The Plight Before Christmas(92)

“Baby, is that true?”

Erin’s sniff has me pausing.

My brother speaks again, utter devastation in his tone. “Erin, look at me. Is that how you really feel?” Erin’s answering sob cracks my heart. “Jesus Christ, baby…come here.” I hear the slide of a chair as I head up the attic stairs. Guilt covers me briefly as I realize my timing is horrible. But at the same time, why?

It seems we’re all wasting time trying to save face and push our issues aside, and for what—because it’s a holiday? It’s like we’re all hiding behind “it’s fine, we’re fine,” masks, tiptoeing around our issues—serious issues—and for what? The idea of a perfect Christmas?

Serena was right. The picture we have for our lives, even down to a postcard holiday, doesn’t exist. Real memories worth keeping are made in the moment. They aren’t planned. We don’t thrive off idyllic. We thrive off real human emotion and experience. The here and now, and then our mind deciphers later which memories are our fondest.

Eli’s reappearance ripped my “I’m fine” mask off. And though I was furious at first, I feel a strange liberation and much-needed accountability for the situation I’m in.

I’m the one who didn’t conquer my birthday bucket list.

I’m the one whose ambitions took a back seat to comfort.

I’m the one who’s blaming shitty circumstances for the things I do and don’t have at this point in my life.

I’m also the one who closed myself off to the endless possibilities and made decisions about my future without really weighing how much I could lose because of them.

Liberation. That’s what I feel now that I can fully admit these things to myself.

Am I sorted? Hell no, far from it, but I’m not hiding anymore.

Serena did the same for Thatch, and they can no longer ignore the space currently threatening their marriage.

Unfortunately for my shithead brother, it was his turn to get a wake-up call, especially because of his false level of contentment this morning. He got laid last night, so all is well?

Shitttttt.

Plenty of women don’t withhold sex as a weapon. It doesn’t mean they don’t hold grudges. It just means they’re going to get theirs while they’re pissed. She might have acquired the use of my brother’s stick shift last night, but I guarantee she was the one driving.

Eww.

Even so, get yours, sis.

And now that all our masks are off, we’re floating in the same chaotic, directionless atmosphere together. Hopefully—at some point—no matter how bad the turbulence gets, we’ll rely on each other to get us through it and bring us back to the ground—the very definition of gravity.

Something we’ve all forgotten, something we all need to remember.

As I watch Peyton playing with his workshop, I decide that the repair most needed now for me has to start from within.

“Hey, babe, where you at?” Eli calls from the front door.

Panicked he’s home early, I swipe the box off the counter and toss it in the direction of the trash. “In here,” I call just as Eli pokes his head in, covered in post-run sweat, looking gorgeous. His form-fitting cotton T-shirt is soaked and sticking to his tan skin, his hair deliciously disheveled. He takes a step into the room and pulls me into him, kissing me briefly, his heart still pounding heavily in his chest from his workout.

“Feel better?” I ask as his eyes glitter down on me, and he nods.

“Much.”

“I knew you would. There’s no reason to be nervous. You’re going to nail the interview.”

“Hope so.”

“I got you something,” I say, pulling the box from my purse, which sits on the counter.

He gives me a beautiful flash of teeth. “Oh yeah?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

He opens the small box and studies the cuff links.

“I thought if you decide to wear the suit, they would go perfect. I couldn’t afford anything too fancy, but these—”

He grips my chin with his fingers. “They’re perfect,” he says softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, thank you, Bee,” he murmurs before taking my lips in a slow, appreciative kiss. Dizzied when he pulls away, I fight the temptation for the millionth time to declare my love and, for the millionth time, pray he beats me to it.

It’s been agony feeling so much for him and not being able to express it. So many times I’ve felt it from him, even in the beginning, but the words haven’t come.

In my heart, I know it’s just a matter of time, and like all other things Eli, I know the wait will be worth it.

“What are you thinking about?”

“If you get the job, I want to take you to dinner.”

“I probably won’t know—” He stiffens, and I rear back in confusion as his smile disappears, his eyes focused on the floor. Glancing back, I see the hastily discarded box between the trash can and the toilet. Pulling away from me completely, he picks up the test strip from the top of the trash and barely glances at it before gripping it in his fist.

“It’s negative.”

“I see that, and why wouldn’t it be?” It’s the edge of accusation and the chill in his voice that puts me immediately on the defensive.