After Christmas

by Anna Catherine Field

  He looks so happy, so peaceful, so much like the boy I used to secretly think hung the moon. A strange warmth fills my chest, and I focus my eyes forward and say, “Yeah, I think I do.”

  7

  Julian

  The Sugar Bowl is packed, filled with regulars looking for a jump start to the day. The place is decked out for the holidays, something that is taken seriously on Haven Island. Residents spend so much of the year living, working, and breathing the sun and beach lifestyle, that a few weeks' reprieve to celebrate winter is highly anticipated.

  “I’ll have a large mocha mint,” Collins says when we get to the front of the line.

  A large poster on the wall advertises the ice-skating rink they build every year in the YMCA parking lot.

  “Remember when Miller invited Josephine Clarke to the ice-skating party?” I ask, after I order my own peppermint coffee. Josephine had been Miller’s major crush for all of eighth grade.

  Making a circle with her lips, she blows on her cup. “Yes, except he didn’t know how to skate.”

  “And he was so nervous, he made all of us sneak out in the middle of the night to learn how to skate on the rink after hours,” I add. Security at the Y has always been notoriously lax. “I fell twice in the dark on my butt and was bruised for weeks.”

  “Yes, I know, one of those times you took me out with you.” She holds up her hand and point to a faint white line. “I have the scar to prove it.”

  I narrow my eyes, trying to see it. Like I said, it’s faint. “I apologize for marring your beauty. Five years later.”

  Beauty?

  I let the sarcasm slide.

  “They never went out after that, did they?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No. He never told anyone, but she really had a crush on Van, and it was all an elaborate ruse to really just get near him.”

  What I don’t tell her is that I’d suspected it about Josephine the whole time. But back then I’d take any excuse to hang out with Miller’s brothers and sister. Especially Collins. Sneaking out to the ice rink after dark was the perfect opportunity.

  “Are you kidding? That’s awful.” There’s a twinkle in her eye. Part amusement, part empathy for her brother. “Josephine Clarke. What happened to her?”

  “She’s at the university. A Tri-Delta. I’ve seen her around.”

  “Well next time you see her, punch her in the face for me, okay?”

  I nod and take a sip of my coffee. “You’ve got it.”

  The serving line calls her name, and she walks over and grabs a brown bag. She drops her hand inside, pulling out a wrapped sandwich. She hands it to me.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Yours got ruined the other day and turned into cat food. I figure you deserve another one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, don’t thank me yet,” she says, pulling a second one out of the bag for herself. “You and I have a long day of work ahead of us. Consider this a bribe for good behavior.”

  I frown. “What? I behave.”

  She rolls her eyes, and we hop into the car. I’m accosted by the scent of the cab, that feeling of good times rolling over me. I’d had a blast with Miller when we were kids, but one of my favorite memories was riding around the island in the truck with Collins sitting in the middle, sandwiched between the two of us. We’d fish, crab, surf, trap feral cats, sneak out past midnight…we knew every corner of this island like the back of our hands. There wasn’t an inch unexplored.

  Our positions have changed, well at least, hers has. She’s in the driver’s seat, no longer a scrawny fourteen-year-old. I glance over at her, watching her struggle with the wrapper on her breakfast while shifting the car in gear.

  There’s something else that hasn’t changed.

  How much I like Collins Fleetwood, and how utterly clueless she is about it.

  My phone vibrates on the bedside table, alerting to a text. It’s the fifth one in the last ten minutes. All from the same person. All ignored.

  Collins notices.

  “Are you going to get that?” she asks, pulling another pile of clothing out of the closet. My mother had a lot of clothes. All in varying sizes, starting with a larger size four years ago and slowly decreasing as her illness progressed. It feels strange getting rid of all of them, but for once, Collins and I are in agreement; what am I going to do with women’s clothing?

  “Nope,” I say, flipping the phone over, screen down, as though that will make it less distracting.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nope,” I say again.

  “No, it isn’t your girlfriend on the phone or no, you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  “You have a lot of questions, Collins Fleetwood.” I start pulling hangers out of the clothes and tossing them into a box for recycling.

  “I haven’t seen you in a long time, Julian Edge, I’m just being polite, asking about your life.”

  “Well, if you really want to know the sad state of affairs with my love life, no, I do not have a girlfriend.” I throw in another hanger. “What about you?”

  “Nope, no girlfriend either.”

  I pause, trying to figure out if she’s serious or not. I’d never thought about it, but maybe Collins is a lesbian. I mean, she’s had a few boyfriends. Not a lot, her brothers scare off the weaker, less confident boys that dared come around the Fleetwood house. She’d had one serious one the last year or so that I lived here. Toby Richardson. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was into girls this whole time. Maybe I have zero chance of ever getting—

  “Julian.”

  “What?” I snap out of my thoughts.

  “I’m not into girls.”

  “What?” I say again, feeling discombobulated.

  “I know you’re thinking about it.”

  My ears heat. “No, I’m not. I’m just thinking about poor Toby Richardson.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Leave Toby alone. He’s a good guy.”

  “Very nice. And very—”

  She holds up her hand. “Don’t say it.”

  “I was not going to stay he is dumb as a pile of bricks.” She glares, and it makes my heart kick into gear. “But no one dates a guy like Toby for his smarts.”

  Toby is six-two and the star athlete at our high school. He played football, basketball, baseball, and could rival all the beach kids on a surfboard. All the girls wanted to date him. All the guys wanted to be him.

  He wanted Collins, and for a while, my senior year and her junior year, he had her, dashing any and all my chances of ever asking her out. Not that I would have had the guts.

  “Toby was sweet and a lot of fun. And no, he didn’t do great in school, but he didn’t need to. He got a full ride to Alabama for football.”

  “Trust me, I know.” Alabama has won the title for the last three years. Two of those wins were because of Toby. “I guess you two didn’t make it.”

  She wrinkles her nose, while folding a stack of pants. “No. We didn’t even try. He was a nice guy to date in school, but neither of us thought of it as long-term.” Her eyes flick up at me, then back down at her task. “Since then, I haven’t dated much. It’s mostly been work and school. The projects at the art school are challenging, and Mom’s been pretty busy.”

  “Well, once you’re finished babysitting me, you’ll have all the time you need to start dating again.”

  Her jaw drops. “I’m not babysitting—”

  “I’m not stupid, Collins. I know your mom is making you ‘handle’ me.”

  I hadn’t done it on purpose, because as much as my crush on Collins had been rekindled in the last few days, and I’m not sticking around the island after Christmas. By then the house will be on the market, and other than visiting Molly and Miller, I don’t see myself coming back down here often. My plans on building a life off the island are firmly intact.

  “Thank you, for agreeing to do it,” I say. “For some reason you’re making this process easier.”

&nb
sp; She studies me closely with her intense green eyes, like she’s thinking of saying something, but in the end just says, “I’m glad I can help.”

  I duck into the closet, needing some space. The closet is almost empty, other than a few random items stuffed into the shelves. It’s strangely liberating to have one small corner finished.

  “Anything else?” she calls.

  “Just a big bin. Let me get it out.” I lift the plastic bin, carrying it out to the bedroom. Collins makes room on the floor and I place it between us. I pull off the lid. Both of us stare at the contents for a moment and then look up at one another, both caught in astonishment and amusement.

  “Are those—"

  Footsteps pound on the stairs, like an elephant stampeding, and Miller appears in the doorway. “Hey guys—wow, you got a lot done in here today.”

  “Yep, we’ll be ready for the charity truck tomorrow to come pick all this up.”

  “Awesome, I’ll let Tillman know.”

  “Hey, Col,” Miller says, “are you going with us tonight?”

  She blinks, a line forming between her nose. “To the skating party? Are we really doing that?”

  “Of course, we’re doing that. Mom’s insisting on a group Santa photo.”

  The instant he says it, Miller winces, and his eyes shift to his sister. She frowns, knowing her brother stepped in it. They both did. Only one person in the room doesn’t have a mom anymore.

  Collins gives me an unnecessary, apologetic grin, while Miller, in typical fashion, ignores the awkward moment entirely. “You coming with?”

  “Oh, uh,” I scratch my neck. “Sounds like your mom wants to do a family thing.”

  “Dude,” he says, glancing at his sister again, “you are family. We’ll meet out front at seven.”

  Miller heads back downstairs, making as much noise on the way down as he did on the way up.

  “Sorry about that,” Collins says. “I know the skate night was something you did with your mom, too.”

  “She really loved it.” Of course, she did. She loved everything that had to do with Christmas.

  “It’s okay if you want to bail. I’ll tell Miller. He’ll get over it.”

  I nod, staring down at the box we’d opened right before Miller arrived. I reach down and pick up a sweater. It’s a Christmas sweater, one of dozens my mother owned. Each one more outlandish and tacky than the last. There are snowmen, Santas, elves, snowflakes, Christmas trees, wreaths. Others have sparkles, glitter, and sequins, and one has a tiny string of lights that actually work.

  “I’d feel bad going without her,” I admit.

  Collins steps around the box and places a hand on my forearm. Warmth spreads down my limb. “You know, it’s not wrong if you want to keep doing the things your mom loved. I think she’d actually be happy about it.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” She eyes the sweater in my hand. “Especially if you wear one of those.”

  I raise an eyebrow and grab another sweater out of the box. It’s two cats under a tree. “I will if you will.”

  She holds my eye, still standing close, and I see flecks of gold in the green. Her lips are perfectly shaped, and man, do I want to see if they feel as soft as they look.

  “I have an even better idea,” she says, bending down and picking up the box, “let’s create a new tradition.”

  There’s a glint in her eye, and it makes my heart thrum. Collins Fleetwood always does the unexpected. I take the box from her, already having an idea of what she has in mind. “I think my mom would like that.”

  8

  Collins

  It’s strange, even to locals, to hear the roar of the ocean two blocks away while walking around a fairytale winter village. It’s always the same, archway made of balloons, candy cane lights leading to the ice rink, the smell of fried bread, sweet popcorn, and cotton candy wafting through the air. Near the rink is a small wooden house, adorned with fake snow and a rainbow of lights. A massive chair painted gold with a green velvet cushion is tucked inside and people, locals, flock around it, dressed as elves.

  Even though I’m no longer a kid, I can’t wait to get down there, and dive into the Christmas spirit.

  “Avery’s here,” I shout to my brothers, all taking too long to get ready. The old joke that girls take longer than boys to get ready is dashed in our house. Van is the worst offender.

  “Here,” I say to Avery as I meet her outside, tossing her a sweater, “you get one, too.”

  “Um…” she starts, but then sees my brothers walk out of the house. They fought over which sweater they wanted to wear; the one with Rudolf causing the most drama.

  “It’s a thing,” I tell her, glancing as Julian walks out of his house and approaches my brothers. “They’re Julian’s mom’s. It seemed like a nice gesture.”

  Avery removes her coat and hands it to me, then pulls the sweater over her head. The front is covered in glittery snowflakes—now her face is dusty with sparkles.

  “I can’t believe you got the guys to wear these.”

  “Are you kidding? They were bizarrely excited. There was a fight over the one with Rudolf on the front.”

  We look over at the guys. Van is wearing the sweater.

  “He beat Tillman?”

  “Tillman is big, but Van is fast.”

  “True.” She fluffs her hair. “So you’re doing nice things for Julian now?”

  “We’re doing nice things for him—the family.”

  “Sure, sure.” She tugs back on her coat. “As long as it’s just the family and not old feelings reemerging.”

  “That crush is ancient history,” I whisper. I don’t tell Avery that my heart flip-flopped a little when he told me he didn’t have a girlfriend, or that he seemed very curious about the fact I was no longer seeing Toby. “If anything, I’m not even being nice. I’m doing my job—as a favor to my mother. He doesn’t even like me being there. I’m basically the enemy.”

  “Whatever you say,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “That’s an awful lot of protesting for someone calling you 'nice'.”

  The guys start walking without us, as usual. And I see Avery eyeing my brother from behind. “You going to try to trick Miller under the mistletoe this year?”

  “I’m sure your brother already has plans to kiss someone else tonight. He always does.”

  That’s the truth. I don’t even ask about the girls he brings in and out of the house anymore. None of us do. We all know it’s kind of pointless to learn their names. No one sticks around long enough.

  We catch up to the guys at the light, and when it changes, Avery squeezes in between Van and Miller, and I find myself lagging behind again. A few seconds later Julian holds back, falling in stride.

  “You’re definitely rocking the cat sweater,” he says.

  I hold it out and spin around. “I think so. You’re holding your own in your ladies’ sweater as well.”

  We cross over to the other side of the street. My brothers and Avery are half a block away, their speed fueled by excitement.

  “I mean, no offense to my mom, but it looks way better on you than her.”

  My cheeks heat but the wind is cool enough that I’m not sure he can tell. Was that flirting? Did he just compliment me? It’s a weird Christmas cat sweater, even if I did look good in it, what does that mean?

  “Thanks for arranging this. It’s nice to have something to do. The house was getting kind of lonely being by myself, and although Molly has invited me over to her place, I’d rather stay at home while I can.”

  “No problem. Like Miller said, you’re family, it would be weird not to include you in the photo.”

  “Yeah? Even with me not living here anymore and moving away for good?”

  “You know my mom loves to collect lost children. I hate to tell you, but you’re one of us now, if you want it or not.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “She’ll adopt you for real, and I’ll end up with another annoying brother.”


  His chin falters, and maybe that was too soon—too fast. No one wants to think of themselves as an orphan. Trust me, I know. I open my mouth to apologize but he speaks first.

  “I could do worse for an adoptive family. For once, I wouldn’t be the youngest.” He eyes me mischievously. “I’d officially get to do all the annoying big brother things.”

  “Like not being part of the family ever kept you from being annoying.”

  “How was I annoying?”

  I snort and give him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? You guys were always harassing me and making me do the terrible stuff. Like hold the bait while you fished or watch the crabbing lines while you surfed. You made me keep the windows unlocked so you could sneak in at night, and I’m still convinced there’s a ghost in the attic after you guys told me that story about the General’s wife that threw herself out the window.”

  A slow grin appears on his mouth—his very pretty, desirable mouth—and a flare of annoyance rolls over me. He and Miller were merciless when it came to pestering me back then.

  “That was just how we showed our affection,” he declares.

  I shake my head and continue walking, but the look on his face makes me wary. A flicker of a memory comes back to me; it’s an image of Julian looking at me just the same, then chasing me down the block. Back then if he, or any of my brothers caught me, they’d tickle me into submission.

  I’m very ticklish and from the look in his eye, he remembers that.

  “Don’t do it,” I say, but he’s already in motion, lunging at me. I yelp, racing down the street. He chases after me, and there’s a glint in his eye, one that matches the pounding of my heart. I almost want to let him catch me.

  Almost.

  But I keep running, not sure what would even happen if I let it happen. This boy isn’t here for good. These games are just nostalgia, but just as I’m about to reach the guys, two hands grab me around the waist. I’m lifted off the ground and spinning around.

  “Gotcha.”

  His arms are tight around my waist and there’s no mistaking the lean muscular swell of his biceps or the hard expanse of his chest. My toes graze the sidewalk and we’re face to face, our noses are less than an inch apart. His eye lashes are so long, so pretty, and I long to touch them. No. I long to kiss them.