Page 40

“And forcing poor Christopher to shoulder the financial burden of a family and her lifestyle by himself. I can’t even wrap my head around that kind of thinking. I most certainly make sure I contribute.”

“And you stayed home until your kids were seven and five. What’s the difference?”

“She found her joy in other places. Did you know Christopher had a long-term girlfriend when they met? Hmm, wonder what happened to her? Much like you and my friend Stacey.”

“Stacey and I went on one fucking date two years ago. Jillien had nothing to do with me not wanting to date your annoying friend again.”

I stand up. That’s enough. We have enough self-doubt coming from the two of us. We don’t need more. This is fucking ridiculous. I begin to walk out.

“Liam, sit down,” my mother says.

I come back and lean over the table, stare at my sister and say, “She wasn’t the one who cheated in their marriage. And she would never swindle someone. And all of this is none of your business.”

“Well, her father said—”

I interrupt her with a cruel whisper tone, “If that’s your source, we have nothing more to discuss. He’s a bitter piece of shit. Stay out of my relationship. Merry Christmas, sis.”

My mother cocks her head. “Relationship? It’s been since yesterday.” And I snap. All the chaos in my head clears up. I can’t fool myself into thinking this is just a hookup any longer. I have to tell her this all means more to me and if she runs away screaming, I would totally get that. Because it’s barely been a full day and I just called it a relationship. Because it is. I have to tell her. My voice is steady, deep, and true.

“Best fucking day of my life. Relationship.” I kiss my mother on the cheek. “Call me when you’ve returned to sanity. And Lisa, don’t speak to me for a while.”

Lisa stands, then follows me toward the door. “You will regret every second you waste on her selfish, self-serving, conniving heart. She only wants what isn’t hers. She’ll tire of you when she realizes she can snag something better. Ask yourself. Why did she agree to be with you the next couple of weeks? She’s lonely. She doesn’t have anyone, so she’s made something with you. She’ll leave you as soon as her kid comes home. You could have been anybody to fill her time and gaping hole of loneliness.”

And my sister hits the bullseye to my ego just as I was almost free. Shit. I shake it off and turn away from her.

My mother is standing behind Lisa, and I step toward her. I put my hands on her shoulders and say, “Ma, if I end up broken from all of this, so be it. I’ve never been this happy before. If it all goes wrong, it won’t end in hurt feelings. It will end in a fiery, regretful crash and burn scenario. And I’m ok with that.”

“I’m not,” she says.

I appeal to the person I trust. The one who hides behind her loneliness and pain of loss. “Mom, you had your shot at that kind of passion. You chose not to take another one, and I respect the hell out of it. Let me see if this is mine. We don’t know what we’re doing yet. I feel a kind of happiness I haven’t felt, maybe ever. I fit somewhere. I need you to leave me alone on this.” My mother slips her arms around me and I hug her briefly. I turn away from my family.

As I walk away, I hear my sister huffing phrases like ‘just you wait’ and ‘Mom, you know I’m right.’ I let them all get swallowed. I laugh and realize it took a girl from my youth to help me grow up and stand up for myself. But unfortunately, my fucking sister succeeded in slipping off my lust-colored glasses.

I pull up the collar of my coat to shield my naked face a bit from the cold. It’s snowing again and swirling all around me, making things merry and bright. I shove my hands in my pocket, and there’s a slip of paper. I pull it out.

It reads: Hurry Ho Ho Home.

My chest flutters and my stomach flips. Today was like a fucking year. Today was the first morning we woke together. And then fought our families on all fronts. I’m drained and weary. Then I look at the note again with her big, loopy ‘J’ that I know so well. We started writing letters she chose to spend summers at camp instead of the country club in eighth grade. I wrote to her all summer, and she returned long missives about cruel geese and ghost trials. When I went off to college, she wrote that first year, but once she went to Northwestern it ended.

I know her. Time and tragedy may have messed with her like it does all of us, but so far, she seems the same impetuous, infectious, hysterical, reckless beauty she always was with me. Her enormous heart and deep capacity for joy are still there, even if they’re a little tarnished. I want to curl up inside of her and stay there. Or do I cut bait. Do I protect my heart and not try? Do I walk away with my life instead of risk it all?

It’s a long walk, but I need a moment to separate the past from the present. I see beautiful Christmas candles in windows, lampposts decorated with lights and garlands, and they make me happy. There are flashes of classic red bows dotting the landscape, catching your attention, reminding you to be merry.

I see my house from, like, a block away, ablaze with her goofy lights and music tinkling. What if all of this is simply Christmas decor? Flashy and beautiful, but temporary. Come January twentieth, it will all look confusing and flat. The extra lights dim, and we’re left with something that’s overstayed its welcome. Christ, I don’t know. Is Jillien a thing, or are we just tinsel? Is she filling her time with me? Fuck Lisa. I’m putting that out of my mind. That’s absurd.

I sit on the steps of the church across the street from my home and stare at it. I take a quick hit of my weed pen and begin to unravel our story. I need to catch my breath.

I love my house, but it hasn’t been a home since my father died nearly a decade ago. Nina made it into a showplace, and now Jillien’s made it a spectacle. It hasn’t been a place of comfort in a long time, just a habit. But the thought of Jillien inside leaves a warm little pit in my belly. When she called it home earlier, it filled me with such hope I didn’t know what to do with it.

I take another hit. To know she’s probably curled up on my sofa with an old quilt thrown over her. One of my grandmothers probably made the quilt that has just been sitting there as decor for years. And then she gave it a purpose.

But fuck my sister for making me doubt my own feelings. I know my mother has taken off for my sister’s house by now. Her house is empty. I might need to think things through a bit more.

I don’t know if I’m up to the task of Jillien, of the mama warrior the world sees, and the gentle, vulnerable girl I get to see. I won’t tell them but I don’t think I’d survive if we tried and failed.

26

JILLIEN