by Sybil Smith
"Evelyn wants to adopt a kid," she says, still not looking up from her hands. "She didn't even talk to me about it first. She just kind of dumped it on me tonight and I don't know what to do."
Clara pushes down her excitement at maybe, possibly getting her first grandchild—because that's how she would treat the child, and no one could stop her from doing so—and tilts her head, accusation heavy in her voice. "You didn't run out on her, did you?"
Let it never be said that Clara didn't know how her children reacted to things. Finally looking up, she raise her eyebrows. "I came back! And then I left again," she adds on with a mumble, remembering how defeated Evelyn looked when she said she couldn't stay.
Clara reaches over, lightly patting her knee. "Vera…"
"I know, I know. But at least I was honest with her. That counts for something, right?"
Clara says nothing for once, giving Vera the chance to keep going. Get all this off her chest.
Vera sinks back in the couch cushions and rubs one hand on her face with a low groan. "I've been up all night thinking about everything and I'm just so…I don't know. She should've trusted me. I want her to trust me."
And she knows how hard it was for her to trust people, how she thought everyone had a secret and was out to get her. No one close to her had even died and it still had messed her up, weighed her down for the longest time until finally, one day, she realized not everyone was so bad. It took time—quite a lot of it—and what Evelyn went through was worse, immensely worse. So it would take her longer to realize she wasn't always going to get left—that even though Vera may leave for a few hours, it didn't mean she was leaving forever.
But regardless of knowing that, of knowing that Evelyn still had a lot of healing left to do, it stung at how little Evelyn had trusted her with something so…huge. Something that would change both of their lives.
She rubs her eyes, pushing until she sees white dots in an attempt to keep the tears from coming. There's no way she's about to break down in the middle of the night on her mother's couch. She finally drops her hands down to her lap and rapidly blinks away any evidence of her near crying.
Clara waits a beat before clearing her throat to finally talk. "Are you upset because you're scared?"
"What?" Vera asks, incredulously, as her face turns to look at her mother. But then she looks back to the ceiling and shrugs. "Yeah. I guess I am. At least with Tristan, I would've known what I was getting in to. This…this is just a huge surprise."
"Like accidentally getting your girlfriend pregnant?"
"Ma!" Vera scrunches up her nose, groaning. Leave it to her mother to break an utterly serious moment.
"Sorry," Clara says, giving a small grimace.
Vera sighs. "I just don't know what to do."
"You talk to her about it. You keep taking to her about it and you work it out."
It sounds so simple when it's put like that, too simple. She shakes her head. "I don't know what to say, Ma! I mean," she exhales, sitting up to rest her elbows on her knees. "I'm okay with this. I don't know why, but when I left to think about everything, I was just sitting my car and…I could see it. Me and her and that little boy. The white picket fence and baseball games and…I could see it."
Clara sits up, running her hand slowly down Vera's back in an effort to soothe her in a way that had always worked when Vera was younger. "It's scary realizing you want something you never thought you would, isn't it?"
She nods.
"After your father left," Clara starts, "it took me months to get back on my feet. Know why?"
She looks over her shoulder, shakes her head.
"For the first time in my life, I wanted a job. I wanted to be independent. And I was afraid I would be bad at it. I didn't want to fail at something I wanted. No one does."
She leans into her mother's touch, taking the smallest moment to just let herself be comforted. "I just…I know she'll be good at it. She'll be just as good of a mother to this kid as she was to Tristan. But what about me? I'm not motherly," she says, rubbing at her hands again. "I don't even know how it's going to work. We aren't even married."
"Do you want to marry her?"
She nods, because she truly does. Wants the wedding, wants the family. She wants it all. "Yeah. Not today or anything, but someday. When we're ready."
Clara really tries not to smile, tries not to start making the guest list in her head already upon hearing that her only daughter is finally thinking about settling down. "Does Evelyn know that?"
"Yeah, I think so," Vera says, taking a sip of the nearly warm beer from the coffee table. "She knows I'm in this for the long run."
"So this is about both of you, Ver. She doesn't want to do this alone, she wants you to be honest with her and tell her what you want too," Clara reassures, giving her daughter one last gentle pat on the back. "And you'll be a great mother. Any child would be lucky to have a mom that's so protective and loving and puts 100 percent into all that she does."
Vera finally smiles, not a huge one, but a smile of thanks—a smile that means she's really and truly happy that her mother sees that in her. Clara pulls her in for a quick hug—and she doesn't even complain—before pushing her daughter away. "Now get out of here and don't come back until you're supposed to be here. I need my beauty sleep."
She laughs at that and stands from the couch, her eyes softening as she looks down to Clara. "Thanks, Ma."
"Anytime, baby. And I promise," she pretends to zip her lips, "This little chat will stay between us."
Vera nearly rolls her eyes. The chances of this little chat staying between them is slim to none. Especially with how much her mother tries to one up Carla Tulucci all the time.
After saying goodbye, she walks outside and the freezing cold air whips around her hair, her feet crunching in the snow as she walks to the car. She doesn't even have to wait until the car warms up before she decides where she needs to go.
* * *
She fumbles through the darkness of the hall, pulling off her wet boots and coat as she goes. Her steps are cautious as she makes her way to the bedroom, hoping to avoid having a crushed bearded dragon stuck to her foot.
In the bedroom, she finds Evelyn curled on her side in a loose shirt, hair messily splayed around her, and eyes even puffier than they were before. Her heart clenches, wishing she would've stayed when Evelyn had asked her too. Maybe neither of them would've felt so alone or cried through the night.
She pulls off her pants—draping them on a nearby chair so the damp legs aren't dragging the floor—and climbs into the warm and soft bed, made even warmer as she scoots closer to Evelyn and the heat from their bodies start to intertwine. Taking only a moment to look at the other woman, she reaches out and runs her finger down Evelyn's jaw, her nose, her eyebrow, until blue eyes sleepily blink open and look at her in confusion.
"Vera?"
"Yeah," she says, pulling Evelyn close and intermingling their legs, "It's me."
Still not fully awake, her brow knits. "Bu—What are you doing here?"
"I missed you." Vera's fingers dip lightly under the hem of Evelyn's shirt, gently tracing the soft and warm skin. "And no one should wake up alone on Christmas."
"It's not Christmas," Evelyn says, clearly confused about so many things as she starts to sit up.
"Yeah it is," Vera replies, lightly laughing at seeing Evelyn so perplexed. She pulls Evelyn closer to hold her tight, to reassure her. "But we've still got a few more hours until we have to be up. Go back to sleep."
Evelyn goes to protest, but Vera's arms feel so good—so perfect, so right wrapped around her and Vera smells so good, smells just like…home, that she doesn't. She scoots closer, burying her face in Vera's neck—lightly kissing it.
"I love you," she mumbles, the noise muffled as the dregs of sleep already start pulling her back under.
Leaning down, Vera kisses the crown of her hair. There would be more to talk about, definitely more to discuss in the morning. But here
, right at this very moment, she's content just to be. Just to sleep next to the one person she loves most.
Chapter 24
She slowly stirs as the sun peeks through the blinds and pulls her awake. Momentarily caught off-guard by the arms wrapped around her, her body goes rigid until she remembers just whose arms those are. Relaxing once again, she scoots closer into the crook of Vera's neck and inhales deeply—breathing in the scent, taking the in the comfort of just being with Vera.
She lightly kisses Vera's neck and then again, and again until there's a small groan. "Evelyn," Vera half whispers, half whines. "It's early."
"But it's Christmas," she replies, pulling back slightly to look at Vera's still relaxed face. "I really can't believe I forgot."
"Not your fault." Vera slowly blinks open her eyes and gives a small shrug. "We didn't even have time to put up a tree this year."
And that was true. With work and the visit to Nebraska—and the almost two weeks Evelyn had pushed herself away from everyone—they really hadn't had the time to even get in the Christmas spirit, much less put up a tree.
"That's okay," she says, reaching out to softly trace the contours of Vera's cheek with her fingers. Mornings with Vera are some of her favorite things. Vera was relaxed, unguarded, and almost-vulnerable—things that Vera rarely ever let show at any other time. "We're still going to your mother's later, aren't we?"
"Yeah," Vera replies, "but I'm sure we can still get a tree if you want one. I think I even have a box of old lights and stuff at my place."
….
She pulls out the colored lights from the package—Tristan refused to let her buy the white ones this year—and sets them on her son's lap so he can attempt to untangle them. The tree is green, tall, and, unfortunately, in four pieces scattered around the living room floor.
The live one last year had made Tristan's nose run and eyes water to the point of him nearly being miserable, and she didn't want that for him this year—not now that he was nearly four and could really, truly enjoy the holiday and all the traditions that came along with it.
Tristan watches as she quickly puts it together and begins to pull apart the branches to cover up any gaping holes, and drops the cord of lights—that are now more tangled than before—to help her.
"Mama," he says as he walks up to stand next to her, "Can we get a little tree next year?"
"Little?" She looks down, smiling at the little corduroy pants and reindeer sweater he still had on from taking pictures earlier that day. "Why do you want a little tree?"
He frowns as he reaches up above his head to pull apart two of the fake branches. "I can't reach like you can."
"I can see how that would be frustrating," she concedes, still smiling as she picks him up and rests him on her hip. "Is that better?"
"Yeah," he smiles, reaching out to help her with the upper branches. "Will Santa bring me a bike this year?"
Biting her lip, she tries to think of an appropriate response. It was only last year that he had come home from daycare after watching a movie about Santa and started making out his 'list' on the drive home. He had been too excited to for her to refute it and, even now, she tries to say nothing that will make her son question Santa's existence without actually having to lie.
Since becoming a mother, she certainly has developed a knack for evading the truth without actually lying—something that definitely works in her favor when it comes to things such as this.
"Getting a bike this year is certainly a possibility," she settles on as she shifts him slightly on her hip, "You have been a very sweet boy this year."
"Maybe you'll get a bike too, Mama. We can play with them together," he says, beaming up at her as she sets him back on the floor.
"Maybe," she smiles, watching as he tugs his sweater back down into place.
He runs to the couch and grabs the lights and brings them back to her. She can't help but laugh as she holds the incredibly-twisted strands in front of her.
His tiny fingers trying to mimic her own as she weaves the strands in and out, in and out until they are completely unraveled and ready. They light the tree together—him passing the strands to her and she passing them back to him as they put the strands around the bottom of the tree, and she holds him as they circle the top of the tree again and again until it's covered.
"How does it look?"
"We still have to put the balls on it, Mama," he replies, climbing down from her hip to dig through the ornament box on the floor. "And this one I made for you," he says as he holds up the tiny ornament he had made from popsicle sticks last week, "We can't forget it."
And once the tree is completely up—star on top and red baubles adorning every branch—that popsicle stick ornament is hung front and center for the first and last time of Tristan's short life.
…..
She studies Vera's face. Memories of the last time she had put up a tree with her son are flooding her mind, but she does want to do this. Wants to do this with Vera to make new memories, and also to remember those memories she and Tristan had made two years ago—in somewhat of a remembrance.
A way of embracing those memories instead of shying away from them. A way of healing—connecting her past with her present in a beneficial and healthy way with Vera by her side.
"But we don't have to," Vera says to break the long silence.
Evelyn leans up, kissing Vera softly on the lips. "I…I think I'd like to."
After nearly digging through her closet for half an hour and making sure Vera had finally drank enough coffee to wake her up, they drove all around Philadelphia to find a tree. They ended up with the last one on the lot—barely four foot tall and the branches were so thin that gaping holes shown throughout.
"Wow," Vera laughs as she sets the sad excuse in the corner of her apartment, "If it was any worse, it could pass off as the tree from Charlie Brown." At Evelyn's blank look, she waves her hand in the air as she turns to the tattered box she had pulled from her closet. "Never mind."
Evelyn reaches out, lightly touching the top of the tree—realizing that Tristan, if he were still here, would probably be tall enough to reach the top of this one. And for the first time in a long time, she finds herself smiling at the thought of him instead of tearing up. "I think it's perfect."
"Really?"
"Yes," Evelyn replies, taking the strand of lights with gaudy, mismatched bulbs that Vera holds out. "It has character. Much like you and I."
Vera looks at the leaning, misshapen tree and thinks about her own unusual past; thinks of all that Evelyn's went through. And she gets it. Grinning, she looks up at Evelyn as they pass the lights back and forth to cover the bare spots. "Yeah, I guess it does."
They hang the ornaments—some from Vera's childhood, other sparkly ones from the dollar store down the road she had picked up to replace the ones that had broken over the years—and finally take a step back to look at it.
It looks nothing like before. Even with the cheap and mismatched decorations, it looks better than all the ones Vera had done by herself to appease her mother over the years.
Evelyn gently pulls a small bundle from her coat pocket and tentatively glances over to Vera. "May I?"
"Of course," Vera shrugs, softly smiling.
Her fingers work at the paper, tenderly pulling it away until she's left with the popsicle ornament her son had made. She hangs it on the very top of the tree in place of the star they had forgotten with the words Merry Christmas, Mama—misspelled and shakily written due to his young age—facing forward.
"Is that okay?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder to Vera.
"Yeah," Vera responds, whispering to hide the tremor in her own voice. "Now it's perfect."
"Mmm," Evelyn hums as Vera wraps her arms around her waist from behind, lightly kissing right below Evelyn's ear. "I love you."
Vera's chest feels like it clenches with all the love she has for Evelyn, all that she feels for her that she's never felt for anyone else. "I love you,
too," she gently tightens her grip around Evelyn's waist, "But we were supposed to be at Ma's thirty minutes ago."
"So we have to go before she sends out a search party?"
Vera laughs, kisses her cheek as she pulls back. "Something like that."
…..
Nearly an hour late, they finally walk inside and find everyone already sitting on the couch waiting on them. Clara looks up from her spot next to Davis, eyebrow raised. "Well there you are! How many times have I told you to answer the phone? You nearly worried me to death!"
Vera scoffs, sweeping her arms towards the table covered in half-empty dishes. "So worried that you just couldn't wait to eat without us?"
"It was getting cold," Clara retorts as if that answers everything, and then points to the empty seat on the couch. "C'mon, don't make us wait to open the gifts, too, girls."
"Alright, alright," Vera acquiesces as she pulls Evelyn over to sit in the narrow spot by and the arm of the couch.
Their thighs are pressed tightly together, Vera's arm draped around Evelyn's shoulders to pull her close. She watches as Clara hands out the first gift to everyone, her eyebrows knitting as she, too, is handed one. "I don't…" she trails off, turning the neatly wrapped box in her hands.
"What?" Vera asks, tenderly squeezing her shoulder. "You didn't think I was going to drag you over here for nothing, did you?"
And Evelyn gives her a look that says yes, she really wasn't anticipating a gift. Vera playfully rolls her eyes—despite how horrible she feels that Evelyn still never really expects things from those closest to her—and leans over towards her. "I even have another gift for you at home," she says, wagging her eyebrows.
Evelyn lightly laughs, gently squeezing Vera's knee. "I have something for you, too."
"Can't wait," Vera whispers before pulling back her mother walks back to the middle of the room.
"Okay," Clara starts, "Evelyn first!"
She looks around the room, a slight blush rising in her cheeks. Not even as a child did she receive so much attention at Christmas. Vera laughs, bumping their shoulders together. "One person at a time, that's the rule."