“He didn’t go to Yale,” I said.
The table was silent, and I took a deep breath, preparing to tell the truth and be pitied. Or mocked.
And then.
“He went to Ohio State. Played football there,” I added, giving my dad a smile. Theo had mentioned he played football in high school and college, although he hadn’t elaborated. I had no idea if he’d even gotten a degree or not.
“Did he?” My dad beamed. “That’s a good program.”
“Yes,” I said, my mind working furiously to stay one step ahead of my tongue. My ears began to tingle.
“So is he built like a football player?” Giselle asked.
“Totally.” I drank some more wine. “He doesn’t play anymore, but he’s in great shape.”
“He seems very sweet to her.” My mother nodded happily. “And you can just tell by the way he looks at her how much he cares.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s still pretty new.”
“Is he coming over tonight?” my mom asked hopefully.
“No, he’s at his brother’s house tonight. He’s got three nieces he just adores.”
“Sounds like a real catch,” Giselle said. “I’d like to meet him. What are you guys doing for New Year’s? Why don’t we all get together?”
“Oh, we can’t. We’re going away for New Year’s.” I thought fast. “I meant to ask you, actually, Mom, if I could use the cabin for a couple days? I want to show it to Theo.”
“Of course!” my mom said brightly. “I’ll give you the keys tonight. I was just up there last week, so the pantry is stocked. You know how to turn the heat up and everything?”
“Mmhm.” I finished off the last of my cabernet, congratulating myself on a performance well played. I’d head up to the cabin for a couple days, come home, and say we’d had a big fight about something. Then I’d tell everyone at work the same thing when school was open again. It would mean taking time off from the restoration of my house, but maybe the little vacation would be good. I could sketch or paint, take walks in the woods, enjoy the solitude. If I stayed home, where even my own bed reminded me of Theo now, I’d probably just wallow.
After helping my mother with the dishes while Giselle and my father played Scrabble in the next room—“Dad, spanx is totally a word”—, I went up to bed, the keys to the cabin tucked in my hand.
I always spent Christmas Eve at my parents’ house, in my old room, in my old bed. It was sort of silly, but it meant a lot to my mother, who still played Santa, setting out gifts for my father, Giselle, and me under the tree. In the morning, tradition dictated we all put on a Christmas sweater and open gifts together, after which my dad made eggs and bacon for everyone, and my mom and I baked cinnamon rolls. Later, we’d make real hot chocolate and watch It’s a Wonderful Life as we drank it from these oblong coffee cups my mother called “hug mugs” because you had to cradle them with two hands.
I often rolled my eyes at my mother’s goofy traditions, but in my heart I knew I’d probably do the same things for my children one day.
If I ever have them. Depressed, I snapped off the lamp and pulled the covers up to my chin.
In the distance, I heard the familiar sleigh bells CD that my mother had played every year after Giselle and I went up to bed in the effort to convince us there really was a Santa Claus.
But there was no Santa Claus. No Easter Bunny, no Tooth Fairy, no Prince Charming coming to wake me in the morning with a kiss.
“Asshole,” I muttered. Then I flopped onto my belly, squeezed my eyes shut, and went to sleep.
Twenty-Three
Theo
* * *
Nothing was more depressing than being alone at Christmas. I knew, because I’d spent many a holiday in a crummy hotel room, eating Chinese takeout and watching A Christmas Story. I never got tired of watching that movie. After I saw it for the first time as a kid, I used to daydream about having a family like that—a gruff but funny dad like the Old Man; a sweet, loving mother; a brother close to my age to play with. I wanted to be Ralphie. I wanted that feeling he experiences when his dad tells him there’s one more gift behind the tree. I wanted my biggest problem to be broken glasses. I wanted to beat up Farkus. I wanted to look back at my childhood and recognize the best present I’d ever gotten.
My grandmother had gotten me some nice things. Toys I wanted, clothes I needed, books I mostly ignored. I liked Legos best, especially sets that built a plane or a helicopter. She’d also baked cookies and roasted a chicken, served with mashed potatoes and gravy. It was good, but my mouth watered every time I thought about that meal Claire’s mom had described. I wondered what Claire would say about me at dinner. Would she tell them the truth?
Not that she knew the truth.
I frowned as I mindlessly flipped through channels on my old TV. Every time I thought about how I’d bolted on her, I felt like shit. I was always going to walk out—I’d just done it a little more suddenly than planned. I’d said some harsh words, too. Her feelings had clearly been hurt. Knowing I’d hurt her made my chest cave in. She hadn’t really done anything wrong, and I’d made her feel bad. God, I was an asshole.
I found the station showing the Christmas Story marathon and watched it for a few minutes, but even that didn’t cheer me up. Sighing, I switched off the TV and tossed the remote on the couch.
Both Josie and Aaron had called and texted, inviting me to come over tonight. The girls are excited to see you, Josie had messaged. They have a gift for you. Please come.