You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(144)

The door slid open and she walked out of the elevator, leaving him in an eddy of her perfume. He’d never known her to wear perfume. It was nice. She smelled like rich flowers. And he wished he didn’t notice those things. Wished he could turn off the way he felt for this prickly, awkward woman who never ever looked at him the way he could not stop looking at her.

The thin straps of her dress left her back bare, and he watched those thin muscles under her skin shift as she walked away.

He followed her down a short hallway to a slice of light falling across the marble floor from an open door. She stepped ahead like she was going to push open the door, but he stopped her, his hand briefly touching her elbow. Just that, his fingers against her bare skin for a second, and electricity zipped between them.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked.

“You don’t?”

“Just your messages. The texts. She fell?”

“Ice on the steps. She fell, broke her wrist and hit her head. I found her—”

“Found her?”

“She was unconscious, just for a minute.”

He took a deep breath and let fly with his worst suspicions. His darkest thoughts.

“My father?”

“Was inside the party. He didn’t…he wasn’t there. He’s not like that with her.”

Dean knew that, but he lived with the fear that would change. That without Dean there to bully and slap, Dad would turn on his mom.

“She’s okay?”

“Fine. Really. Hungry.” She lifted the snacks she was holding in her arms.

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.”

Trina pushed open the door ahead of them. “Look who I found,” she said in a bright voice as Dean followed her into the small hospital room.

Mom sat up in the bed, surrounded by pillows, wearing a blue silk robe from home. It was a run-of-the-mill hospital room. Pale yellow with nondescript pictures. But Mom turned it into something special. Something slightly regal. A queen’s sitting room, perhaps.

“Dean!” Her smile was the same one she’d given him since he was a child. All warmth. All welcome. “You didn’t need to come out in this weather.”

“Mom.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, careful of her head and her arm in the sling. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I got the messages late.”

“Well, it’s a lot of fuss for nothing if you ask me.” She still wore her hair, white and snowy, up in a bun from the party. He touched one of the glittery pins that held it all in place. Her fancy hairdo seemed as out of place as Trina’s ball gown.

“You would say that,” he said.

Trina put the cans of soda and the junk food on the small rolling table beside Mom’s bed. “Here,” she said. “Let me get my stuff and you can have my seat.” She began to gather up all her things. A long cashmere coat. Black shoes. A purse.

“No, honey, stay,” Mom cried, and Dean wondered when Trina became honey. “You were so hungry.”

“I can grab something—”

“It’s Christmas Eve. Nothing is open.”

“Well.” Trina glanced over at him with unsure eyes.

“Don’t leave on my account,” he said with just enough attitude that his mom cut him a surprised look.

“Sit. Eat,” Mom said, and then looked over at him. “And you. Be nice.”

“I’m nice,” he said, and sat down on the other empty bed. And once upon a time he’d been very nice to Trina. “Where’s Dad?”

“Still at the party.”

“What?” he cried, looking to Trina for confirmation. She’d cracked open the Cheetos bag and her fingers were covered with orange powder. She shrugged. “He let you come here alone?”

“I’m not alone. Trina is here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“There are two hundred people at our home tonight, Dean. Someone should be there.”

“Yeah, and he should be by your side.”

Mom sighed, heavily. “Open up those almonds for me, would you, Trina?”

“Why are you acting like this is no big deal?”

“Because there is no arguing with you about your father.”

“That’s not Dean’s fault,” Trina said, shaking almonds into Mom’s open palm.

Dean stared at Trina, surprised to hear her stepping up to his defense.

“No,” Mom said with a sigh. “I don’t suppose it is. I swear, since the moment you were born, the two of you found something to fight about. If I put you to bed, you went down so sweet. If he tried bedtime it would be three hours of screaming and wailing. From the two of you.”

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. He’d been a hearing a version of this story for as long as he could remember.

“He’s the father,” Trina said, still staunchly defending him. “The adult. If anyone should rise above it, it should be him, don’t you think?”

“Of course I think, but there’s no convincing Eugene of that.”

Dean dropped his hand and stared at the two women. What was happening here?

“I don’t think it’s fair to blame a child for something an adult didn’t do,” Trina said. She had a red blush climbing up from her neckline.