I squeeze her extra tight before I speak. “I know, I’m sorry.” Emotion clogs my throat, and I find myself crying.
“Sit, sit,” she insists as she pulls me the rest of the way to our seats. Antonella takes my hand across the table. “Lan, you’re family. You willalwaysbe family.” Her gaze is assessing as she takes me in. I notice the hurt, and I know it’s not only for avoiding her.
“I fucked up. There was no way I could look at you after that,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry.”
She doesn’t speak right away, and the anxiety that sprang up on my way here rears its head in earnest. “What you did was shitty, Lan. Not just to my brother, but that you just jetted off to London without talking to me. I thought we were closer than that.” I open my mouth to explain, but she holds up her finger. “No, let me finish. I cried for Dare. More than I’d ever admit to him. He was so fucked up after you left. I could barely get two words out of him; he was so broken. But it wasn’t just that. It was that you couldn’t be bothered to check in with my parents, and they both love you so much. It was that, even though I was so angry with you for what you did to Dare, I cried for you, too.” Tears stream down her face as she unloads over a year of feelings.
“I didn’t know what to say, Antonella. You were—rightfully—going to support your brother. I couldn’t expect you to want anything to do with me after that. I had no right to ask that of you,” I insist.
“Harlan, I will always love you. Of course, I was furious with you. I will never understand what led you to do what you did that night, but to avoid me for over a year?” Antonella is crying, too.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shame washing over me.
“Good. You can buy my lunch. And know that if you ever pull that shit again, I will castrate you myself,” she says, only half joking, I fear. I sputter a nervous laugh, and she winks at me.
An older Italian woman approaches our table. She reminds me of what one would imagine when picturing an Italian grandmother. She’s short, with smile lines around her eyes and mouth, with her gray hair tied in a tight bun on her head. She apologizes for interrupting, in her thick accent. I already know I’m ordering chicken parm, so I don’t need to look at the menu. I look to Antonella to see if she needs time, but she orders the same, without hesitation.
Once we’re alone again, Antonella turns her attention back to me. “Since you have avoided me for over a year, I’ve only gotten updates through socials and what I could pry out of my brother. Tell me everything.”
So, I do. I tell her about the club, the weeks leading up to the move to London, Oliver, and San Francisco. I tell her how Dare and I have been running together most mornings, since Thanksgiving weekend. We text a lot, and I may have swooned when I got the notification that he started following me on my socials again. I obviously returned the favor. We’re slowly getting to know the new versions of ourselves.
Antonella catches me up on all of the family drama I’ve missed out on, which, honestly, isn’t much. Dare’s family is tight-knit and very supportive of each other. They all embraced me from the moment he introduced us, and I always counted myself as fortunate for that. I’m sad I won’t get to see everyone else before I leave for London tomorrow. I tell Antonella this, and she makes me promise that I’ll come visit in the new year. Following our lunch, another weight that I’ve been carrying for too long is lifted.
The flight from New York to Heathrow was as draining as ever, and I had to rush to get my luggage and get to the airport train station to meet my sister. I’m so out of it at this point, I don’t even recognize Amelia until she’s right in front of me. “Did you even sleep on the plane? Christ, you look like hell.” She’s very supportive, my sister. I’m very blessed.
“Fuck off, Amelia.” I ruffle her dark waves, earning me a dirty look. “I did sleep, for your information. Just not well.” I yawn loudly as we make our way to the platform. Travelers are rushing all around us, as you would expect two days before Christmas. Amelia falls into step next to me. “Is Mum freaking out already? I’m sure she’s spent the last month cleaning the house.”
Our mother loves having a house full of people, but she needs everything to be perfect. The way she spends weeks cleaning leading up to a holiday is intense, especially since Millie and I have been out of the house for years. “Of course she is. She’s hired a cleaner, but she’s still making Dad insane, mopping and dusting every morning.” I know the moment we step into our childhood home, she’s going to demand our shoes be removed, and that we better not touch anything unless it’s positively unavoidable. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t try to hoover us.
Once we’re settled on the train, I snap a selfie of me rolling my eyes with my tongue sticking out and send it to Darío before pocketing the device, giving my sister my full attention. We discuss her degree course and what she plans to do once she graduates. Unlike me, she’s quite fond of rainy London and intends to stay once she’s completed her schooling. I know our parents are disappointed that neither of us will be living closerto home, but I have a feeling once they realize that Amelia is serious about staying in London, they’ll move to be closer to her. Mum has always loved Beaconsfield, and I know she’d be happy to be near there again.
The train ride takes less than three hours, but by the time we get an Uber to the house, I can barely keep my eyes open. Mum makes a big thing about having both of her babies in the house again. After lengthy hugs and assurances that we are both well, she sends us to our respective rooms to unpack. In my childhood room, I close the door and take a deep breath, taking in the familiar space. My mother left the football posters I hung as a teenager—the ones that gave my father hope that I’d take an interest in playing. In reality, I took an interest in the men who played. My desk, where I used to sit for hours drawing, looks like a time capsule. My phone buzzing draws my attention to the present. I smile at Dare’s name.
Dare
You’re so cute, I can’t stand it. I hope your train ride was ok. I’m sad I don’t get a Christmas cracker this year. It’s my favorite part of Christmas with your family.
Me
The train was fine, but between that, the flight, and the car, I may just stay here forever. I’ll trade you Christmas crackers for natilla and buñuelos. OH! And Mama’s hot chocolate. GAH! I guess I’ll be traveling back home soon. Like tonight. I can’t believe I’m missing out.
Dare
I’m sorry, I’ll enjoy it a bit extra for you. ;) Kidding. I’ll make you all three when you get back.
Me
Pen wants to go out for New Year but I kinda want to stay in. If you’re not busy, you should come over. We can have dinner and you can make me all of my favorite things.
Dare
I’d love that, but why don’t you come here so I don’t have to worry about Craig. AJ and Julian wanted to go out, too. Not feeling it this year. Mom needs my help in the kitchen, so I’m going to help before she beats my ass. Text me when you get up tomorrow. xo
His message is followed up with a selfie of him in front of his tree. The tree that was ours. I can see so many ornaments that we picked out together, and the feeling is bittersweet, but it’s the caption that has tears trickling down my face:Wish you were here, sweetness. I stroke the screen, wishing it were his gorgeous face. “Me too, Dare,” I choke out, to my empty room. I can’t believe this is my second Christmas without him. At least we’ll have the New Year together, and it’s this knowledge that will get me through the next five days.
Christmas Eve is a quiet affair. My mum gets us all matching Christmas pajamas and makes a small meal while she prepares food for the much larger Christmas dinner. Tomorrow, the house will be full with aunts, uncles, and cousins. For today, Millie and I spend the day lounging around, watching Christmas movies. We occasionally offer help to Mum, who declines every time. She’s convinced that we’ll make a mess of her kitchen, so we let her do her thing. Dare and I exchange several texts to check in and send pictures of random things, like our food, what we’re watching, and in his case, pictures of Craig with a Santahat. Christmas Eve is a much bigger deal for his family, and they’ll be heading to midnight mass.
I’m lounging on the sofa with my feet in Amelia’s lap while we scroll our phones and only half pay attention toElfon the television. My father walks in and snorts at the movie before turning his attention to us. I eye him warily, because it’s always uncertain what he’s going to say. I tend to draw his ire when my career comes into the conversation, so I won’t bring it up first, but he has no qualms with reminding me what he thinks. He swears he’s doing it out of concern, but everyone knows it’s because he’s embarrassed.
