Obsessive Compulsion

by C. E. Kilgore

  “What is it you want from me, James?” Brandon asks, his pain-filled voice giving me chills.

  James’ shoulders sag, as if he’s trying to hold up a great weight on them that he just can’t stand to carry anymore. The posture is so familiar that I find myself relating to the man I had sworn was my enemy. “I’m just so damn tired, Brandon. I wanna make my peace and be done with it.”

  I glance to Brandon to find the man stunned by the sound of torment I heard in James’ voice. It’s like Brendon’s ghost is haunting both of them, and Brandon just realized they’ve been carrying a shared burden all these years. As Brandon continues to stare at James in silence, James sighs, opens his car door and shakes his head.

  “Well, maybe next year,” he tosses his hat into the passenger seat, gets in his cruiser and drives away, leaving me to help Brandon start to move forward again.

  Charlotte-

  Anxiously running my sweating palms down the front of my skirt for the hundredth time as I stare blankly at the Christmas tree in my parents’ living room, I wait with held breath for news from the barn. Ian and Brandon returned shortly before one of the most uncomfortable family dinners I’ve ever had the privilege of attending. I was glad to hear that Saul was doing better, Austin was okay and Forester was on his way to jail, but Daddy had remained a stone wall during the whole conversation.

  Before Momma could serve slices of her blue-ribbon winning pecan pie, Daddy was out the door with a mumbled excuse about feeding goats. My daddy refusing to stick around for dessert felt like the final deathblow for his relationship with Ian. When a man lets something come between him and pie, I know there’s almost no hope for salvaging what’s been broken.

  It hurt to see the pain and worry in Ian’s eyes. After learning what kind of relationship he had with his father, I wanted so much for mine to accept him, all of him and unconditionally. Ian deserves that kind of father-son relationship, and I’m disappointed that my daddy is acting the way he is.

  Being disappointed in my daddy isn’t something I thought I’d ever experience. The way it’s tying my stomach into knots and pulling my heart it two different directions isn’t a feeling I’d wish on anyone. He’s my hero, but so is Ian. I’m prayin’ that Daddy doesn’t make me choose between him and Ian, because no matter how much I love my daddy, I’ve made a promise to stand by Ian’s side the same way he’s stuck next to mine.

  Ian and Brandon had stayed for the pie after Daddy fled, letting my momma float on a sea of compliments as she offered us all encouraging smiles. With a kiss on my forehead and a promise to make things right, Ian had headed out to the barn with Brandon. That had been almost an hour ago.

  The multicolored lights on the tree focus in and out, blurred in my vision as I try to remain calm. Deep, even inhales do little to keep my heart’s rhythm normal. It’s still recovering from the news that Ian had sought and received my daddy’s blessing to propose to me, and now I’m worried that’s all been taken away. I know that I’d say yes, no matter what my daddy thinks.

  I love Ian, and I think that’s all that should matter. Ian’s a good man, though, and a bit old-fashioned in some ways. I’m not one hundred percent sure he’d go against my father’s wishes if my daddy says Ian’s no longer good enough for me. Which is just plain crazy. Ian’s one of the best damn things to ever happen to me. I know it all the way down to my toes. I just hope Ian knows it, too.

  My fingers toy with the two pendants around my neck. Heck, I could always just ask him first, but part of me wants that proposal. I want the one-knee and diamond ring question. I want to hear Ian’s voice asking me to marry him. I want it so much that I’m afraid what will happen to my heart if it doesn’t… happen.

  “Look at my pretty girl,” Momma’s voice soothes over my worries as she hugs my shoulders from behind. “Such a beautiful woman you’ve become, Charlotte.”

  “Thanks, Momma.” I lean back against her, our heads meeting gently. I’m just wearing a simple green sweater and black A-line skirt, something conservative enough for Midnight Mass. I aint been to church in a long time, so I figure I might as well try and dress nice when I reacquaint myself with the Lord.

  “So beautiful,” she repeats and kisses my cheek, “and tall. Would you mind hangin’ this last ornament for me?”

  I’m a few inches taller than Momma, taking more after my daddy in that regard, so I take the ornament and reach up to a barren spot close to the stained-glass lighted star that tops the tree. My hand stops mid-raise as I refocus on the ornament. It’s a little baby angle, cuddling a star which has a year and ‘Mary Lynn McLeod’ written on it.

  “We bought that for Mary’s first, and only, Christmas,” Momma sniffles into my shoulder. “I think after twenty-five years, it’s time we put it back up on the tree. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah, Momma, I do.” Hanging it from a branch, I stare at the cute cherub face.

  The sadness I expected only lasts for a second, then I feel happy to see the ornament there amongst all the others we’ve collected, as a family, over the years. It feels right to have Mary Lynn’s ornament on the tree and her memory in my heart. Now I can carry that memory with me – not the dark day of the crash, but of a sweet little baby dressed in a white frilly dress who blessed our family for too short a time.

  Emma appears next to us without a sound and hangs a new ornament from the tree. It’s a small, silver picture frame, and inside it is a newly printed picture of the instant-film one that Daddy had shown me. It’s been fixed up, the degraded edges and coloring repaired. It explains what she’d been playing around with on the computer all morning.

  “Merry Christmas, Mary,” Emma whispers as she hangs the picture, then she disappears back upstairs without even acknowledging Momma and I.

  Momma and I share a look then a quiet laugh at Emma’s unsurprising behavior. We know we’ll never get her all the way figured out, and that’s part of what makes Emma so special to us. My laughter chokes as the backdoor opens and the sound of boots stomping off snow thunders through the kitchen. Momma kisses my cheek and goes to tend to the boys while I try to swallow back down butterflies.

  Brandon appears first with a smile to me then he heads to the stairs to call up for Emma. “Ready to go, Em?”

  “Minute!” Emma’s voice calls back down.

  A pair of arms wraps around me from behind and I startle, eliciting a snort into my ear. Ian’s cold nose burrows against my neck before I can move away with a small gasp. His rosy nose and cheeks are as adorable as his eyes and subtle smile are handsome, and the way those eyes move over my body cause me to shiver.

  “You look beautiful, Charlotte.”

  He leans in and kisses me once, twice, three times and four. I lose count after six, enjoying the way his cold skin is warming under my hands as I palm his cheeks. A throat clears behind us, and I move away, but Ian gets in one last kiss before letting me go. Peaking over Ian’s shoulder, I find my daddy’s stern blue eyes on me. The butterflies take wing, but then he winks at me.

  “Oh, John,” Momma huffs with a smile, swatting him on the shoulder as she walks by. “Quit giving the kids a hard time and go get washed up. We don’t want to be late.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His hard gaze melts into affectionate playfulness before he heads upstairs to get changed.

  My questioning glance refocuses on Ian for explanation. He nods once with that special smile, kisses me twice more then takes my hand. Relief warms over me, two-days’ worth of anxious energy collapsing and threatening to take my knees out with it. I need air.

  Squeezing his hand tight, I grab my jacket and pull him outside to the front porch, seeking a few moments alone while everyone finishes getting ready. Marching him down the stairs and into the seclusion of the side yard, I take in a deep inhale of crisp winter frost, tall evergreens and cut wheat hay then let it out as a laugh.

  “Feel better?” he asks while helping me put on my coat.

  “Depends,” I pull him in close after he zi
ps me up. “What did my daddy say?”

  “Sorry, but that’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss. Man-code and all that.”

  “Man-code?” I slap his shoulder then go silent, lost in his watercolor eyes as they catch the muted light from the porch. My heart waits on pins and needles, wondering if this is the moment and subconsciously giving him a window of opportunity to ask me.

  It’s silly to do that, isn’t it? That tiny voice of Christmas-past whispers that I might just be setting myself up for disappointed heartache again, but the look Ian gives me tells me he’s simply waiting for the right time to ask me. That perfect moment he needs may not be tonight or even before this year ends, but I have this belief that it’s going to happen eventually. That faith, along with our love, is enough for me to hold onto and give him all the time he needs.

  Luckily, I’ve got no such hang-ups. Reaching into my sweater, I pull out the two chains around my neck while he watches me curiously. I check to make sure I’ve got the right one, then I unclasp it from my neck before clasping it around his. “Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

  My cheeks warm despite the cold as he inspects the silver heart shaped charm. The front reads ‘Charlotte’s’, and he glances up at me with a raised eyebrow. I bite my bottom lip and motion for him to turn it around. He does then promptly snorts. The other side says ‘Mine’.

  “Charlotte’s mine?” he teases then palms the pendant that’s around my neck and reads the front side then the back. “Ian’s… mine.”

  “You better remember that,” I wink then let out a girly giggle as he tugs me closer by the chain. “You like?”

  “I love,” he corrects then proceeds to kiss my lips until they’re good and chapped. “I love you, Charlotte.”

  I smile, ignoring my cracking lips and leaning in to kiss him some more. A flash of light stops me and we glance at the porch to see my momma trying to hide her camera. She shrugs innocently at me while ushering us towards the driveway. Embarrassed but understanding, I let her have her fun.

  The Midnight Mass at St. Francis is as beautiful as I remember, full of hushed reverence and hope for things to come. I don’t agree with everything the church says, but I can appreciate the love behind the message. With Ian’s hand holding mine tightly throughout the hour-long service, the feeling of love surrounding me is stronger than it’s ever been.

  The drive home is quiet, with Emma already falling asleep against Brandon’s shoulder. He carries her up to bed while my parents say their goodnights to Ian and I. He leads me to my bedroom, but then kisses me goodnight and gathers some things from his suitcase before heading to the guest room down the hall.

  I miss him before I hear the guest room door shut. It feels wrong not sharing a bed with Ian, even though my little double mattress might have been a bit tight. I know he’s trying to respect my parents, but I want more than anything to wake up in his arms again.

  At some point during the night, I guess he gets the same idea, because I’m suddenly surrounded by warmth preceding a snort as my cold feet welcome his arrival. I try not to snicker when he reaches behind my nightstand to unplug my tulip lamp. “I tried to stay away,” he whispers into my hair and we both fall asleep smiling at his failure.

  As tradition dictates, it’s eight a.m. on the dot when Emma bounces onto my bed without paying any mind to a shirtless Ian nestled in my arms. “Merry Christmas! Get up, sleepy-heads. Brandon’s making blueberry and banana pancakes!”

  Well, not quite tradition, but I’m sure Momma appreciates the help. Emma leaves the room just as over abundantly full of energy as she entered it, shutting the door that was left open long enough to allow the scent of coffee in. The promise of caffeine gets me moving and I nudge Ian who reluctantly disengages. The man is a damn spider monkey when he sleeps, his arms and legs wrapping around me like I’m a stuffed animal. Not complaining, mind you, but God forbid I ever need to get up and use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

  I think we’re both still a little bit surprised that my touch no longer sends his mind into overdrive. Well, not the negative kind of overdrive, at least. He’s grinning at me as we dress, and he even wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as I change panties. After a night of cuddling, his cute, sexual innuendoes are asking for trouble. I shake my butt in revenge. It earns me a little spanking which demands retaliation. I’m two seconds away from dragging Ian back to bed when Daddy knocks softly on the door.

  “You two kids up?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ian answers. “Emma made sure we didn’t miss out on the pancakes.”

  Daddy laughs on the other side of the door. “See you downstairs, then.”

  I eye Ian as he pulls on a pair of khaki Dockers. “Don’t think you’ve gotten outta that punishment I promised you, Mr. Rider.”

  Looping his belt through, he continues to grin smugly. “A promise is a promise, and I will hold you to it.”

  As we finish dressing with a continued banter between us, it hits me just how right it all feels. I want to wake up every morning like this. It’s this little piece of normal, our normal, that makes any trouble we may face worth every single bump.

  That thought follows me through breakfast, clouding over my mind so much that I barely catch the snuck glances from my momma and Emma. Those two are up to something, but I decide to just pretend I don’t notice it as I dig into Brandon’s amazing pancakes. Damn, the boy can cook.

  After the traditional Christmas morning breakfast, we three girls clean up the dishes while the boys go check on the goats. I’m sure Daddy is just as happy to have the help in the barn as Momma was to have Brandon helping in the kitchen. Despite her attempts, neither Emma nor I have ever gotten the knack for cooking anything that requires more than boiled water or a microwave.

  Brandon’s been trying to teach Emma, but she just ends up with more flour in her hair and on her face than in the bowl. It’s adorable, and it’s probably why Brandon insists on her continued help. He handles all her quirks like they are incredibly special and priceless pieces of her, and I know I love the man for it.

  Yeah, I think I’m ready to admit that Brandon has come to feel like the brother I always wanted, and I’m so glad Emma has him in her life. It’s good to let myself feel connections like that again, and knowing why I couldn’t before is like seeing the world around me for the first time all over again. Glancing at Ian as the boys come back into the kitchen, I’m almost overwhelmed by just how much I do feel for him. I think he sees it, and he gives me the smile that’s only for me as he takes my hand and leads me into the living room.

  With Mary Lynn’s memory remembered and these new feelings and traditions taking root in our family, I feel like this is the first Christmas of what I hope is a promise of more Christmases just like this one in the future. I’m ready for new promises and making plans beyond tomorrow. I’m ready to shed my cocoon, spread my wings and fly as far as they will take me, as long as they always take me back to Ian’s heart.

  Sitting with him on the couch, the look in his watercolor eyes promises me without words needed that he’ll always chase after me if my wings take me too far. I promise him right back that I’ll always wait for him, no matter how many times he has to start the chase over. This is our dance. Our steps. Our normal, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Ian

  The way Charlotte’s looking at me almost has me at the end of my patience. I’m actually thankful for my OCD, because it’s the only thing keeping me from getting on one knee right now and blurting out the question. My OCD, however, is demanding I stick to the plan so carefully orchestrated and reevaluated over and over and over and…

  “Presents!” Emma’s cheery announcement saves me.

  God, I love that girl, and I love Brandon’s goofy grin, too. The man has been trying to keep it under wraps, but I can tell he’s just as excited as I am. Looking around the living room as John and Carol join us, I almost lose it. It’s all just so… perfect.

  A decorated house, a h
uge Christmas tree and a family gathering together. It’s like a Norman Rockwell painting and I can’t believe it’s all real. The only thing that’s missing is the wide-eyed kids and a puppy that Rockwell always includes. Glancing at Charlotte, I think maybe by next Christmas we could help complete that picture.

  My damn hand twitches as the heat in the room raises a few degrees. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me while my mind is going a million different directions. It’s already obsessing over the next few minutes and the next twelve months at the same time in minute-by-minute details.

  Ask Charlotte to marry me. Plan wedding. Marry Charlotte. Get a puppy? No, a baby first. No, no… Move in together first. Wait, that will have to come before the wedding. Hold on, go back to this crazy idea of having a baby…

  I’m barely paying attention, or breathing, as presents are passed around and opened until Brandon thrusts a box into my lap. I raise an eyebrow, since we agreed no presents this year, but he gives me that damn grin of his. With a huff, I open the box. It’s the size and shape that shirts usually come in and inside I find an instruction manual.

  “I wasn’t gonna haul the thing up here, but it’ll be waiting in your apartment when you get home,” he explains while Emma giggles excitedly into his shoulder. “It’s a solar powered fridge – the kind those ‘off the grid’ people use. No electrical outlet required, so you can leave the darn thing running at night.”

  I blink, imagining how much a set up like that must have cost. “Brandon, I can’t accept…”

  His eyes go into stern ‘Stable Master’ mode. “You can, and you will. You know we’re making Shoe Village a green energy project, so think of it more like an experimental investment if you have to.”