Sam insisted we stop by the hardware store on the way home and pick up a few extra strands of lights. I’m glad he did. It would have looked as naked as the gingerbread men if we only had the lights we usually put on the artificial tree.
That one, for the record, is now in the corner of Xavier’s room. He saw the box for it when they were bringing down ornaments and decided he couldn’t bear the thought of its spending a Christmas season locked up in a box while another tree took its place. According to him, it might just be a plastic replica of the real thing, but it didn’t know that and didn’t deserve to be penalized for it.
Footsteps come down the stairs and from the soft humming accompanying them, I know it’s Xavier. Apparently not allowing himself to sing Christmas songs at any other time during the year makes them build up inside him, and once they’re allowed out, they tend to form a nearly continuous stream of humming.
So far, I haven’t been bothered by it. I can see it becoming a problem if it lasts for the rest of the week, though.
The steps bypass the living room and go into the kitchen. A few seconds later, I hear him call out to me.
“Emma? If I were a marshmallow, where would I live?”
“In the pantry on the top shelf in a big jar,” I call back.
“Good real estate,” he says.
After a little while and a few somewhat concerning sounds, the humming comes toward the living room. I glance over to see Xavier in red and white striped pajamas and a green hat that looks like a cross between an elf’s and an old-fashioned sleep cap. Fluffy slippers add the finishing touch to the outfit. He’s holding a reindeer mug in both hands and either taking a sip or sucking miniature marshmallows directly into his mouth. It’s hard to tell, considering the top of the mug is just a mound of marshmallows with a candy cane sticking out.
“Wow,” I comment, as he makes his way across the room to sit down in the big recliner closest to the tree. “When you flip the switch to Christmas, you really do it up, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
I nod and take a sip of my cocoa.
“Is that whipped cream on your cocoa?” he asks.
I look into the mug. “Yes. That fresh bowl I made is in the refrigerator.”
“Marshmallows are for hot cocoa. Do you have any marshmallows in there?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Heathen.”
I manage a slight smile.
“Is Dean in bed?”
Xavier nods through another sip. “He said goodnight about an hour ago.”
“Everybody else, too. I thought you were sleeping.”
He shakes his head. “Reading.”
“Xavier, do you think I always look for the worst in everything?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “If that was true, I wouldn’t be here. You would look at me and see what so many other people see.”
“People look at you and realize that the most fundamental things in the world, things they consider set in stone, are completely different for you. That the way you see and feel and think, the way you use your senses. They’re all different from anything they could ever understand. And it scares the living hell out of them. They aren’t seeing the worst in you. They’re seeing the worst in themselves,” I say.
“Does that make me a mirror?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “In a way.”
“Then what do you see reflected back to you when you look at me?” he asks. “Someone who knows the simplest answer isn’t always the right one. Someone who thinks of what bad can come out of a situation, or what bad could have already happened, because they’ve seen enough bad to know how often it happens. Mirrors reflect things you can’t even see for yourself. Do you want to know what I see?”
“Yes,” I nod.
“You look for the bad. You think the worst. You immediately wonder who might have been hurt, or if something is wrong and not as it appears. But none of those are bad things, Emma. You don’t do it because you like the negativity, or you crave it. You do it because you hate it. You never want someone to suffer, because no one wants to think there could be suffering,” he tells me. “You voice the things that people don’t want to admit, even to themselves, because it makes them feel safe in their denial. But you can’t stand that.”
“That’s true,” I admit.
“You said I think and see and feel differently from other people, and it scares them. I think the same is true for you. Not the same as me. But in your own way. Very few things are set in stone. They could happen, or they could not happen. Maybe you can see both. You stand in the way of things happening because you can see a path others can’t. And when things have already happened, that’s when you know someone has followed that path. And you are willing to follow it after that person.”
We sit for a few seconds in silence.
“Why did you ask?” he asks.
“Do you remember that Christmas card I asked you about?”
“Yes,” he says.
I draw in a breath and explain the whole situation, telling him about Julia and the fears I went through all those years ago.
“Everyone says she just ran away. That she decided she didn’t want to do it anymore and was going to start her own life. I just don’t believe that. That wasn’t her. I think something happened to her, but when I mentioned that to Sam and to Bellamy, both of them said I was just looking at the worst. I was only seeing it as a bad thing because
