She Drives Me Crazy(49)
We hover on the edge of something. It’s so quiet I can hear my new watch ticking.
“Can I ask you something?” I say. “Are you over Charlotte?”
She tilts her head, searching me. I wonder if she can see the truth on my face: that I want her to say no. I want to know I’m not alone in this pain, this confusion. I want to know she understands how it feels to be falling in new love and bleeding from old love at the same time.
“Yeah, I am.” She brushes my hair back from my forehead, her touch exceedingly gentle. “But you’re not over Tally, are you?”
My eyes burn with more tears. I give her the only truth I can. “I want to be.”
She swallows and nods solemnly. “What do you need?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Sit with it for a second.”
We breathe in the stillness. My emotions are crashing all over the place. I trace my finger over her curling iron scar again, but before she can take my hand, I pull away.
“Can you drive me home?”
Irene’s face falls. “Yeah, of course.”
She gives me a hand off the floor. We keep quiet as we tug on our shoes, button our coats, pet Mary goodnight. We get back into her car and make the thirty-second drive to my house.
“Scottie,” Irene says when I move to get out of the car.
“Yeah?”
“Take all the time you need. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
I give her the bravest smile I can muster. I’m not sure when I’ll see her again. “Merry Christmas, Abraham.”
She smiles sadly back. “Merry Christmas, Zajac.”
14
My sisters wake me up on Christmas morning by placing BooBoo and Pickles on my chest. At first, coming out of my sleepy state, all I feel is the pleasant pressure of cat paws. But then Pickles tries to put his butt on my face.
“Ugh! Come on!” I yell, throwing off the covers. Pickles darts away and hides under my desk. BooBoo stays on the bed, licking his paws.
“Merry Catsmas!” Daphne says. “Do you think Santa Paws came?”
“That’s right, BooBoo, we don’t let anyone scare us away,” Thora says, petting him where he lays sprawled on my extra pillow. “Come on, Scots, time to open presents!”
“Not in the mood yet,” I say, turning away from them. “Let me sleep.”
I don’t want to get up and face the day, not when I’m still heartsore from last night, but my sisters practically wrench me from the bed. Daphne jams a Santa hat on my head and the two of them lead me downstairs, where Mom and Dad are sipping coffee in matching pajamas.
“How cute do we look?” Dad says, spreading his arms so I can see the elf print on his green pajama top.
“Merry Christmas, honey!” Mom says, wrapping me in a hug. “Did you and Irene have fun last night? Did you kiss under some mistletoe?”
My cheeks flush, but not for the reason they think.
“You make a precious couple,” Dad says. “Next year we’ll get you matching pajamas, too.”
“Can we stop?” My tone is sour even if I don’t want it to be. I feel like I could cry any moment.
“Here, you little brat,” Thora says, pressing a mug of coffee and a cinnamon cookie into my hand. “Chug that. Turn your Grinchy frown upside down.”
We open presents in turns. Daphne gasps over her first perfume, a gift from Thora and me. Mom squeals over a new gardening hat Dad picked out for her. Thora actually tears up when she unwraps the hand-knit bonnets Daphne made for Pickles and BooBoo.
When I pick out a big, lumpy present, Mom leans forward in her armchair. “Ooh, this is our favorite!”
I shred the paper open to reveal a vintage denim jacket, copper buttons and all, with a white fleece lining along the top.
“Wow,” I say, running my hand over it. “I really love—”
“Turn it around!” Dad says.
The back is embroidered with a cartoon basketball. In cursive script, the words I Bounce Back flow around it.
“We had it custom made!” Mom says.
“Isn’t it cute, Scottie?” Thora says in a voice that means Don’t burst their bubble.
I trace my fingers over the embroidered script. To my embarrassment, my throat grows thick and my eyes well up. The tears drop before I can hide them.
“Scottie?” Mom says. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
It takes everything I have to get myself under control. I will not ruin Christmas morning by admitting my resilience has been a facade, that I literally bought this confidence they keep congratulating me for.
“I’m just very touched. Thank you, guys.”
Mom and Dad beam at each other. My sisters trade a curious look, but they don’t say anything. I force a smile and pull the jacket on over my pajama shirt. It fits almost perfectly.
* * *
The last three days of December are when the Earl-Hewetts knock down the price of their Christmas inventory, so Danielle and I make plans to shop the discount aisles at the Emporium. We’re halfway down the specialty aisle, distracted by a Hanukkah sweater Gunther might like, when she says something that startles me.
“So … I saw Honey-Belle at the Munny last night, and she told me you and Irene are taking a break.”