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“I wanted to ask for a horse, but they need a lot of space and our back yard isn’t big enough. So, I asked for riding lessons instead. All of the other girls in my class get riding lessons. Do you think Santa can do that?” She directs the question to Scarlett. I watch as Scarlett forces a smile on her lips, but there’s tension in every line of her face.

“We’ve talked about this, Caity-cat, remember? We can’t do riding lessons at the moment.”

“But Santa can do everything!”

Scarlett swallows. “I’m sure he’ll try his best. What about you, Bug? What are you asking Santa for?”

James thinks for a moment, before rhyming off a list that includes crayons, mac and cheese, and a new puzzle. Scarlett looks perfectly engaged, but I can tell she’s tuned out, and the second lunch is finished, she excuses herself from the table.

I can’t focus on the conversations happening around me when I know she’s stressed. The past few days must have been hell on her, and I’m sure I’m the last person she wants to see right now. I should give her space. But I can’t stop myself from pushing back from the table and following her.

8

Scarlett

I know better than to go outside at this time of year without a jacket, but if I’d stayed at the table for a second longer, my kids would’ve seen me cry. No matter how hard things are, no matter how stressed I get, they shouldn’t have to see it. Usually, I keep ahold of myself better, but the past few days have been a lot. I don’t want to think about Christmas—or the fact I can’t give Caitlin the one thing she’s been begging for since she could speak.

I lean against a fence only half-covered with chipped green paint. My dad repaints the fences and buildings every spring, and you’d never know come winter. When I was a kid, I asked him why he bothered, since it never lasts. “It’s about respect, Scar. Our home is our sanctuary. The least we can do is upkeep it,” he told me. I was ten and vowed to be just like him when I had my own home one day.

Last week, I stuck one of James’s tractor stickers over the light switch in my bedroom because it cracked and I can’t afford a new one. When the kids noticed, I added a horse and told them I did it because it makes me think of them.

If I can’t afford a light switch cover, I sure as hell can’t afford horse riding lessons. Tears stream down my frozen cheeks like streaks of fire. I don’t bother wiping them away; at least they’re warm.

I want to give my kids the Christmas they deserve—a big tree, lights everywhere, and everything they want wrapped up perfectly when they come downstairs on Christmas morning. Caitlin is reaching the age where kids start comparing Christmas presents, and, while I know she shouldn’t need material shit to fit in, that’s not the reality of the world. Everything is so fucking expensive, and I have no idea how the two-income families are managing the extras like horse riding and all new wardrobes every school year, let alone how I’m supposed to manage.

My kitchen cabinets are bare. James is squeezing into sweaters that probably won’t last until Christmas, and I decant Caitlin’s snacks into cute containers I found at the dollar store, so none of her friends make fun of her for having the off-brand stuff.

We’re luckier than most, I know. We have a roof over our heads, even if I’m going into the red most months to heat it. And we have each other. It’s more than a lot of people get. I just want to give them more. I want to be more for them.

I squint at the horizon through my tears. Clouds spatter the sky, a cool hazy blue that still feels icy, despite the soft yellow glow peeking out behind the forest. I press my palms into my eyes until I see stars on the back of my eyelids, forcing freezing air into my lungs.

Gravel crunches behind me, and I quickly wipe my face with the back of my hand, but I know there’s no hiding that I’ve been crying. Shit. If the kids see me like this, I—

“Scar.” Killian’s voice is gentle, quiet, like I’m a skittish horse and he’s worried I’ll bolt.

“Hey,” I reply, my voice shaky. I grip the fence, staring resolutely ahead.

I feel Killian come up behind me. “You’re shivering.” He lays a jacket over my shoulders, and I pull it around my body, not bothering with the sleeves. It’s not until I realize it smells like Killian—deep and warm, like black pepper and fresh laundry—that I notice it’s not my jacket.

“Thank you.”

He takes a spot beside me, leaning on the fence, but looking sideways at me, instead of ahead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I half-shake my head before answering. “I’m usually a lot better at holding it together than this. I’m sorry. You haven’t really gotten my best side these past few days.”

“From where I’m standing, you’re holding it together like a champ.”

I side-eye him. “You’re standing beside me while I cry without a jacket on in below-freezing temperatures.”

“You have a jacket now,” he points out. “And if a stranger showed up at my door to tell me the father of my kids had been lying to me since we met, then barged into my house a few hours later, I probably wouldn’t get out of bed. You’re killing it. Besides, if you’re going to cry anywhere, this is a pretty place to do it.”

By some miracle, he pulls a watery laugh from me. “It is pretty, that’s true. You didn’t barge in, by the way. Of all the things that are stressing me out right now, you staying with us isn’t one of them.” If anything, he’s making things easier. He washed our breakfast dishes this morning, despite my protests. He helped James with lunch, and offered to drive Caitlin to school tomorrow, so she doesn’t have to go early with Piper or walk in the cold with me. He seems happy to be around them, and I know they’re happy to be around him.

“Was it the riding lessons? That upset you, I mean?”

“How could you tell?”

“Just a hunch,” he answers, shrugging.