by L A Tavares
Kelly cracks open the book and runs her fingers over its yellowed pages. She asks about my mother and I tell her everything, leaving out no details—all the way up until she left me with Xander and his mother.
There are times her eyes fill with tears, times she looks at me with a shocked expression as if she doesn’t believe all that could have possibly been happening for so many years that she knew me but didn’t really know me.
“Where was this one taken?” She points to a picture of my father and I sitting on a dock, with large rocks and a gorgeous body of water as the backdrop to the picture. We look almost nothing alike. His hair is a bit darker, and his facial structure was different from mine, but we both smiled widely.
“A beach in Cape Town.” I curl my lips into a light smile at the memory. “I was five or six in that picture. My mother had been gone for a whole year. At the time I thought she was working, but now I have no idea what the hell she was really doing. My father, though, was determined to keep me happy, even if it meant going there every single day to watch the penguins waddle around the beach.”
She rests her head in her hand and listens as I narrate my trip down memory lane.
“That’s all I really remember about living there.” I shrug and she nods her head.
When my mother returned from her year-long hiatus, that’s when the fighting started. That was the beginning of the brutal end. They screamed and yelled while I sat at the top of the stairs and eavesdropped but missed the peak of the argument.
“If you kick me out, my son is coming with me.” My mother’s voice echoed from their room up the stairs. Even after that year together, the daily trips to the beach, the penguins, the smiles…he didn’t say a word. Then mother and I were on a plane.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is low and quiet.
“Don’t be.” That’s the last thing I want.
“I’m sorry I never knew or noticed. I was always so caught up in trivial high school stuff…”
“Hell, I lived with Xander, and he never knew the details either, really.” I push my food around my plate with my fork. “His mother always knew. She read me like a book. She still does. She’s extremely perceptive. Xander, not so much.”
She laughs but stifles it, covering her mouth with her fingertips.
“This is your mom?” She turns the page of the book toward me, and I nod.
“You haven’t seen her since you moved in with Xander?”
I take a sip of my drink and return the glass to the table.
* * * *
Then
Xander hands me a hat and gloves almost identical to the set he’s wearing.
“Do you all do this every year?” I ask as he slides on one boot then the other.
“We have a fake tree, too. Some years we’ve been a little tighter on cash, so we set up this old artificial tree that’s sadder than the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas. But every year that we can afford something extra at the holidays, we go to the Christmas-tree farm and cut down a real tree. Then we pick a day and watch Christmas movies and listen to music while we decorate.”
I have never been more jealous of Xander than I am in this moment. His mother and him are so close, and he’s not embarrassed or shy about it.
“How about you? Any traditions?” Xander asks as we head down the stairs.
The only tradition I ever had was waking up, walking around the house and looking in each room, left to wonder if mother was home or not. I was a regular Kevin McCallister in Home Alone, only I didn’t wish for my family to disappear. That was just the way it always had been.
“Not really.” My voice is miles away.
We lock the door and walk to the car with snow crunching under our feet.
“I have always loved stockings,” Xander says. “My mom fills them with all kinds of candy and trinkets. I used to wake up before her, and I wasn’t allowed to touch any of the gifts—but stockings were fair game.”
“Mmhmm-m.” The sound of Xander’s excitement goes right under my skin. I wish it didn’t, but it does. The ghosts of Xander’s Christmas past and the ones of my own are two very different spirits.
“You okay?” Xander asks as he opens the SUV’s passenger-side door.
“Never merrier.” I close the back door behind me after I slide into the car.
We’re silent for a while as Debbie drives down the road. I lean my head against the cold window and watch the snow fly past. She pulls over at the gas station and gets out of the car to fill the tank.
“I’m sorry,” Xander says in a sullen voice. He leans into the center console, turning to face me. I lift my head from the window and look at him. “I should have realized this must be hard for you— “
“It’s fine, Xander.”
“No, it’s not fine. It’s your first Christmas without your mother—”
“Actually, it’s not.”
My tone doesn’t waver, ensuring that my statement is the final word.
By the time we arrive at the tree farm, I still hadn’t said a word. When we park, Xander hops out of the car and heads toward the rows of trees. I take my time exiting the vehicle and Debbie walks around the back of the car, cutting off my path.
“I would ask if everything is okay,” she says, putting both her hands on my upper arms, “but I already know the answer.”
I nod, retaining my silence.
“I’m trying as hard as I can to make things here perfect for you, Blake. I’m really trying. But I don’t want to push you out of your comfort zones either. If you don’t want to be a part of something, if you need space, just say so. I’m just trying to walk that line between knowing what’s enough and knowing what’s too much. This is new to me too, you know?”
She squeezes my upper arms then lets go, turning away and walking toward Xander.
Part of something. Of all the words she’d spoken, that’s what hit me hardest. She made me part of a tradition, of a family, of a home. She’s the one who made me part of something. I jogged toward them, and as I reached them, she put one arm around me and one arm around Xander as we walked onward through the rows of green.
They even let me pick the tree. And later I sit at the bottom of the staircase, staring into the living room. The house is dark, except for the tree. It’s perfect—just like in the movies—the tree I always imagined, wished for, wanted.
This is the type of Christmas I dreamed of every single year and never got.
I have it now.
And it’s perfect—but it’s not.
I make my way to the top of the stairs and fall asleep in a bed that was given to me by someone who is not my mother, under a roof that was not provided to me by my mother, feeling safe and happy—comforts I never could have gotten from my mother.
So why do I miss her so much?
When I wake, Xander is gone, and his sheets are strewn over the side of the bed. I shuffle down the stairs and stretch through a yawn that echoes in the stairwell. The cold shoots up through the soles of my feet when I leave the carpeted stairs and stand on the floor in the entry way. Xander sits on the couch with his back to me and Debbie adjusts some ornaments on the tree.
“Good morning, Blake.” She smiles a warm grin that twinkles like the lights on the tree.
The mantel catches my attention. Stockings decorate the ledge, perfectly placed with red and white trim.
Three of them.
Mom. Alexander.
Blake.
And my eyes fill with tears. I don’t hold them back. I don’t try to hide my emotions anymore.
For the first time, I belong somewhere. They gave me a sense of belonging that I’d spent my entire life searching for. Debbie wraps her arms around me.
“Thank you.” The words sound muffled against her shoulder.
She steps back to arm’s length and nods. “It has been a pleasure having you as part of this family,” she says, and as she does, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get that.” She walks away and Alexande
r steps toward me, standing where she stood.
“I spent every Christmas, my entire life, wishing for a Christmas tree and a stocking.” I stare at the décor in the living room.
“I spent every Christmas wishing for a brother.” Xander grips his fingers into my shoulder.
“Blake?” Debbie rejoins us at the living room.
“Yeah?” I say, suddenly grateful that Xander’s hand is on my shoulder, holding me up. Otherwise, I’d have fallen to the floor in shock when my mother joined Debbie at the entrance to the living room.
“Blake,” she says, holding her arms out and wearing a large smile like this was a pleasant surprise, a reconnection between two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. She steps in and wraps her arms around me in the coldest hug I’ve ever received.
“Well,” Debbie says with forced excitement, “I was just about to put dinner on the table. Why don’t you join us?”
My mother pulls away but places her hand around my wrist and pulls me toward the kitchen, following Debbie and Xander to the table.
Dinner is quiet. Well, it’s quiet for me, Debbie and Xander. My mother hasn’t stopped talking since she got here. She details how well she’s doing and what she has been up to. She tries to explain why she had to leave, but the story changes every time she reopens her mouth.
“I heard your song.” She chews as she speaks. “You boys are great. You’re really going to be someone, Blake. I always knew you would be.”
Then, I get it. She doesn’t miss me or want me. She thinks I might be worth something now, so she came back for me.
“Really something,” she continues. “Have you been offered a record deal or anything like that?” She shovels food into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in months.
“Yeah, we turned it down,” I say, all business, no fluctuation in my tones.
“You did what?” She’s furious now, red in the face. “Blake, you’ve never been the sharpest boy, but this is the dumbest thing you have ever done.”
“Excuse me.” Debbie slams her fork to the table. “You will not come into my house and talk about my boys in that way.”
“You are not his mother,” my mother spits back at her. Tension fills the room.
“I’m not…but someone had to be.”
“Blake.” My mother wipes her mouth and pushes her chair back from the table. “Pack your things. We’re leaving.”
I don’t know what to think or say.
“Now.” She narrows her eyes.
“Sweetie, you don’t have to go,” Debbie adds.
The chair screeches against the tile as I push it back from the table, standing to walk past my mother and out of the door.
“Blake!” Mother yells as she follows me.
“What do you want?” I scream, turning to her with my arms out at my sides and my voice echoing through the night sky. “Why are you here? What could you possibly try to take from me that you haven’t already taken?” My voice cracks, my throat strained.
“You are talented, Blake. And I know people. You could make it big. You don’t need to have a band. You don’t need Alexander eclipsing you. We could take you to the top.”
She sells it all so well that it’s almost believable. Of course, she knows people. Of course, we could make it an overnight success. It’s a fool-proof plan just like every other one she has ever made in her life.
I turn my back and walk a few steps, distancing myself from the black hole that she is.
“You can’t walk away from family!” she yells, her voice cracking as she cries out.
I turn around too fast, almost knocking myself off my feet and stepping in too close to her.
“You walked away!” My voice travels for miles. “I’m not walking away from family, Mom. That’s the point. They are my family. Xander and his mom and the band? That’s my family. And I will never, ever, quit on them the way you quit on me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Now
Steam floats into the cool air off the surface of the hot jacuzzi water as it rises to meet the stars above us. Kelly leans into me, her skin against mine. I press my lips against her temple and leave them there, inhaling the scent of her hair.
She links her fingers into mine and extends her hand, pointing to a star that flies across the sky, leaving a bright tail of light behind it. I wonder what she wishes for as a small grin crawls into her cheeks. I wish that things would always be this way—simple, steadfast.
“Can I ask you something?” She shifts into a different seat, facing me. The cold air sets in, nipping at my skin where her body had been. I nod, though, in my experience, no good conversation ever started with ‘Can I ask you something?’
“I don’t want to ask—I don’t want to have to ask—but I feel like I can’t help you or support you if I don’t…”
“Just ask the question, Kelly.” I tilt my head back and stare at the stars as she beats around the proverbial bush.
“Are you still gambling? When’s the last time you played? I guess I don’t know what or how to ask.”
“I haven’t been gambling.” I’m annoyed but trying not to show it. I don’t want to fight tonight, and my inability to disguise my emotions usually fast-tracks me to the couch. “It’s not a problem.”
“I read that ‘it’s not a problem’ is usually a pretty good indication that it is—”
“You…what? Internet searched it? You are turning this into something it’s not.”
“Can you just answer the question? I’m trying to help you.” Her words are pleading. I can’t help but think this is because I told her about my past. That’s what I didn’t want. She doesn’t have to save me. I’m not broken. This is why I hide those parts of myself. My past doesn’t have to dictate my future. Now she’s going to worry in a way she didn’t have to when she was ignorant to those parts of my history.
“When’s the last time you gambled, Blake?” she asks again with no hesitation in her voice this time.
“Technically, yesterday before The Rock Room.” I lower my gaze to meet hers. “Stasia bet against me on an air hockey game. But for real money? Not since I told you about it.”
“You… I’m sorry. Stasia and you went out before the show?”
“Well, yeah, but it was good. She really helped me see the problem this is becoming.”
“Blake.” Her eyes drift into a saddened narrow and she tilts her head to one side. “I don’t like to be a self-conscious person. That’s not me. But can you really not see how much it bothers me that you have this connection with this girl that you just met but don’t seem to have that same link with me?”
“Kelly, that’s just not true.” I slide across the jacuzzi seats and settle in close to her. “I don’t look at Stasia the way I look at you. I don’t feel anything like that for her. But, Kel, you grew up in this perfect family with two parents. You lived on the same street your entire life. Your parents are literally perfect. Stasia is somebody who understands how I grew up. She never knew her mother, and her father was absentee. We’re friends. That’s it. She’s working with the band now—practically one of the guys.”
“Okay.” She nods. “I trust you. I just wish she wasn’t so damn gorgeous. I couldn’t blame you if you were attracted to her. Hell, I might be attracted to her.”
“I’m not attracted to her.” I place my hand on Kelly’s thigh. “She’s like…a sister type. Like Xander is with Jana.”
Kelly nods then shifts back and sinks down into the hot tub.
I lean in and place my lips at her collarbone, her neck and her ear then wrap my finger into the knotted bikini tie at the nape of her neck and pull it free. She presses her chest against mine and puts her body weight against me, pushing me back into the seat at the other side of the jacuzzi. A wave of water follows our bodies and crashes over the edge.
* * * *
The next morning, I volunteer to pick up coffee from Chance’s before our impromptu meeting that Cooper called. The standing ovati
on I received for being the person that showed up with coffee is almost as good as the one from any performance.
“Morning, gentlemen.” I place a cup in front of each band member. Stasia clears her throat.
“And lady,” I add. Stasia smiles a victorious grin as she takes her coffee. “Anyone know why we’re here?”
The room is all shrugs and head shakes through sips of coffee but there are no answers. We sit for a while, cracking jokes and messing around until Cooper joins us. He sits at the table and opens a folder to a page that looks like a printed-off email.
“Unfortunately, the lead singer of the band Most Of Us was involved in an accident this weekend,” Cooper says, his voice forlorn.
“Nate Bertrand?” Xander leans into the table. “Is he okay?”
Nate is a good man. We toured with Most Of Us a few years back. They are a great group. We had a lot of laughs on that tour, many of them provided by Nate himself. It was like touring with a comedian instead of a musician.
“He should be okay, but it will take him a long while to get there,” Cooper says. Xander sinks into his chair and swallows hard. I’m sure news like that isn’t easy for him. Not too long ago it was Xander laying in a hospital bed, casted and broken while wondering if his injuries would get in the way of his career.
“They are slated to play three nights in Miami in a few weeks. It’s a musical festival-type benefit with about a dozen other bands on the roster.” Cooper turns a piece of paper toward us, showing us the list of bands expected to play. “They asked us to take their place while Nate recovers. I wasn’t sure what you all wanted to do. We don’t do things here without a unanimous vote, so give it a few minutes, think about it and give me a yay or nay.”
I look at Xander the way I have since I met him in sixth grade. I always like to know what he is thinking before I give an answer of my own—and he does the same. We have this wordless conversation, composed of head nods and eye narrows, but usually arrive at the same answer.
“Stasia,” Cooper says. She offers him her full attention. “Do you think you’re ready to take the stage with this lot, or do you want more time just in the studio before going live?”