by Lark O'Neal
Downstairs, Katie has spread a feast over the dining room table, all finger foods—more of those tiny shrimp and cod fritters and a pile of grilled prawns with little black marks across them, and piles of cookies (including mine). There is also a fondue pot with chocolate in the middle, and a plate full of shortbread, strawberries, marshmallows, and long forks. Bottles of champagne and wine are lined up on the counter with crystal glasses. A big sign across the wall says, “Congratulations to our stars!! We love you, Kaleb and Jess!”
“There you are!” Darcy cries, and blows a noise maker. “I’m dying to have some champagne!”
“Katie, Dad—this so is great!”
“The fondue is right?” my dad asks. “It was something your mother loved doing on Christmas Eve, but I had quite a time finding the pot.”
“It’s perfect!” I fling my arms around him. “Thank you!”
“Before anything happens,” Katie says, pouring bubbly into fluted crystal, “we need a toast. To Christmas, to our family, and to the wonderful turns life has taken this year for all of us.”
“Here, here.” Kaleb lifts his glass.
We all join him, and I look around the circle in gratitude—to Darcy and Katie, my dad and Kaleb. “I’m so glad I found you all.”
“We are, too,” Katie says. “Cheers!”
We cry out, “Cheers!”
“There’s more.” My dad pours again. “Darcy, you’ve made such progress this past semester. Congratulations on a successful school year.”
She looks abashed. “I didn’t get great grades, you know.”
“You passed.”
“Whoo, hoo!” Kaleb says, raising his glass. “Go, Darce!”
We all drink.
One more time, my dad pours, using a second bottle so it will fill all of the glasses again. “And to our two stars. We really are so proud of you. Nothing like this has ever happened to any of us, and I, for one, can’t wait to see that movie.”
I meet Kaleb’s eyes and there’s a moment of softness as he raises his glass. “To us.”
I swallow. “To us.”
And maybe it’s the champagne and the food, which we devour like dogs who’ve been starved in the wilderness for six years, or just the grace of Christmas Eve, but the mood is fine after that. We all laugh and tell stories, and then somebody pulls out the pile of board games and over too much wine, we play Clue, and then the most competitive game of Catan ever. When Darcy wins, she stands up and climbs on a chair and dances like a 60s go-go girl. I fall over laughing so hard I have tears running down my face.
“Stop! Stop!” I call out, holding my ribs. “I’ve laughed so much I am not going to be able to move tomorrow.”
But Darcy puts another elasticized party hat on her nose and one on the back of her head and dances like a bird, pecking us all on the head. Katie ducks away, tears on her face, too, and I realize from my flat stance on the floor that she is not laugh-crying, but actually crying. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is kind of crazy and I think she’s tipsy, but she’s also so good and kind and real that I sit up and lean on her legs. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says, touching my hair. “I’m just happy and you guys are going to be gone in two days and I’ll miss you.” She bends over and kisses my head, and I find I love it.
“Dog pile!” Darcy says, and we all hug her, making her laugh and cry at once. I close my arms and feel everyone’s arms—Kaleb and Darcy and my dad and Katie—and my heart is so full of love that I think I might split wide open and turn into something iridescent and wild, scattering around the world.
It’s good. I open my eyes and there is Kaleb, right in front of me, his eyes closed, those child-eyelashes sweeping over his cheeks, and I love him, too. I love Darcy, whose boob is squished into my elbow, and my dad, whose beard is scratchy against my forehead, and Katie, laughing so hard in the middle of us.
Love. Right this minute, all of it is good.
Kaleb captures my hand in his and I look at him, but his eyes are still closed. I rub my thumb against his knuckles, and in this moment, it’s enough.
* * *
In the morning, I have a headache from all the wine, but I stumble downstairs for a cup of tea, lifting a hand wordlessly at Katie, who is reading the paper, looking a bit the worse for the wear. Impulsively, I kiss her head. “Last night rocked.”
She pats my hand.
Carrying the tea back upstairs, I listen for anyone else, but there’s nothing. A long hot shower will do a lot for my mood. I’ve had an outfit planned for a couple of weeks, a cute dress I found in Nelson in swirly blues that make my tan look great and shows off my legs, which are very toned from surfing.
I pass Kaleb’s closed door and think about him asleep in his bed, those curls scattered all over the pillow, his hip with the tattoo showing because he sleeps on his belly, but always flings his legs out of the covers.
Then I think of his hard eyes when he said he wants time, and how much love flowed through me last night toward the whole family. Maybe we’re not supposed to be lovers, but best friends. If I have to choose one or the other—
As if he has heard my thoughts, the door opens abruptly and he’s standing there in boxer shorts, his hair tousled. All sisterly thoughts disintegrate under the force of his smooth brown belly with its line of dark hair. He blinks and shoves a hand through his curls. “’Sup?”
“I was on my way to the shower.”
He grunts. “Mind if I pop in there right quick?”
“No, of course not.” I step back, trying to keep my eyes in the right places, my stuff clutched to my chest in a bag. I’m not exactly wearing that much myself, a t-shirt and cotton shorts, but he doesn’t look, just brushes by me and closes the door.
In a second, he’s back, hair still wild. “All yours.” He moves past me and closes the door.
I take a breath and head for the shower.
It’s better this way. If I have to choose, I have to keep him in my life one way or the other, as my friend, my family, whatever. Maybe romance and sex will just wreck the good thing between us.
* * *
The shower and getting my hair washed, plus another cup of strong tea makes everything all right. When my Skype rings on the iPad, my hair is woven into a fancier style than I usually wear, and I’ve put on some makeup and I’m wearing the blue dress. “Merry Christmas!” I say as Tyler’s face comes up.
He’s wearing a Santa hat, red with white trim, and he says, “Ho, ho, ho!” His eyes widen as he leans in. “You look fantastic, Jess. Back up and let me see that dress.”
I prop the iPad on my dresser and back up until I can see my whole self in the view, then do a little spin. “Pretty, right? I love being able to buy clothes now and then.”
“Great choice. It’s a little bare for Christmas, though.”
I scowl at him, coming over to the pick up the iPad and carry it back to the bed. “It’s hot here, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He drinks from a highball glass that has something milky in it. “Do you want to open presents?”
“Sure.” I’m kind of nervous, though. Will he think it’s stupid, my package? “You first.”
“No, you first.”
And since I am nervous, I go for it. The heft and shape mean it is clearly a book, and he has good taste, so I have no doubt I will like it. When the paper falls away, it reveals an old book. A very old book with a dustcover showing a bridge over a river. A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway.
“Have you read it?” he asks.
“No.” I turn it over in my hands. “I read Old Man and the Sea, of course.”
“I think you’ll like this one.” He touches his goatee, smoothing it. “It’s a first edition. I thought about trying to get an autographed one, but,—turns out he died before it was published.”
It makes me laugh. “Well, that autograph would be pretty rare, then.”
He grins.
“Thank you, Tyler.” I look
at the camera, earnestly. “Now you open mine.”
I watch his face anxiously—it’s a biography of an English artist, Turner, who was both commercial and artistic, who used the light in intriguing ways. Something about the book called to me for Tyler, but I’ve been really nervous about it, and I gave him some new brushes, too, really good ones, sable with wooden handles. I can’t read anything on his face, until he looks up with a tender smile. “You did your homework on the brushes, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Have you read that book?”
“No. I don’t think I know much about Turner, either.” He inclines his head. “Why did you choose him?”
I let myself smile very slightly. “He was said to be a little difficult, and headstrong.”
To my relief, he grins. “Good. I’ll look forward to it.”
“How was your training day?”
One shoulder lifts. “Not great. I’m having an ankle issue.”
“Serious?”
He shakes his hair off his forehead, sips his drink again. “I don’t think so. Resting today and tomorrow. That’ll help.”
A knock sounds at my door, and I turn. Darcy is there, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders, a green blouse showing the luscious freckled cleavage. “Hey, Jess,” she says. “Katie says it’s time to come on down.”
“Okay.” I gesture to the screen. “Talking to Tyler. Want to say hi?”
She stands behind me and waves over my shoulder. “Hey, Ty. I saw you on television. Are you going to win the gold?”
His mouth lifts on one side. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” She wiggles her fingers like Heidi Klum on Project Runway, one of her all-time favorite shows. “Auf wiedersehen.” As she leaves, she cuts me a disapproving glance, and I shrug, shaking my head. No explaining right now.
“I guess I have to go,” I say. “I’ll look forward to reading this on the plane.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Wow, that’s fast.”
“Are you going to be in Colorado, too?”
He shakes his head sadly. “We’re off to Park City in the morning—best conditions at the moment, and I need to get some more serious training in on the half-pipe.”
“When are the next trials? I know you told me, but I can’t remember.”
“Mid-January, Lake Tahoe, although they don’t have a hell of a lot of snow. It might get moved.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Of course. Let me know when you get to Aspen. Maybe I can get over there at some point. Maybe.” He shakes his head. “You’ll be working your ass off, and so will I.”
I nod, a sense of relief moving through me. I don’t want any drama right now. I just can’t handle it. “Okay.” I look over my shoulder. “I’ve gotta go, Tyler.”
“Jess.”
There’s something in his voice, and I wait. But all he says is, “Merry Christmas.”
I smile, and kiss my fingers, press them to the screen. “Have a great day.”
As I step over the threshold to the hallway, something wafts over me, the smell of Juicy Fruit gum and cigarettes. I halt. “Mom?” I whisper. It’s been so long since I felt her, but I halt, closing my eyes, and I can feel her all around me. Kisses on my forehead, arms around my shoulders, a soft sense of love and belonging. No words, only a sense of murmuring and comfort and—at the very end, two words. Be careful.
Then she’s gone, or my imagination is finished with me, and I open my eyes to find myself standing alone in the hallway, gooseflesh rising all over my arms. Sometimes it might be my imagination, but this time—that was real.
Be careful of what? I wonder.
“Jess!” my dad calls from downstairs. “Come on. We’re waiting for you.”
TYLER
When I disconnect from Skype, I can let go of the cheerful face I’ve been trying to hold for Jess’s sake. It slides off and falls on the floor as I grit my teeth against a wave of pain making its bi-minute swirl around my left fucking ankle. I landed badly this morning, twisting it again, and had to leave the slopes at ten am in favor of ice and elevation. It’s Christmas Eve, my girl is falling in love with someone else, and if I don’t make the Olympic team, my ass is probably going back to jail.
Merry fucking Christmas.
It occurs to me that the pain meds are on the counter across the room, because I didn’t want to take any before the Christmas telephone call. Jess looked so beautiful in her blue dress, and she really is happier, more fleshed out, more everything than she was when she left here. New Zealand is good for her.
Maybe Kaleb is good for her, too.
The pain subsides in my ankle and I fall back on the bed, leaving the pills where they are for now. A creeping sense of disaster bleeds blackness into my mood. Every time I think I’ve almost got my shit together, something happens. If I can’t make this chance work, how many more will I get? I’ll end up some loser cook in some backwater town. Or worse, I’ll be wearing a suit and tie in my father’s world, working that nine to five hellrun, a has-been who might have made the Olympics if he hadn’t been such a dickhead.
None of this—with the exception of the window falling on my hip—can be blamed on anyone but me. My temper, my wrong actions, my bad decisions are what landed me here staring at the ceiling, about to lose everything.
Again.
The spiral in my ankle starts up again, and I swing my legs over the side of the bed to hobble over. Somebody knocks on the door. Loudly. The last thing I want to do is limp that far across the room, and I yell, “I don’t need anything. Go away.”
“Open up, Rabbit. I brought you something.”
I sigh. The only person who calls me Rabbit is Kaitlin, the youngest of the family we grew up with, and a spectacular slopestyle snowboarder. She’s got a chance to land gold this year, and the personality to go with it—exuberant, vivid, chatty. I’m not in the mood for her right now, but she means well and I can’t be rude.
“Hey, kid,” I say, swinging the door open. “I’m in a black mood. You don’t want to be around me.”
“I don’t give a shit.” She pushes by me, her arms full of supplies. “Alice and a couple of the guys are coming, too. If Mohammed can’t get to Christmas, Christmas will come to Mohammed.”
It makes me laugh. “Mixing your religions there, kiddo.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Get back on the bed and elevate, idiot.”
“I was on the way to get pain pills.”
“I’ll bring you one.” She unloads her supplies on the table then sheds her purple down jacket and flings it on the back of a chair. Under it she’s wearing a polar Tec shirt and leggings that show her very lean torso and powerful thighs, the classic snowboarder/skier body. She’s chopped her hair, and it looks like she might have done it herself, the coppery-blonde locks messy under her toque. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually,” I admit, watching her pull out all my favorite foods in a row—a jar of peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies, bananas, chocolate milk.
“Good. You need to eat to fuel healing, all right? And no fucking alcohol.” As she talks, she takes the lid of the peanut butter, swirls a spoon into it and grabs the pills, bring both over to me.
I grin at her. “You remember everything.”
“Dude.” She rolls her eyes, heading back to the table. “We spent every summer up there. You were a god and I watched every move you made.” She gives me a cynical wink. “I have since grown up and seen your feet of clay.”
“Good to know.”
Peeling an orange, she comes over to examine the ankle, touching it with fingers that feel like sticks of ice. “Pretty hot,” she says, frowning, and grabs the icepack, shoving the orange in my hand. “Vitamin C is required for healing.”
My hands are full now, with orange and peanut butter spoon, and in addition, peanut butter has stuck my mouth together. I just watch, smiling a little as she bustles over to the kitchenette, du
mps and refills the ice bag, and brings it back. Once it’s tucked around my ankle, she spies the brochure I showed Jess and grabs it before I can snatch it out of her hand.
“Rabbit! This is fantastic. Diana came through for you.”
“Yeah, but let’s keep this between us for now, all right?”
She raises bright green eyes filled with knowing. “No family?”
I nod.
“Got it.”
Another knock comes at the door and Kaitlin lets Alice in. She’s bearing gifts, too, and I’m glad I brought her something back from New Zealand. “Ready to party?” she asks, holding up a bottle of sparkling soft cider.
“Can’t wait,” I say ironically, but my spirits are lifting. It’s good to have friends.
Chapter EIGHT
JESS
It’s grown late already and a big crowd of family is coming for a barbecue this afternoon, so the five of us settle in over fruits and nut bread to open the gifts we’ve found. It’s a big tear-into, everyone opening their own all at once, which is different from the careful way my mom always wanted to do it, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I can’t tell when someone is opening the things I chose for them, and I want to be sure that they see my reactions to their choices—but in the end it’s fine. Darcy has brought me the most gorgeous water-looking blouse, all floaty and soft and low cut, so pretty. “I thought it would make your eyes look crazy.” She nods as I hold it up to my chest. “Yeah.”
Katie gives me luggage, three really great pieces—big suitcase, smaller one, and a carry-on, all matching, with an understated paisley pattern that will be easy to spot on baggage carousels. My dad has given me a framed photo of the two of us when I was about four, laughing on a beach somewhere. “I’ve never seen this picture—it’s so great, Dad!”
“So you don’t forget your roots.”
“Never.”
Kaleb is opening my gift, which he has saved for last, just as I’ve saved his. I press my lips together, waiting to see if he will love it as much as I hope. He wears greenstone a lot, mostly a round disk his father gave him, and I searched and searched for the best piece I could find. It’s a perfectly carved dolphin, the stone solid but nearly translucent, with white streaks through it that make me think of waves. It cost more than my rent in my old house and I spent a whole morning looking at nearly every piece before I chose this one. The man told me it was Kahurangi, the rarest form of greenstone.