by Nan Higgins
London had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. Reggie was right; it was good they were doing this. It had been a family tradition, and even though her heart felt like it might pound out of her chest from missing Tate, she also felt an odd sense of peace somewhere deeper than her heart. He would’ve been pissed if she hadn’t kept coming back here to stick it to her father.
“Psst!” Reggie called from a very round and full spruce. “What do you think of this one?”
“I think it’s perfect. Good choice, baby.”
Reggie glowed. “Do you want to make the first cut?”
London nodded and reached for the saw. Tate had always granted her the ceremonial first digs at the tree before he grew impatient with her slow pace and took over. She leaned down and began to saw the thick trunk of the hearty tree. About a third of the way in, Reggie took over, and London rubbed her hands together. They might not have had snow yet, but it wasn’t because it wasn’t cold enough. As soon as they had precipitation, the ground would be covered in a cold blanket of white crystals.
London looked down the road and saw a cloud of dust surrounding a vehicle she couldn’t fully see. She assumed that the driver couldn’t see them very well, and the FJ was parked so that by the time the car passed them, they’d be mostly concealed.
“Heads up,” London murmured. “Incoming.”
Reggie stopped sawing and looked up from her crouched position, a tiny bit of alarm in her eyes.
“I’m sure they’ll just drive by,” London said. “Don’t worry.”
But they didn’t. As the vehicle came to a stop, parallel to Reggie’s Toyota, London saw it was a C-Class Mercedes-Benz sedan. After a few moments, Frederick Craft stepped out of the luxury car, followed by Diana a few seconds later.
“What do we do?” Reggie whispered.
“Don’t panic,” London said under her breath. She strode over to the road and greeted her family. “Hi, Dad. Diana.”
He paused. “Hi, Dad? That is what you have to say to me when I catch you in the act of grand theft?”
“I would’ve thought you’d be happy that I finally agreed to take a piece of my inheritance,” she said smoothly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I forgot; you only want me to get the inheritance if you can manipulate me into being a different person.”
His mouth tightened. “I could call the police and have you arrested for this.”
“But you won’t. Because guess what would be on the front page of the Keys Crossing Bulletin tomorrow? Maybe not above the fold, but even below would do enough damage to your precious reputation, wouldn’t it?” Reggie had joined them and slid her hand gently around London’s elbow.
In an almost mirror image, Diana folded her fingers around their father’s elbow. “Come on, Daddy,” she said in nearly a whisper. “Let’s leave them alone.”
Red splotches bloomed on his face. “I don’t understand you. Your mother and I gave you everything. The best clothes, the best car, the best education, and this is how you repay us? Staying away from home for years, returning only to steal from us with this, this—”
London stepped between her father’s pointing finger and Reggie’s face. “Don’t you talk to her. Don’t even talk about her. This is about you and me.”
The blooms on his face blossomed, and anger painted his face a deep maroon. He opened his mouth, but London held up her hand.
“How dare you?” she yelled. “You say I stayed away from home? You threw me out on Thanksgiving! I spent that Christmas alone in my dorm room. You can’t pretend to be the victim in this when you tossed me out of here and told me never to come back. What did you expect to happen?”
He sputtered. “Your mother couldn’t get out of bed, did you know that? She couldn’t get out of bed for two weeks after that Thanksgiving, and when Christmas arrived, she went back to bed and stayed there until after New Year’s.”
“And I’m supposed to feel what about that, Dad? Guilty? Ashamed? No. Fuck no. You and Mom made a choice to ostracize me. You don’t get to make me feel bad about the choices you made.”
“You’re the one who made a choice. You and your vulgar lifestyle. How could we allow that in our home?” He shook his head. “You weren’t raised like that.”
“Daddy—” Diana began.
“No,” London said. “I guess I wasn’t. But it’s the way I was made.” She turned to Reggie. “Now, don’t we have a tree to take home?”
Reggie glanced at London, then her father. “A few more swings with the saw, and it should be good to go.”
“Perfect.” She walked toward the tree with Reggie and turned back to see her father standing there, aghast. Diana stood slightly behind him, and if London hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn her twin had tears in her eyes. “You gonna stay and watch our handiwork? See the lesbians in our natural habitat?”
He turned on his heel and walked to his car, jerked the door open, and paused to take one last disgusted look at London before getting in and slamming the door. Diana walked much more slowly to the passenger side, not taking her eyes off her sister for a second until she too was in the car. As soon as Diana was inside, they drove off in a cloud of dust.
Reggie turned to London. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I will be. Come on, let’s finish chopping down our tree and get home. I don’t want to be late picking up Quentin.”
They were quiet as they finished cutting the tree and mounting it on the roof of the car. Aside from instructions like “Move the tree toward you” and “Tighten the twine on that side,” they didn’t speak. Reggie drove home, and after they’d been on the road for a silent thirty minutes, she cleared her throat.
“Did you plan to say all that? In case we saw your dad?”
London shook her head. “I really didn’t think we would see him.”
“Was he really going to call the cops, do you think?”
“No. He was bluffing. It’s what he does when he doesn’t know what else to do with me.”
Reggie paused. “What’s going on in your mind?”
“Honestly, I’m thinking about Q. That night he got so upset at Compass, he basically said the whole ‘It Gets Better’ campaign is a crock because after almost twenty years, my family hasn’t changed at all. They haven’t moved even an inch toward accepting who I am. My mom is dead, my dad is old, and my sister is just a puppet. It’s not going to change. He’s right; it is a crock.”
“It’s not a crock.” She covered London’s hand. “They may not ever be better, but that’s not what it’s about. You are better; your life is better. Your biological family doesn’t accept you, but your chosen one embraces every part of you. Telling Quentin or any other kid that it gets better is true because as you get older, you aren’t limited to just the family you’re born into.”
London gave her a sad smile. “I know you’re right. And of course my life is better, I know that. I’m lucky to have you, your parents, Grant, and Jasmine. I was lucky to have Tate.” She rubbed her temples. She’d spent the last twenty years surrounding herself with people who loved and accepted her, and she considered them family. She knew she was more fortunate than most, but even that knowledge couldn’t always chase away the loneliness of being cast out from her parents and sister. It was worse now, with Tate gone. She had a family, she knew that. What she didn’t have were roots. She didn’t have a childhood history with anyone. She couldn’t turn to someone and reminisce about things she’d done as a kid. That was all gone, and she felt hollow from the absence of it. “I wasn’t prepared for how hard these holidays were going to be.”
She plugged her phone into the stereo and pulled up her music app, playing Tori Amos the rest of the way home. They pulled into the parking lot at Quentin’s school and saw him come out the doors with some friends about fifteen minutes later. He stopped when he saw the vehicle with the tree on top, then slowly walked toward it.
“Surprise!” Reggie said as Quentin climbed
into the back seat. “We got a tree to decorate!”
“I see that,” he said quietly.
London glanced at Reggie’s concerned face and turned to look at Quentin. He stared at his hands resting in his lap.
“Quentin?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
“My parents always get a live tree too,” he said. “We go to this Christmas tree farm and all pick one out together. My little sister always likes the tall skinny ones, and I like the rounder ones, so they let us take turns choosing.” He used the heel of his hand to wipe a tear away. “This was supposed to be my year to pick one.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” London said. “We should have talked to you about this before getting a tree. I didn’t even think about it.”
“Me neither,” Reggie said. “We should have prepared you for it. Shit, we should’ve asked you if you even wanted to get a tree.”
He smiled through his tears. “You said ‘shit.’”
“Shoot, I meant,” Reggie said.
“Nah, she meant shit,” London said, and to her relief, he laughed a little. “Listen, we don’t have to decorate this tree. We don’t even have to take it home if it’s going to make you upset. We can go dump it on the side of the road somewhere for all I care. You tell us how you want this Christmas to go, okay? Your first set of holidays without your family is rough, and there’s no way around that. You deserve to decide how you want it to play out, and Reg and I will support whatever you decide. Right, babe?”
She’d been so shaken after her ugly interaction with her father, it had consumed her for the last several hours. Seeing Quentin’s pain and knowing exactly how devastating it was to spend the holidays feeling alone and unloved, all she could think of now was how to make things better and happier for him.
“Yep,” Reggie said. “If you say the tree goes, the tree goes. Along with anything else Christmas-related. Just say the word.”
Quentin’s dark eyes were wide. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Reggie said.
He bit his lip for several moments and shook his head. “No, I want the tree. I want a Christmas.”
“You’re sure?” London asked. “Because we can kick this broad to the curb, literally, and never look back.”
“I’m sure. Thank you, though, so much.”
“No problem,” Reggie said.
They got home, and the three of them maneuvered the tree into the house and set up in the stand. “Wanna help us bring the decorations up from the basement?” Reggie asked.
“Sure.”
London put on her favorite Motown Christmas mix with the first song—“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Me,” by Stevie Wonder—coming on as they were arranging the lights on the tree.
“Is the music okay?” she asked.
Reggie and Quentin nodded.
“I like this song,” Quentin said.
Once the lights and garlands were on the tree, they opened the new box of decorations Reggie had picked up. They were Star Wars themed ornaments, and Quentin was enthusiastic about each of them. “Cool, Darth Vader! Look at these light saber ornaments!”
Reggie and London smiled at each other as Quentin picked up each ornament and dangled it in front of his face before finding the perfect spot to hang it on the tree.
“So,” Reggie said when they were nearly done hanging the ornaments, “any idea what you want for Christmas?”
He looked at them, his eyes wide for the second time that day. “You don’t have to get me anything.”
“We know that,” London said. “But maybe you’ll let us get you something anyway?”
“I wouldn’t even know what to ask for. I thought I’d be spending Christmas at Compass and getting whatever gift got donated to me.”
“Well,” Reggie said, “I guess we’ll have to think of something. Here, do you want to put the star on top of the tree?” She held out the tree topper, and when he saw it, he grinned.
“The Death Star?” He reached for the moon-shaped space station.
“Yep.” London pulled out a stepladder she kept behind the couch. “Do the honors.”
Quentin stepped to the top step and fastened the topper to the tree. “There.” He came down from the ladder and stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“Looks great.” London joined Reggie on the opposite end of the couch, and after a few minutes, Quentin sat between them. They sat together for a long time, looking at their tree and listening to Christmas music.
Chapter Fifteen
“So, let me see if I understand all this,” Ross said. “Since the last time I saw you, you were stalked by one of Tate’s predators, Grant moved out, you’ve taken in a twelve-year-old child, Reggie moved in and the two of you are essentially together again, and you stole a tree from your father’s property?”
“Yeah. But to be fair, the stealing thing happens every year, I just never told you about it.” London faced Ross with a sheepish smirk on her face.
“You do love to test my counseling abilities, don’t you?”
“It’s always a good time.”
“I see.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt, carefully folding the soft, flannel cloth around each lens and massaging it. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché, how do you feel about all of this?”
“I’m over the moon that Reggie is home again, obviously.” She was still a little on edge about the reasoning behind their sudden reconciliation, but it felt so good and right to be back under the same roof with Reggie. She tried to keep her focus on how well they were doing rather than her uneasiness that they may have rushed. “We haven’t really talked about the marriage thing any further since she came back; there hasn’t been a lot of time for it. Grant is settling back in at his own place, but we still see him all the time. The thing with the tree…I didn’t expect to see my father, but when I did see him, I don’t know…It felt good to say those things to him. It’s terrible to know he hasn’t grown or progressed, not even a little.”
“I can understand all of that,” Ross said. “And Quentin? How do you feel about caring for this child, so unexpectedly?”
“It’s weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Mostly in how not weird it is. He’s away from his parents, and it’s the holidays, so he’s had some triggering moments. Actually, I wanted to see if you thought it would be a good idea for us to get him into counseling. We’ve been working through it with him as best we can. And I really like the kid; he’s sweet and funny, and we have a good time together. I was panicked when Joan brought up the idea, all the way through signing the paperwork. But we’ve gotten into a good rhythm. He fits.”
He stared with his best neutral gaze.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re considering getting Quentin into counseling?”
“It just seems like it might help him process through all this.” His face was expressionless, which meant he had a lot to say. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”
“I didn’t say that. But therapy, as you know, is a long-term process, and from what I understand, Quentin will only be with you and Reggie for a short while.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Unless you’re considering having him stay with you for longer than just a month or two?”
“No. Well, yes, maybe. We signed a contract to keep him for up to six months, if need be, but Joan said she didn’t think it would take more than a couple months to get him back.”
“With his parents?”
“No, to Compass.”
He frowned. “It’s interesting that they’re having him stay with you for weeks or potentially months only to go back to a halfway house afterward.”
“I…I hadn’t thought about it like that. When we signed the papers, we were just trying to do the best thing for Q in the moment.”
He nodded. “Yes, I understand that. And unfortunately, the nature of the foster system can be a transient one for the children involved.”
Now
it was her turn to frown. Were they going to be putting Quentin into another painful situation by taking him in and then returning him to Compass when one of their beds opened back up again? It was something she and Reggie would need to discuss with Joan when they went back for their volunteer night. She must have ways to deal with transitions like that.
“It looks like our time is about up.” He rose from the couch and walked to his computer. “Let’s schedule your next appointment.”
“Do you wanna schedule a few appointments?”
He turned away from his computer to look at her, his mouth shaped like a little O.
Before he could say anything, London spoke quickly. “It’s just, I know you like to get a month’s worth of appointments on the books at a time, and it’s not really fair if I’m the only person just scheduling one. I figure it’s time to start pulling my weight around here.”
“Okay.”
She thought she saw a glimmer of a smile on his face before he turned back to his computer. Minutes later, after they’d agreed on four days and times, he handed her appointment card to her with all the information. London looked at the card jam-packed with writing.
It had taken years to get to this point. Even though it was such a small, nearly symbolic gesture, she was as proud of it as any of the giant steps she’d taken in therapy.
“Well, look at this. My dance card is full.”
* * *
London left therapy feeling good. It could be so taxing, and she often left feeling exhausted and spent, but today she just felt positive. She stopped into Stauf’s to get some really good coffee, and when she left, she attempted to whistle as she walked to her car. She wasn’t a very good whistler, having only the capacity to push out two or three wavering notes, but she didn’t care. It was cold and sunny, and the light dusting of the season’s first snow sparkled as if the ground was covered in some of the glitter from her art room at Hell.
It’s like this day was made for me. She unlocked her car and got in. It was the best she’d felt in a long time. Before Tate and her mother died, before Reggie had moved out, before the landscape of her world had changed.