Besides, a porn star should know better. There was no such thing as just roommates.
“Distraction?” My voice was raspy in my throat, but I refused to cry. “That’s what yesterday was to you? What the last few weeks were to you? Because to me it felt like being friends, likebeing there for each other, not some kind of diversion so that you would forget to mourn the death of your wife.”
He looked down at his hands, his fists clenching in his lap, and he didn’t even attempt to correct me.
“You know what, Isaac? I’ve forgotten about my parents’ death day a few times too, and I didn’t spin around and point fingers at the people I was with so that I could blame anyone but myself. Instead, I took those days as a fucking blessing. A sign that even though the ones I’ve lost are irreplaceable, at least I’ve found people and a life worth living for. Because that’s the greatest way I could possibly honor my parents. I never knew Brooklyn, but I’m sure she would agree.”
Shaking his head like I couldn’t possibly understand, he stared at me but he didn’t speak.
“I’m out of here after the party,” I promised him. It broke me to say it out loud. But if Isaac wasn’t moving on anytime soon, then I had to. “I’ve overstayed my welcome, and I would hate to be a distraction again.”
I walked out of his room and slammed the door behind me. The sound was so startling and final that I couldn’t help but gasp. But this time it was me who was slamming the door. It was me who had drawn the line.
I hated it. I hated the feeling that this was the only possible way I could communicate with him and get my point across. I thought I hated being the one slamming doors even more than I hated the thought of them slamming on me.
And then came the tears I’d been holding back.
In my room, I stripped down and stepped into the shower, standing there under the showerhead until I couldn’t tell where my tears ended and the water began.
After I got dressed and braided my still-wet hair into two braids, the doorbells downstairs chimed. My stomach churnedat the sound, reminding me of Isaac. I poked my head out of my room and saw no sign of him, so I headed downstairs to answer. It was probably just that kid from the tree lot delivering the tree anyway.
“Coming,” I called as I hustled down the stairs, because I definitely couldn’t count on Isaac to do things like answer doors or participate in the world outside of his bedroom.
I swung the door open and standing right before my very eyes was Ruth. My dear nanny.
“Wh-what are you doing here, Ruth?” I managed to stutter, my chest blooming with relief at the sight of her.
Ruth was wearing the most sensible puffer jacket I’d ever seen and boots that could keep her feet dry in a hurricane. I hadn’t seen her in person for over a year and my heart ached to see the small ways that she’d aged since. Deeper wrinkles and new gray hairs that video chats seemed to hide. She seemed shorter too. Smaller.
“Get in here,” she said, her arms held wide, still perfectly capable of holding me.
I practically stumbled into her warm embrace with my face nuzzled into her fuzzy scarf. She smelled of everything familiar and good. Molasses cookies and her favorite fabric softener and the drugstore blush she’d worn my whole life that smelled like a well-loved makeup bag.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. We hadn’t spent a Christmas together in years, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed her.
Then I opened my eyes, and over her shoulder, standing at the bottom of the stairs, I saw the reason she was here.
“Oh, hell no.” I let go and began to backpedal back into the house. “You didnotbring that Kennedy family knockoff motherfucker here.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “I told you this was a bad idea, Ruth.”
Shetsked at him and followed me into the foyer with my brother close behind.
He looked like he’d walked into a Banana Republic, pointed at the mannequin, and said, “I’ll have what he’s having.” Annoyingly, it was a good look for him. He didn’t even look tired or a little bit stressed from running a multimillion-dollar diaper empire. The motherfucker looked fresh as a daisy!
Charlie looked around. “This place is nice. Are you squatting?”
I gave him the middle finger, because Charlie really brought out the fiery fourteen-year-old in me. Also, yes, I was sort of squatting.
Ruth took off her coat and hung it on the railing of the staircase, making herself at home. “I’ve been stuck between the both of you for the last ten years. Hell, even before that if I’m being honest, but enough is enough. I refuse to go through another Christmas with you two at opposites. Now, Sunny, be civilized, and invite us to sit down. I’ll have a coffee with a splash of cream.”
I crossed my arms and looked at Charlie.
“I’m good,” he said.
I shrugged and led them to the formal living room we rarely used, but that at least meant we were unlikely to run into Isaac.
As Charlie settled into the big leather wingback armchair, he held a finger up like he was being waited on. “Actually, I’ll take a Perrier if you have any on hand.”
