Declan snapped off the couch anxiously. Odds were that Poppy probably knew where he was. It was a fact, he was slightly, completely, entirely predictable. But, what are you going to do? Declan was being Declan. His guilty conscience about sneaking away, and watching a show got the best of him. I let him flee to seek out his lady in waiting. I wondered when it would be my turn to be the lady in waiting. Obviously, this whole Dexx thing-debacle-thingamajiggy didn’t pan out the way I had expected.
I slunk out of the den, and wandered back to the family room to face the happy crowd. The chatter enveloped my body. It left me lost, blue, invisible, alone, defeated. It was not the best Christmas ever. It was not meant to be the year of Denver.
The smell of brown sugar crusted ham, homemade simmering applesauce, and crunchy green bean casserole wafted past my nose. My tummy grumbled even as my appetite for this holiday waned. Rolling in a sad ball of wallowing-in-my-own-sorrow sounded better than Christmas dinner at the moment.
This really stank! Who was going to feel bad for me? From the outside perspective, my life read absolute enchantment. I appeared supes popular at school, loaded down with friends. Except, that image was false. I didn’t possess a bountiful mass of friends. Once I arrived home, during the afternoon hours, I lingered, stuck in a room, empty of companions, alone. I fanned famous because of a picture that worked its way into a newspaper once, maybe twice. But nothing compared to Declan’s notoriety. To the outside world, my parents’ money could buy all of the materialistic riches a girl could desire, all of the items a girl could ever ask for, which they didn’t. They expected me to work for everything I owned. So to the world, what else could I ask for? What else could I need?
Ha!
I’d been told that I was pretty. I’d been told I’m lucky to be so super skinny more times than I could count. I’d been told I lead the fashion microcosm at school. I’d been told girls beg their parents to buy them outfits so they may copy me. I’d been told . . . I’d been told . . . so many lies about myself, who would ever feel bad for me? Who would ever allow me to feel bad for myself? Who would ever let me sulk without counting my blessings, appreciate what I have?
But, me? I have very, very thin skin. Tissue paper. Easily sliced. Often shredded. The small things, they hurt. They hurt badly. So, to invite a boy to my home, only to have him chase another girl in front of my face? That stung more than a thousand bee stings to the heart. More than infinite paper cuts to the mind. Like Declan, I couldn’t stop myself from obsessing. Playing the hurtful instant re-play track over and over in my mind. Count the reasons for my pain. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I land a lucky break? Why couldn’t I find what I needed? Love!
I dreamed and hoped and dreamed some more. When was it my turn? How about never.
I allowed myself to sit in gloomy glumness. I had to. I deserved it. I didn’t need permission anymore. Somebody had to let me feel sorry for myself and that somebody was measly, unlucky, unhappy, uncoupled me.
My eyes darted around the room. As I looked up, from the corner of my eye I spotted him.
Dexx tiptoed under the mistletoe. He carried Declan’s laptop. He stuck in a thumb drive. He intentionally, and loudly cleared his throat, noisily enough to create a pause in the conversation.
“Um, excuse me, everyone,” his voice shook. “I would like to get everyone’s attention for a moment.”
The people in the room murmured with curiosity, then quieted down to hear him out. Dexx’s face glowed red. He gulped, and pulled at the neck of Declan’s D sweater. He set the computer down on a nearby table by the entryway.
“Hi . . . I’m DJ Dexx. About a month or so ago, I created a mix which I named Petal Remix. But, soon after, a real winter flower sprouted in my life, which made my music flourish. She inspired my mind to grow in new ways she will never fully comprehend. Because, before she came along, I was buried underground, dormant, waiting for her sun to shine down on me. Her light birthed a new creation, a new mix. Then, last night, I heard her sing. New and amazing buds of inspiration bloomed. It took her songs to a new level. So, Denver, in front of all of your friends and family, this is for you. Merry Christmas winter flower. I call this mix A Colorado Christmas Wonderland, and I made it, for you.”
Dexx clicked on his music. A beautiful blend of techno, dub step, and atmospheric beats mashed up with Silent Night and Winter Wonderland. The melody floated around the room, ebbs flows and all, filling the ears of my family.
In front of everyone I’ve known my entire life, I wept tears of joy. For the first time in my life, I was being serenaded by the boy of my dreams, one Dexx, one Dalton Dabney. The very person I never expected to like me, but always secretly desired. The one boy that fit the D in my heart. The one boy, my brother, his girlfriend, and I decided to love regardless of his faults, regardless of his errors, because forgiveness was the most defining lesson my mother taught us. Forgiveness.
For the first time, I stood, the centerpiece of attention, and it felt . . . .lovely!
I wiped away the trickles of water from my eyes so I could concentrate on the music.
“Denver.” Dexx spoke evenly over his music. “I’m here because of you. And I’m here for you. You changed me. You, and your whole family. For the better. For that, I’m eternally blessed, and grateful. This has been the best Christmas I’ve ever experienced in my life. You are the girl I want. You are precious, giving, beautiful, perfect, and devastatingly darling. I don’t deserve you. But, perhaps, you will grant me just one more second chance to prove you right. To prove that I deserve to like you. Denver Davies, will you do me the honor of being my date at The Hall this New Year’s Eve?”
Astonished, I rapidly blinked back my tears. The room went so absolutely dead quiet that I felt alone, if only for a moment. I felt everyone’s eyes on me, waiting for an answer.
I twisted my lips, and gave Dexx my most blasé look. I turned around, and smiled at my family. I thought I heard ‘awes’ pop up around the room, but I couldn’t be sure. Only the loud, furious beats belonging to my heart pumped in my ears.
“Yes!” I screamed. I ran into his arms under the mistletoe. “Yes, I will be your date on New Year’s Eve.”
We embraced like I’d never embraced a boy before, and hoped to never embrace anyone other than Dexx ever again!
Finally I got a good taste of Poppy’s life. A dose of boyfriendication. A slice of handholding pie, and a sip of giggle at nothing-much-funny juice. The sweet taste of a new relationship fizzed in my mouth. It popped my tongue with bubbles of endless opportunities for love.
Dexx and I lingered close. We maintained constant physical contact. Our pinkies held on tight for dear love. Our knees connected as we sat inward toward each other. Our feet hooked, and entwined under tables. We leaned in for quick, reassuring hugs, all under the stern, watchful eyes of my parents. So, no funny business. Never shall one lip touch another lip in this house at this age in the midst of good, decent company.
Nevertheless, I put a wishful pin on a kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve. My stomach somersaulted obnoxiously thinking about our lips touching. All of my romance filled daydreams abruptly switched to pause as my father interrupted my game of footsie with an announcement.
“Dear family and friends, our time together has flown by as we shared another beautiful Christmas together. Please join us at the table so that we might partake in a holiday feast to make the blessed end of the year a cherished one.”
Dexx and I stood up together, and walked to the dining room. We held hands. Fingers entwined, my palms sweat from my nerves. We shared a ‘first time’ together. First time holding hands after Dexx’s heartfelt declaration. I prayed that we share many more ‘first times’ as my father sat at the head of the table to say grace.
We bowed our heads. My dad led us in one final, miraculous prayer. I belted out a hearty Amen,
so, so grateful that my mistletoe wishes were finally answered.
With Dexx by my side, the flavors of my meal tasted more vibrant. Plates of ham and turkey circulated around the table. As my ginormous appetite returned, I piled cheesy potatoes, and stuffing mountain high. I dove into the cranberry sauce. I mashed the green bean casserole into my buttery biscuits, and made a sandwich. Dexx laughed at my mealtime methods. He remarked experimenting with a bean biscuit sounded delightful. In between giant chomps, and mouthfuls of food, Dexx admitted my food madness turned out to be delicious genius.
I snorted. He snorted. We cracked up together. We clinked our glasses filled with eggnog. Dexx pinky promised to share his gift cards with me, even though I bought them for him.
“It’s a date,” I squealed. “Uh, I mean, not . . . a date . . . but . . . a,” I added cautiously.
“No, Denver. It’s a date,” he laughed, and playfully punched my shoulder. “A date-date. A real date. I promise.”
He winked.
I melted.
With our issues, and misunderstandings semi-sorted, I relaxed, and allowed my worries to momentarily drift away. Giddy, and lightheaded with love, I let out a happy sigh.
“What are you thinking?” Dexx turned to me and asked.
“Vanilla,” I answered.
“Vanilla,” he said nodding.
Gazing around the table, I noted that my brother pecked at his food anxiously. On edge, Declan had something on his mind. He glanced at Poppy over and over again, obsessing, the way he did when he had something important to say, but couldn’t find the right moment to present itself. He had a horrible poker face. His nervous fidgets spread to different body parts, increasing his ticks. Time moved too slowly for Declan. His eyes blinked. His fingers wiggled. His jaw flopped open and clenched. His hands flapped.
I had the urge to yell at him, tell him to stop it. I squelched that urge. I fought it hard. It wasn’t my business. Declan was Declan. He couldn’t help it. Yelling would only make it worse, and I was not responsible for my brother. I couldn’t control him either, nor should I try. Whatever bothered him didn’t affect me.
I forced myself to love Declan without fearing him. I forced myself to allow him to work out his own problems, and not worry all of the time about how it looked, or how it made me look. It had nothing to do with me. I had to let it go. Declan was an adult. Declan was a grown man. I had to trust that if he wanted to get something off his chest, he could do it himself, without help. Without my help. It was what Declan wanted from me anyway. Love without labels.
Chapter 28
Declan
The sun slowly set, leaving the darkness to lend its charm to the glowing Christmas lights, transforming my home into a veritable gingerbread house. Just as the black sky swallowed the day, my neck snapped up, and my hands fluttered anxiously. They clapped together several times, as if they had a mind of their own. My special moment inched forward. After hours and hours of hard work, my big reveal hung back in the wings, sending a bat signal through my brain.
Clunking suitcases dragged across the wooden floor gripped by tired partygoers. I suffered through dozens of hugs and kisses. My family packed up, and left these walls until next year’s holiday spectacular, in which I hoped I would be among them as a guest instead of a resident, my former bedroom remaining dormant, available only for the odd special occasion that I spent the night.
As the final group of guests waved cheerio, the six of us remained to clean up the mess. Poppy and I wandered around with thick garbage bags. We scooped up the remaining giftwrap and boxes, snatching an odd paper napkin, or candy wrapper to toss out. My sister and Dexx hauled away the dishes, and platters so that my parents could wash the china, and store the leftovers for snacking on the rest of the year. We swept and vacuumed like happy little critters straight out of a fairy tale. I think I even heard a whistle coming from Dexx’s direction.
With the end of the holiday in sight, we faced more work. My parents planned on gathering cans and boxes of food from our large pantry to fill crates for tomorrow’s food donation. I was in charge of loading the crates into the trunk of Poppy’s car for an early morning delivery. Denver preferred distributing toys while my parents served the meals at a shelter. Busy. Busy. Busy.
I choked on some phlegm, my throat bubbled and gurgled. Overwhelmed, I required a moment to breathe. I froze in my spot. I unconsciously held my breath.
Poppy turned to me.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. My hot face flushed. I exhaled, and cleared my throat. The right moment still had not presented itself.
“Y-Y-Y-eah,” I coughed.
Poppy rubbed my back. She pecked my cheek, and headed toward the kitchen. I trailed behind her. Dancer whined. He sniffed my leg. He bounced around my feet, eager for food.
“N-N-N-o-o-o-t n-n-n-o-o-o-w, b-b-b-oy. G-G-G-o a-a-a-w-w-w-ay.”
I shooed him away, nervous he would foil my plan. That’s all I needed was for my silly puppy to ruin my masterpiece.
I entered the kitchen. The room glowed from the white, starry lights that wrapped around the high cupboards. Peppermint scented candles flickered on the butcher block. Mama loved setting a mellow mood. She enjoyed the comfort of a hot cup of tea, and the knowledge that this year’s Christmas outdid the last.
Mama relaxed on a high stool near the butcher block. She clutched a large mug in her svelte hands, and plopped in a bag of chamomile tea. A high-pitched whistle blew. Dancer moaned from behind the door. He scratched his little paws to try to get into the kitchen. Dada dove over to the stove to remove the kettle. He poured Mama a steaming cup of water. Their eyes met, glowed. Glowed the way I prayed Poppy’s would after I gave her my gift.
Mama took the grinning honey bear from the center of the block, and added some to her tea. The four kids gathered cans and boxes food from the pantry.
“Come, children,” her voice sang out a sentimental invitation as sweet as her sticky honey. “Join me for a soothing cup of tea on this cold winter’s night so that we might have one last toast.”
“O-o-o-h,” I jumped on to my knees. “I-I-I h-h-h-a-a-a-ve the p-p-p-erfect th-i-i-i-ng t-t-t-o g-g-g-o w-w-w-i-i-i-th the t-t-t-ea! P-o-o-o-ppy, i-i-i-f ya-ya-ou w-w-w-ould p-p-p-l-l-l-e-e-e-ase h-h-h-a-a-a-ve a-a-a s-s-s-eat, m-m-m-y l-l-l-o-o-o-ve!”
Poppy nodded.
“In a moment. I want to finish boxing the cans.”
She smiled.
“O-O-O-kay,” I responded, and got up off the floor.
Ecstatic, my breath churned, and sputtered from my lips. A choppy sea of ideas tossed and turned. My heart burst with excitement. I finally captured my moment. Tea! Tea went perfectly with my creation.
My hands flapped. I grabbed them. Now was not the time for a flub. I steadied myself the way I did when I performed in public. I took deep breaths, and tuned out my surroundings so I could concentrate on my task. My body calmed down, my heart rate decreased, nice and easy. The world went black. I floated gracefully on air. I centered my vision on my target. I put my body at ease, relaxing my muscles, so I didn’t tarnish my big moment. Wouldn’t want to wreck anything!
As if I were on a runway, I walked those slow graceful strides to the fridge. I had placed a large, white bakery box on the middle shelf toward the back. I opened the chiller. Poof! A swirling, translucent cloud released into the air the same magical way it did when I was a child opening a freezer case at the grocery store for a pint of ice cream or a box of popsicles.
Thick twine wrapped around the bakery box. I eased it out of the fridge, and on to the butcher block. I cut the string with a kitchen shears. From the box, I carefully pulled out a double layer cake, perfectly frosted with snow-white fondant, covered in a field of poppies. These were my poppies for Christmas. My poppies for Poppy. My gift to Poppy was poppies for Christ
mas.
My chest swelled with pride. I jutted out my jaw with confidence. I earned my pride. I spent so many, many precious hours researching how to bake a cake. I tested so many techniques. I experimented with frostings. I practiced creating flowers by hand, all before creating the finished product, and baking this cake for Poppy. And once I actually baked this cake, I logged countless hours perfecting it. But, it was worth it. I was worth it. She was worth it. We were worth it.
I could finally show Poppy how much she meant to me. Store bought presents were easy. By challenging myself, I could prove how much I loved her. I made Poppy poppies for Christmas because all I wanted for Christmas was Poppy.
I skipped to the cupboard to retrieve a crystal cut cake stand. Gently placing the cake on top of the stand, I was ready to give my girlfriend her present.
Poppy, Denver, and Dexx put their chores on hold. They stood up and headed toward Mama, to join her for tea.
“Oh man!” moaned Denver, and stomped her leg on the floor. “We totally forgot, again! Arg! Poor, wittle baby Dancer needs to eat. Don’t worry, Mom, you relax, this time. From now on, I’m on top of it, I promise.” She rolled her eyes with a proud smile, and opened the kitchen door.
Poppy’s eyes twinkled as they caught mine as she approached me. Just like when Dada’s eyes caught my mama’s. I was ready for our big moment.
“P-o-o-o-ppy, I-I-I h-h-h-a-a-a-ve s-s-s-o-o-o-mething f-f-f-or ya-ya-ou, M-M-M-e-e-e-r-r-ry Ch-r-r-r-i-i-i-s-s-s- . . .”
As I spat out my words, Dancer raced into the kitchen, a hungry lion ready to pounce on its prey, at lightning speed. Dexx jumped. Like a superhero, he flew through the air, his hands locked in a hoop. He caught Dancer by the torso. Dancer used his legs, and wiggled from his grip. Dexx slid into my knee. His arms hooked around my thigh. My leg bucked. Our bodies bumped. I faltered, the cake teetered on the plate, but I caught myself. Phew! I righted the cake on the stand. It was an amazing save!
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