Winter Hearts

by A. E. Radley

Her dad stepped into the kitchen first, blocking the guest. He stopped short, then threw his arms wide. "What a wonderful surprise!"

  Dana had to step under quickly, dodging his body to enter the kitchen. When she stood up, Dana realized she'd give anything, anything, to go back in time and run away. Never come home. Never accept Lauren's proposal to help. Maybe never be born, if it meant avoiding this moment.

  There, next to her sister, with a still brilliant smile and the same lazy beauty that had always taken Dana's breath away, was Margot.

  CHAPTER 4

  "Hey, kid." The same voice, the same casual greeting. Margot had a twinkle in her eye. "Good to see you."

  Dana thought she might throw up. Her cheeks burned so hot it hurt. Bridget looked at her like she'd grown another eye in the middle of her forehead. "Say hello, dummy."

  "Hi?" Dana sounded reedy and childish in her ears.

  Huffing, Bridget rolled her eyes and strode over to scoop Dana in a hug. "Stop being weird. It's just Margot."

  It's just Margot. What a riot. Feelings Dana hadn't even known she had were flooding to the surface. Her skin was tight with them, stretched in the effort to keep Dana together. Just Margot? God...how had she pretended all these years? How had she stuffed down and ignored all of this, this...this want?

  "What's she doing here?"

  "Dana!" her mother scolded. "Don't be rude."

  "Sorry." She needed to escape. "I'm just caught off guard."

  "Well, we all are, but what a lovely surprise. The best way to be caught off guard." Her mother was still eyeing her with a degree of exasperation that meant that, on top of confronting a tsunami of emotions, Dana was also going to need to come up with an excuse for her mother for this reaction. Dear ground, please open up right now and swallow me. With hope, Dana.

  "I, uh, it's good to see you, Margot. Sorry," she apologized again and went to run a hand through her hair, having forgotten the bun. Her fingers snagged and pulled it half out. Her sister was looking at her like she was covered in warts. "Bridget. Missed you. Uh. Well. I'm going to take a shower?" She asked it like it was a question, like she needed to be excused from this horrible parody of real life.

  "You smell pretty funky," Bridget agreed and tossed a weighted look to Margot. "She smells."

  Margot's smile deepened. The hole inside of Dana widened, filling rapidly with horror.

  "Oh, for goodness's sake, go shower, Dana. TV has turned your brain into jelly." Her mother scolded her, making a shooing motion. "Come back when you're human again."

  She felt the weight of her father's palm on her shoulder. He patted her, anchoring her. She looked to him with gratefulness exploding inside. He smiled back and winked. "Go get cleaned up. Then come back. No running away, okay?"

  Running away. Why hadn't she thought of that? And now it was off the table.

  Fine. But she was going to take the world's longest shower and try desperately to come up with a plan for this holiday that was quickly becoming a nightmare.

  She should have done laundry. She'd brought weeks’ worth of it home, having opted to stretch her wardrobe during final exams and saving her quarters. Now, hair still damp enough it dripped down her bare shoulders, Dana stared at the piles of unwashed clothes on her floor.

  Margot was here.

  She reached down and began to search for her favorite shirts. The ones that flattered the right areas and helped her hide the parts she was less secure about. Each time she succeeded in unearthing one, she'd smell it, her nose would wrinkle, and it would be tossed aside. In the end, after huffing a shameful amount of tops, she had to surrender. There wasn't one clean shirt in the pile, and only one mostly suitable pair of jeans.

  The jeans she pulled on. They didn't smell, but there was a dark stain on one leg from some spilled coffee. Oh well. For her top...Dana cringed. She had two choices: Ask Bridget to borrow one or raid her mother's closet. Seeing as how she'd just made herself into the world's largest ass in front of her sister (and Margot, she couldn't forget Margot if she tried), her mother's closet won.

  Inside was a winter wonderland of red, white, and green sweaters, each more cringe-worthy than the last. Some had LED bulbs that lit up. With effort, she picked the least offensive one she could find. Overlarge, red, and covered in snowflakes in a Fair Isle-like pattern, it would have to do. Also, she made a mental note, there was no more putting off laundry. Not if Margot was here.

  Margot was here.

  Dana's body felt numb. Her mind fuzzy, a radio turned to a band with no station. If she hadn't met Lauren, this wouldn't be so bad. If she had never texted Andy, she wouldn't feel this way. If she'd just held to the status fucking quo, then everything would be fine. There'd be the same eggnog, cookies, presents, and laughter, with none of the gut-churning anxiety and crippling self-doubt.

  Was this why adults (her mother excluded) seemed to dread holidays? Why so many jokes were made about how you can't come home? It sure felt like it.

  The longer I hide, the more suspect I am. With deep resignation, Dana headed downstairs. She never thought she'd miss Anna and their too-small dorm room. But she'd pick a cloud of pot and some weird, stoned dude making out with her roommate while she got lost in video games over this any day.

  Each step down was a step into depression. Christmas was supposed to be innocent. A time of wishes and happiness. Now she'd have to work extra hard to make it through.

  The TV was on in the den and the urge to go bury herself in another show with her father was undeniably appealing. Dana, though, for all the acid taste in her mouth, knew it was best to go hang with Bridget and Margot and her mother. Pretend like she wasn't living in a bad dream.

  You're being ridiculous. Overreacting. It was true. Some part of Dana was appalled, floating above her and looking down, disconnected in a way that allowed her to see how juvenile and absurd she was being. Being aware of that fact did not make her feel better.

  The smell of butter and flour and vanilla greeted her, followed by the soft, padded flurry of bare feet on tile. Dana went into the kitchen and saw first her mother, stirring a giant bowl. Second, her sister, scooping dollops of dough from another bowl onto one of an army of baking sheets. Finally, with a skip of her heart, she took in Margot, leaning against a counter, out of the way.

  She seemed smaller than Dana remembered. Still tall, but not looming. Margot's dirty blonde hair was longer, falling in heavy waves over too-thin shoulders. Dana observed the slope of the shoulders. Curved in. Arms crossed in front. Like Margot wasn't comfortable in her own skin. She knew she imagined the crackle of understanding that seemed to connect her in that moment, but she relished it.

  Projecting much?

  Bridget was moving with the same quiet confidence she always had. She knew what she wanted and she always managed to get it. Usually through a combination of luck, nagging, and sheer determination. She hadn't changed, still looking every part the older sister. She'd added a pink streak in her dark hair that Dana was certain their mother hated, but looked good.

  "Nice sweater, nerd," Bridget said, not missing a beat. She picked up the tray and carried it to the oven. "When I was in college, I wouldn't have been caught dead in Mom's clothes."

  "Hey!" Her mom said, laughing.

  "You're still in college," Margot added wryly. Something bright bloomed in Dana's chest as Margot teased her sister...on her behalf.

  "Well, it doesn't make that sweater any less silly."

  Dana's cheeks tingled and heat crept up from her neck. Soon she'd be red enough to match her top. "I'm a bit behind on laundry."

  Her mom frowned. "Now I'll be one sweater short, dear. Will you wash it before next week so I can still wear it?"

  "Of course," Dana mumbled. Somehow she'd gone away for a semester of school and returned home feeling even more a child. Great. Just great.

  "Well," Margot said, throwing her a soft smile, "I like it. Very festive. In fact, may I borrow one?"

  Dana's mother laughed. "Sure. You ha
ve to wash it, too. You remember where my room and closet are?"

  "I know this house like it was my own," Margot replied. Dana might have imagined it, but there was an edge. A sliver of hardness to the reply. "Thanks," she added, the warmth restored.

  When she left, Bridget stuck out her tongue. "Still stuck up Margot's ass, I see."

  "Bridget!" Her mother snapped, glaring at her eldest daughter. But that was the end of her effort to reign in Bridget.

  "It's true, Mom. Margot's always been a bit uncomfortable here because Dana treats her like a pop star or something."

  There are exchanges that bruise. Bruises heal over time, though. Then there are words that eviscerate. Dana didn't think she was being melodramatic when she grabbed at her stomach, as if she could stop her guts from spilling out. Of course, they weren't spilling out. She simply grabbed at gnarled cotton, the rough texture of embroidered snowflakes dragging at her skin.

  She stared at her sister. Her sister stared back. Her mother, fretting, stirred her cookie dough too hard. That batch would be tough, the gluten too developed by the overzealous mixing.

  "Well," Dana said, forcing a breath out. "At least you've lost none of your charm while away. You're going to make some man quite miserable one day. Good for you."

  "Girls, please."

  Bridget sneered. "I keep the men happy."

  "Men? How lovely. A shrew and a slut." Dana couldn't believe the venomous words spilling from her. But defiance surged within and the best way she could think of to avoid the deep, throbbing hurt of her sister's words was to make sure Bridget hurt just as much.

  "That's enough," their mother said, slamming the bowl hard enough on the countertop it was a miracle it didn't smash. "I don't know what's wrong with either of you, but it's Christmas. I've been listening to carols since September. It is my favorite time of year, and your petty bickering will not fuck it up."

  Dana gasped in tandem with Bridget. Their mother did not curse. Ever.

  "Oh, fighting? Now it really feels like the holidays." Margot came in, her chosen sweater showing Rudolph, complete with red blinking nose. She slung an easy arm over Dana's shoulders. Dana went pencil-stiff.

  CHAPTER 5

  Margot was close enough that Dana could smell the clean scent of her shampoo. Their sweaters clashed, a merry attack of color on the eyes.

  She was so close that Dana struggled to be aware of anything other than the long press of Margot's body against hers. Surely now, at this moment, when all the women in the kitchen were feeling raw and volatile, Bridget and her mother would see right through her. They'd see the connection, the zinging, coursing attachment that Dana still had after all this time on a woman who was off limits.

  But instead of gasps or accusing glares, they smiled. Dana's mom shot Margot a look of relief, as if Dana weren't right there to catch the gist of it.

  "Don't you two look darling," she gushed.

  Margot shifted. It sent her closer to Dana, enough so that Dana thought she'd be forced to catch herself in the doorway, holding herself up lest she sink to the ground, her legs reduced to noodles. She wanted to shut her eyes, to ward herself against the rustling, the brushing, but instead she picked the bowl that was back in her mother's hands, holding it in her view with laser focus.

  Margot held out her phone with her other hand, the arm around Dana's shoulder firmly planted. "This is great--will you take a photo for my Instagram?"

  Bridget rolled her eyes but came and grabbed the phone, thumbing through filters and settings until she felt ready to take the perfect, blog-worthy photo. Dana sucked in a breath, wanting to prolong the moment. This was, she knew, just another case of Margot being sweet to her best friend's pathetic younger sister. A pity photo, acting like she was included. She must not have heard Bridget spill her secret, that Dana made her feel weird and uncomfortable when staying over.

  The knife dug deeper and Dana began to think she'd been a fool all her life. It withered the joy in her until even Margot's close, warm vicinity wasn't enough to make her feel better.

  "Smile, bitches!" Bridget had the phone out, lining them up for the best shot.

  "Dear, please, no language--"

  Margot's hand drifted down Dana's shoulder, sliding back and under her arm. Vicious fingers dug into Dana's ribs. Her Achilles' Heel, her most-ticklish zone, known only to family. Laughter shot from her as she jerked away from the fingers, crashing into Margot's giggling frame. The girl caught her, wrapping her arms in a tight, quick embrace. Then the photo was over, she was gone, and Dana was left reeling.

  Margot was next to Bridget, flipping through photos, laughing and pointing. Dana, too hot and worried that she might cry and, worse, have to explain herself, ducked out and ran back up to her room. Like she was twelve and not eighteen. Like she hadn't kissed a girl the night before, feeling powerful and sexy underneath the stars.

  She flung herself on the bed and, like a good John Hughes movie, had a deep cry.

  The knock pulled her from the bed. She was past the point of tears. Her face still felt swollen and she had some sniffles, but it was what it was. "Come in," she said, knowing no one in her family would go away if she told them to. The knock was more a courtesy warning than an inquiry in their household.

  The door cracked and Bridget and Margot came in. Her sister flopped down on the bed, bouncing Dana where she sat, making herself at home. "What happened?"

  Dana clenched her fists in her lap. "What do you mean?"

  "We were having fun and you disappeared."

  She shot her sister a look of disbelief. She couldn't remind her of her cruel words, not with Margot standing right there, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten them. And Christmas coming or not, she sure as hell wasn't ready to forgive.

  "Is it something we did?" Margot's voice was gentler. Sounding much more sisterly than Bridget. Dana wanted to laugh, bitterness filling her throat. The familial kindness was almost worse than Bridget's outright hostility. I am such a child.

  "No," she managed. The lie came easy. "I'm just tired from school. A lot happened and I'm still adjusting."

  "Oh geez, yeah," her sister said, leaning back onto her elbows. "My first semester I did nothing but smoke pot and spread my legs. Do you need to go get an STD test? I'll take you. Antibiotics fix it right up."

  Dana's jaw wanted to drop. Her eyes flew wide open. "That's just...it's so much more than I ever needed to know about you."

  "But it can't be a surprise," Margot said, a soft laugh accompanying. "Bridget has always been easy."

  "Not all of us want to be prudes like the two of you," her sister shot back, sticking out her tongue.

  A bit of hope shimmered through Dana, quick and crisp as a winter's wind. It woke her up. She and Margot had something in common. Something other than her sister. Dana wondered why Margot was getting labeled "prude," too.

  "Ah, but some of us don't need to be on antibiotics every other month because we skipped basic sex ed and moved straight into raunchy porn." Margot teased and Dana felt caught between them.

  "I wish I did porn. Then I would have more money for Christmas gifts. Speaking of which..." Bridget sat back up and nudged Dana with her shoulder. "We're headed to Crabtree Valley Mall to do some last minute shopping. Want to come? If you don't, Mom is going to corner you, force you to bake her five hundredth batch of cookies, and tell her why you've been up here crying."

  "I'll just tell her your advice to smoke pot and spread my legs my first semester backfired," Dana said flatly.

  Her sister reached up to pat her on the back. "That's the spirit. Let's go. I'll even buy you a peppermint mocha."

  It was a truce. She did need the escape as well. But Dana couldn't shake the pit in her stomach, certain this would be the worst Christmas yet.

  "Jesus, the mall is crowded," her sister said as they entered through the Belk. It was the understatement of the century. Throngs of people moved quickly, eyes glazed as they sorted through clothes hanging on racks. All around, sa
lespeople worked the floor, their desperate hustle causing Dana to shrink into herself.

  "Everyone is just like you," Margot said, "a last minute shopper. I'll bet Dana here's been done for a month at least."

  Dana blushed, the compliment itching at her like a wool sweater. "Actually, I'm not finished. There's only a Walmart near my college. So aside from some college sweatshirts, I'm still short on gifts."

  Bridget smiled. "Don't worry about that. We all know freshmen are poor, frail creatures who spent all their money on alcohol."

  "And antibiotics," Dana added, holding a straight face.

  "Ha! And antibiotics. The point is, no one expects you to wrap up some ultra thoughtful gifts."

  Margot nodded. "Or Chanel No. 5."

  "Do you still wear that old lady perfume?" Bridget asked, her attention immediately pulled from Dana.

  "It's not old lady," Margot huffed. "It's classic."

  "Whatever. I'm heading for Sephora."

  "I'm one hundred percent sure that none of your family wants makeup. Look at your fresh-faced sister. She's rocking the natural beauty. You've got some Amy Winehouse slept in her makeup eyeliner."

  Bridget frowned. "I forgot how snarky you get without sugar. Let's remedy this, shall we? Starbucks first, with peppermint mochas for all. Then Sephora, because this Amy Winehouse is interested in the new Too Faced palette. Then wherever I think I can grab some crystal figurines for my mom and some DVDs for Dad."

  Her sister didn't wait. She whirled and stomped off, her mission clear. It was up to Margot and Dana to follow, which they did. Dana's hands were deep in her coat pockets, her eyes on the heels of her sister's Toms. That is, until an elbow nudged her. "Was it really a hard semester?"

  Margot's voice was soft. She didn't have the sweet, low Southern lilt that Dana and Bridget worked to hide. Her accent was cultured. "Newscaster," she'd once joked. Her parents, lawyers before they became diplomats and ambassadors, articulated everything with care. It was a wonder they'd deigned to send Margo to Broughton, a public school, instead of St. Mary's or some other private boarding school.