myself at this point in my life. Next year, I’ll graduate high school and then the world is open and full of possibilities. Though the only path my stupid heart seems to want me to follow is the one leading to him…
Meaning right the fuck here.
I force those thoughts away as James walks into the room and up to the couch where I’m sprawled out. He pushes my legs out of the way so he can sit down, as he normally does. A simple and thoroughly uninteresting action, yet the feel of his hand lingers on the skin of my calf, even through the material of my pants.
My stomach is churning as I pull my knees to my chest, leaning back on the couch and pretending to watch the movie, though my peripheral stays on him. He brings a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long gulp, mesmerizing me with the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, sheeted in two-day-old stubble.
My mouth begins to water, and I close my eyes, tight. This can’t be happening. Still.
Jesus Christ, what more do I have to do? I’ve tried it all; prayers, distractions of all shapes and sizes… I even bought some crystals and herbs online, hoping to use them to ward off my impure thoughts. Nothing fucking works.