“If your mom’s passion was power and freedom, and … Was it gardening or living off the grid?”
“Little bit gypsy and little bit hippy.”
“Love that. Add a little bit savage and that’s the outer you.”
“The outer me?”
“I think, yeah. We show people what we want them to see, and the passion burns inside until it’s ready to be released.” I point to her phone, charging beside the bed. “And keep that charged and on you.”
“Anything else?” She rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, stay. Stay for the holidays. Just stay.”
“No. I have plans.”
With the other females in my life, I step back. It’s so much fucking harder with her, and not because I like her, really like her, but because it’s not right. Not at all. She has no one. All the people she had let her down or died.
“Are you going to turn on the TV?” she asks, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
“Yeah.” I turn it on as I lean back against the headboard and push play.
She doesn’t last three episodes and she’s out, watching TV, with my phone in her hand.
I slide out of bed, tiptoe around it, grab her phone, and take a picture. Then I message it to myself, pushing send and having a near heart attack because I hope it doesn’t wake her up.
She may think I’m fucked up if she sees me taking pics of her in her sleep then sending them to myself.
Okay, thinking about it, I think it’s pretty fucked up, too.
Luckily, she doesn’t wake up. She’s lying on three pillows, unlike last night when she tossed two aside. Just like last night, she’s beautiful, absolutely fucking beautiful.
“Night, Savannah,” I whisper and have to stop myself from bending over and kissing her on the head.
* * *
When I feel the bed bounce and hear my dad’s voice, I jump straight out of bed.
“You know what today is, Tricks?”
I nod as I look around for Savvy.
“One of the three days a year we go to church and let everyone judge us, in a place where they pretend there is no judge but the Big Guy.”
“Okay, Xavier.” Mom laughs. “Let’s let him wake up. You okay, Patrick?”
“Yeah, just something’s missing.” I pause and look for her phone. It’s gone. I grab mine that I took out of her hand last night to charge and see it’s noon. “Slept in.” I hit up her location and see she’s at her dorms.
I rub my eyes as I walk over to hit the button to draw the blinds and look around the dark room.
“No wonder I slept so late.”
“Well, get your shit together. We have to go get a tree.”
11:50 a.m. - You should have woken me up, Savvy. Offer still stands. Join us anytime. We’d be more than happy to have you.
“You ready?” Dad calls from my doorway.
“Yeah, Dad, let me just grab some pants.”
“No time for pants; let’s roll,” he says, dead serious.
“Do not listen to your dad,” Mom calls from outside my room.
A shit-ass grin spreads across his face. “Well, get your shit together; we have to go get a tree.”
I head to the bathroom to take a quick shower, knowing damn well I should have been more excited to go get a tree, part of our tradition, but I hate the fact that she’s sitting in a dorm room, alone on Christmas Eve.
* * *
“How big is yours?” Dad asks Uncle Zandor as we wait in line to get into Mass.
“Huge. Stands a good twelve, fully erect,” Zandor says loud enough for the old ladies in front of us to hear, and all four of them glance back then quickly away.
Simultaneously, Aunt Bekah and Mom elbow them.
“Mine’s sixteen. Had to force it inside.” Dad wags his eyebrows at Zandor.
“I hope it was wrapped; otherwise, it makes a mess. Bekah says she hates it when that happens, but I know she loves the smell it leaves lingering in the air.”
The old women now gasp, and a couple of them look back in disgust.
Aunt Bekah whisper-hisses at Uncle Zandor, “Enough, this is church.”
I look over at Mom, who is shaking her head as she says, “I gave up a long time ago.”
Dad lifts his chin to Uncle Z. “Who’s on top?”
“Bekah looks lovely on top.” Z smiles proudly.
“The hell,” I whisper to Amias.
“Try being me and living with him.” He shakes his head in annoyance. “Just try.”
One of the ladies turns and looks at Amias. “You poor, poor children.”
“Ma’am? Is something wrong?” Zandor asks, his voice dripping with concern.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, exposing your children to your … your—”
He gasps like he’s shocked. To anyone who doesn’t know him, they would straight up think he was being sincere. “Ms. Betty, we’re discussing Christmas trees.”
“You don’t fool me.”
“I wasn’t trying to fool you, Ms. Betty.”
She leans and whisper-hisses, “Your wife, on top?”
He throws his head back and laughs, and now everyone in the line is looking at him.
He pulls out his phone and shows her a picture. “I had an artist create the angel that tops our tree to look like my wife, Ms. Betty. A Christmas gift to honor the woman who mended my wicked ways.”
Her face seemingly catches fire.
He leans in. “I hope yours have been mended, as well.”
“What did he just say?” Amias whispers to me.
“He told her he’d pray for her,” I lie.
* * *
Lounging in the room I just moved out of Jase and Carly’s place, after stuffing myself with prime rib and lasagna, hopping between the files she deleted that are still hanging in the delete file, feeling bad that I didn’t tell her they don’t truly delete for thirty days until you delete that file too, and glad because I think every damn one of them are keepers. And then, I check her location for the hundredth time. I can’t help but worry she may have left her phone in her dorm and is broken down on the side of the
