by Carian Cole
Skylar forces a smile and pushes her food around her plate.
I jump in before things get worse. “We’re still going to be friends, Aunt Suze. She can still visit.” I turn to my uncle. “If I was in a better financial position, I’d buy the bar. I just can’t take on something that needs so much work.”
“There’s a surprise,” Skylar mutters under her breath.
“Skylar, are you going to be okay?” Aunt Suzy asks. “What about all your medical visits, and prescriptions? Where will you live?”
I feel like the world’s biggest asshole as Skylar struggles to swallow the food in her mouth. Her thin fingers wrap around her glass of water, and she takes a few slow sips. “After I graduate, I can work full time. I’ll get a small studio apartment. And once I have less stress in my life—” Her baby blues throw shade in my direction. “Then hopefully I can decrease my meds and see my therapist less. Jude’s help has gotten me through the worst of it. This isn’t on him. I’m not his responsibility. He did way more for me than anyone ever has. I’ll be fine.”
“He can’t just kick you to the curb.”
“Uncle Al, I’m not forcing her out. She can live in the house as long as she wants to. And once she moves out, we don’t have to legally divorce ten minutes later. If she needs insurance for a few months after she leaves, I’m fine with that. No big deal. It’s not like I’m gonna rush to go marry someone else.”
One marriage is enough for me.
Aunt Suzy sighs sadly. “Well, it’s your lives. I’m sure you two know what’s best. It’s just a shame you couldn’t turn it into a real marriage. That would have been the perfect happy ending for both of you.”
“I’m sure we’ll both still get our happy endings, Aunt Suzy.” Skylar’s voice is full of sweetness and optimism, but I know better.
My little wife is full of crap. She doesn’t believe in happy endings any more than I do.
Chapter 44
Jude
I have a love-hate relationship with Christmas.
Santa one minute. Grinch the next.
Spending the day with Uncle Al and Aunt Suzy has always been a good time for me. But it always sucked to be surrounded by love and laughter all day and then go home alone to an empty, quiet house.
After we kissed Aunt Suzy and Uncle Al goodbye, that familiar empty feeling crept in on the drive home. Skylar and I barely said a word to each other.
She’s slowly slipping away from me.
I don’t know how everything got so discombobulated between us.
When we get home, snow is falling and there’s a few inches accumulating on the ground already. I open her door and help her out of the truck to make sure she doesn’t slip, and she hooks her arm through mine as we walk to the house.
“I’ve always loved watching the snow,” she says, tilting her face up toward the sky. I laugh when she sticks her tongue out and catches a few snowflakes on her tongue. It’s kind of a magical moment, to witness her playfully open up and let that tiny icy star into her mouth—free of fears and anxieties.
I don’t even think she realized that she did it.
“I’ll take her out real quick,” I say when Cassie greets us at the door. I light up a cigarette as the dog darts out of the house and bounces playfully in the snow. When Cassie finally scoots inside, Skylar’s still standing in the hallway next to the Christmas tree box.
“You forgot to give the Santa hat back,” she says, eyeing the top of my head.
“Oh shit.” I reach up and touch the fuzzy, red hat. “Aunt Suzy will yell at me.”
She smiles crookedly. “Leave it on. Christmas isn’t over yet.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I have a gift for you.”
That simple sentence shouldn’t cause my heart and my dick to jump to attention, but it does.
“I have a gift for you, too.”
Her brow arches up. “Good. But first,” she taps the tree box with her foot. “I want to put this tree together.”
“Now? It’s nine o’clock.”
“You need a nap, Grampa?”
“Shut up. I meant, what’s the point? Christmas is over in three hours.”
“That’s bullshit. People leave their trees up ’til January.”
“You really want to put it up now?”
“Yeah. I want a Christmas tree. I’ve been looking at this box with these stupid happy people on it every day since you brought it home. And I think you’ve been wanting to put it up, too.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You never leave shit lying around, and yet you’ve left this six-foot box right where we both have to trip over it.”
I lift my shoulder. “Maybe you’re right.”
She kicks off her shoes and smiles at me.
“C’mon, Santa.”
“I’ll make you a deal.” I step out of my boots and line our shoes up together on the rubber mat by the door. “I’ll put this monstrosity together if you have a hot cocoa with me.”
Her lips purse into the pout that has quickly become my favorite expression of hers. “Lucky, that’s not fair. I’m not sure—”
“It’s just milk, chocolate, and marshmallows. And my secret add-on.” I head to the kitchen, and she follows along with the cat and the dog.
“I’m not agreeing to any secret add-on until I see what it is.”
I pull out a saucepan and the ingredients I need and start heating milk on the stove.
She watches me with fascination. “My mom used to make it in the microwave with water.”
“This is better.” I wink at her. “Trust me.”
“Okay…”
I eye her playfully as I stir the milk and cocoa, hoping to make her smile. “What’d you get me for Christmas?”
It’s been years since I’ve been given a gift from anyone other than my aunt and uncle, and now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time a woman gave me a gift.
It better not be socks.
“I’m not going to tell you, Lucky. You have to wait.”
I pour the hot cocoa into two mugs and add some marshmallows. Skylar watches me skeptically as I pull a small, wrapped candy cane that I swiped from Aunt Suzy’s house out of my pocket and throw it in a sandwich bag with a few graham crackers. After quickly crushing it up together, I sprinkle it over the marshmallow.
“It’s good, you’ll like it.” I hand it to her in her favorite mug that has a picture of a sunglass-wearing cat on it. “Everything is safe, I promise. I made the crumbs really tiny for you. No choking hazards.”
“This is what I have to do to get you to put a Christmas tree up?”
“Yup. It’s my favorite holiday drink. When we were little, Aunt Suzy used to tell us that elves made it for us. Someday when you have kids, you should make it for them.” I raise my mug to my lips. “This stuff is the shit.”
Her eyes linger on mine, then she looks down at the mug she’s cupping in her hands.
“This is the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time,” she confesses quietly. “Do you know how sweet you can be sometimes?” She glances up at me with a flash of accusation. “Or are you just totally oblivious?”
“Oblivious.” I sip my hot cocoa concoction. “Drink that before it melts too much.”
Finally, she tries it, and a white marshmallow mustache clings to her upper lip. I’m dying to kiss her and taste my favorite drink on her mouth, but she quickly licks it away.
Probably for the best.
“Well?” I prod impatiently.
She moves her hair behind her shoulder and smiles. “It’s actually really good. Very cozy and festive.”
“Told ya.”
She watches me drink my cocoa and laughs softly when I down the last gulp and lick the marshmallow from the rim of my mug.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing…” Her cheeks blush. “I just like seeing this happy side of you. You don’t smile enough.”
“I gues
s I’ll try to smile more, then. How’s that saying go? You never know who’s falling in love with your smile?”
“Ya never know… that just might be true.” She brushes by me to put her mug in the sink, then turns to look up at me. “Thank you for sharing your favorite cocoa with me.”
“Thanks for drinking it and not spitting it out.”
Laughing, she picks up Gus and pins me with a look of impatience and excitement.
“Can we put the tree up now?”
We drag the box into the living room and take out all the pieces of the fake tree and its stand. We laugh at Gus, who’s having a blast diving into the box, peeking out at us, then doing it all over again.
“You know she’s going to knock this tree over, right?” Skylar says.
“That’s why we’re not putting ornaments on it. Just lights. So if she knocks it over, no big deal.”
She holds up a fake tree branch and frowns quizzically while bending it up and down. “It’s like a big tree-puzzle.”
“Maybe I should’ve gotten a real one. I thought this would be easier.”
“It would’ve been dead by now if you left it in the hallway like you did with this one.”
An hour later our tree is slightly lopsided, but finally together and strung with little white lights and garland.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, reaching up to fix some of the branches. “I love the simple white lights, don’t you?”
Nodding, I pull the Santa hat off my head and gently put it on hers, fluffing her long hair around her shoulders.
“You make a cuter Santa than I do,” I say.
She smiles up at me. “That’s debatable. You’ve been rockin’ the sinful Santa vibes all day.”
As hard as it is, I don’t take the flirting bait. The vibe is good right now and I don’t want it ruined.
I change the subject. “Do you want your present now?”
She jumps up. “Yes! I’ll go get yours.”
“While you’re up there, grab yours off the top of my dresser,” I call after her as she runs upstairs.
Seconds later she comes back down carrying two small, gift-wrapped boxes. One red, one silver. She hands me the red one.
“Open yours first,” I say as we move to the couch.
She holds the thin, silver box to her ear and gently shakes it. “Full disclosure,” she says. “You’re the first guy to ever give me a Christmas present. Other than my dad and my grandfather, I mean.”
“Great. I’m glad there’s no pressure.”
She smiles, totally unaware that I’m drowning in regret. This gift-giving milestone should’ve been between her and a guy her age—one she’s actually romantically involved with. It would’ve been cute and special like young firsts are supposed to be.
I wonder—for the millionth time—if I’ve ruined more for her than I’ve helped her.
Her fingers tremble a bit as she carefully unwraps the present like it’s the crown jewel. I can’t tell if she’s excited or nervous.
I wonder if the gift is enough. Maybe it’s not enough.
Maybe it’s too much.
Gift shopping was a new level of confusing I wasn’t prepared for. What do you buy for the woman you’re married to, not involved with, but falling in love with? What kind of gift says, hey, I’m crazy about you, but I’m too much of a pussy to tell you?
You give her exactly what she’s holding up in her hands right now—a small, glass tube topped with a vintage, sterling hinged cap hanging from a thin chain. Inside it are a bunch of miniscule letters jumbled together.
“Jude…” she breathes. “It’s beautiful.” She turns it carefully in her palm, examining the necklace as if it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. “Do the letters inside spell something?”
“They do. A short message.”
Her eyes flit from the necklace to meet mine. “A message from you?”
“Yeah.”
When she moves her fingertips to unclasp the lid of the tube, I grab her hand.
“I want you to wait. Save it for a day when you really want to know what it says.”
Her brows pinch together. “I want to know what it says now, though.”
“I think if you wait for a time when you really, really want to know what it says, it’ll mean more.”
She studies my face, and I can’t tell if she’s disappointed, mad, or intrigued. “Only you would give me a gift that can’t say what it’s really meant to say,” she says.
“Fitting, huh?”
“Very.” She smiles crookedly. “I love it.” Leaning closer, she kisses my cheek. Her lips stay pressed against me, sticky from the marshmallow, and I want to turn, capture her mouth with mine, drag her onto the floor, and slowly undress her under the Christmas tree. I want to see the glow of the lights on her perfect skin, kiss her everywhere, taste the chocolate and peppermint on her lips.
“Will you put it on me?” she asks, turning away and lifting her long hair up, exposing the back of her neck, in a slow, sensual swoop. My large fingers fumble with the delicate clasp at the nape of her neck.
“There ya go,” I say, struggling not to pull her back against my chest and put my lips on her.
“It’s perfect.” Facing me, she fingers the glass tube. “I promise I’ll wait to put the little letters together. The mystery of it is very intriguing. I like it.”
“I thought you would.” I pull two lottery scratch tickets out of my pocket. “These are for you, too.”
She plucks them from my hands with a big smile on her face. “Maybe one of these will be my coveted thousand-dollar win.”
So far, she hasn’t won more than a hundred dollars on a ticket, but her mission is to win a grand.
I wink at her. “Ya never know.”
“I’ll scratch them later. I want you to open your prezzie.”
Wasting no time, I rip the wrapping paper off to find a small, gray box. Inside is a matte black custom lighter with an etched image of a gargoyle holding a red heart.
It’s cool. Probably one of the coolest things I’ll ever own.
“Wow.” I slowly rub my thumb over it. “I dig this a lot.”
“I had it made for you. Turn it over,” she says.
I do, and engraved with our wedding date, are the words: Thank you for being the best bad husband ever. Love always, Skylar ✷ . There’s a tiny sparkle at the end of her name like I put in our text messages.
“I thought I’d give you a souvenir of our fake marriage. It seemed a little more appropriate when I bought it, before…” She doesn’t finish her thought.
Before things started to fall apart.
As if I’d need something to remind me of her. She’s already embedded in my heart, branded there as the one and only woman I’ve ever had feelings for. And probably ever will.
I snap the lighter open, light it up, then close it—snuffing the flame.
“It’s perfect.” I smile at her, wishing I could show her how perfect it is with kisses instead of words. “This is much better than the ‘I fake married someone and all I got is this T-shirt’ shirt I was expecting at the end of this.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” She pulls the Santa hat off and golden strands of her hair stick up from her head, electrified with static. “The gargoyle reminded me of you. So rough and hard on the outside, but fiercely protective of the heart he’s holding.” She touches the lighter in my hand, then runs her finger slowly over my thumb to the pulse of my wrist. The touch is so simple, and yet the warm, tingling sensation travels all the way up my arm to my chest. “I’m just not sure if he’s protecting his own heart, or someone else’s.”
“Maybe he’s protecting both,” I say.
Her finger instantly halts its subtle caress on my wrist.
She slowly pulls away and gazes across the room, fixating on the Christmas tree. The lights reflect in her eyes like millions of tiny fireflies.
I’m enchanted with her. Always.
“Today was nice.
And a little awkward,” she says in a melancholy way. “But I’m glad I went and spent it with your family.”
“I am, too.”
She leans back against the couch and hugs her knees. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“I talked to my father.”
My head snaps back with surprise. “Really? When?”
“The night you were out. He sent me a text. It showed up as an unknown number. I thought it was a random wrong number at first.”
“Wow. How’d it go?”
Her chest heaves up with a sigh. “Good and bad, I guess. We talked for a while. It was weird at first, then it got better. We talked about my mom, and me, and him. We talked about you, too. He wants to talk more, maybe see me.” She looks at me and shakes her head. “I’m just not sure how I feel.”
I want to ask her what her father had to say about me, but I have a distinct feeling he’s the one who gave her the advice she mentioned the morning we talked, when she suddenly agreed that we shouldn’t be together.
I refuse to make this conversation about me, though. No matter what, he’s her father and I’m sure whatever advice he gave her was right on point. It’s important to me that she make her own choices. I don’t want to do or say anything to sway her in any direction. I don’t want her—or anyone else—to think I took advantage of her being young, and brainwashed her to marry me or have sex with me. The last thing I want is someone like Rebecca accusing me of grooming a teenager.
“What he did was wrong, but people change,” I say. “He could be a different man today than he was back then. He could be living with a ton of regret. It can’t hurt to hear him out. Lay into him if you want to—you have that right.”
“I did go off on him a little. He took it well and apologized… for leaving me. Do you think I should let him back into my life?”
“I don’t know, Skylar. That’s only for you to decide. You’re older now. You can have a real conversation with him about everything. Make him accountable. I’d hear him out and then decide if you want to tell him to go fuck off, or maybe try to start over. This time, the choice will be yours. At least then you’ll have closure.”
“I don’t know what to do. But, I have to admit, it was nice to talk to him. He sounds much happier. Would you let your father back into your life? Or your sister?”