by Cassie Mae
“True,” he says, and I go to sock him one, but he dodges me. “But that’s their problem, isn’t it?”
“See?” I tilt my head. “I can’t even do that.”
“Do what?”
“Think that way. I can’t brush off someone’s intolerance of me. It’s like I somehow deserve their acceptance simply by existing. There’s something wrong inside of me that needs fixing, and I can pinpoint it down to my lack of flexibility. Hence the rebelessons.”
He blows out a breath across his hot cocoa, the steam rising from his cup into the night sky. “All for a guy.”
“Yes,” I say with conviction, but the look on his face makes me want to take it back. “Maybe. He’s part of it.” All true. If it weren’t for his flat out ‘you’re not my type,’ I wouldn’t have realized just how much I’m nobody’s type.
“Have you never been rejected before?” Pete twists toward me, hitching his leg up on the bench. His knee grazes my thigh, sending a comforting yet surprising wave of uncertainty through me.
“Never had the chance.” Before Zach, I never put myself out there. High school I was known as the Virgin Mary. Most guys sought after me as a challenge—gag—and I never gave them the time of day. The guys I did like told me flat out what a nark I was. College was a chance to start anew, but I can’t seem to find my footing, and it’s been two years. “Like I said, being good ol’ Candace is lonely.”
Pete’s brow furrows, his lips turning downward. He turns toward the gorgeous holiday scene we have before us, and for once, I seem to have struck him speechless.
Disappointment crawls through my stomach like a tiny bug snacking on kitchen leftovers. Pete’s always up for an argument, but when it comes to telling him how off-putting my personality is, he’s got nothing up his sleeve.
“If it’s any consolation,” he says, breaking the silence and squashing that bug in my stomach, “even at your most annoying, I’ve always liked you.”
“Even when I pester you about this?” I tap his forearm where I know his tattoo rests underneath the layers of fabric. “Or your hat? Or your shirt that is never tucked in? I swear you do it just to irritate me.”
“Candace…” He shakes his head. “I only give crap to people I like.”
“Wow. You must like me a lot.”
“Very true.” He casts his gaze to the clouds, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “We should probably get your car.”
“Huh?” My brain is stuck on what he said before. He likes me a lot? Like how much is a lot?
“Looks like snow.” He pushes up from the bench and lends a hand. “Bikes and icy roads aren’t fun, even for more experienced riders.”
“Can I finish my cocoa?” I lift my half-full cup.
“Two more sips.”
“Now who’s the hardass,” I mutter, and his eyes pop open wide, and I slam my hand over my mouth.
“You just said ass.”
“I know!” Look at me go with all this rule breaking.
“Gertrude has truly changed you.”
We laugh together, and we probably sound awful to any passersby—him with his baby hyena, and me with my snort. I take three sips, because I’m a rebel now, and then I strap on his helmet. I’m ready for Gertrude to change me even more.
Pete
I flop down onto the stuffy couch in the break room, rubbing my eyes and throwing my Troublemakers cap off and onto the middle cushion. If I’m lucky, I can get a twenty minute nap in before my next shift. These doubles are killing me, not to mention the time I’m spending with Candace. Over the weekend I spent every waking hour next to her—or pressed together with her—and I didn’t realize until far too late that I missed out on much-needed sleep.
Mondays are her days off, so I’ve been Candace-less all day, and my energy is at an all-time low. Didn’t help that my first shift was the kiddie rides. School is officially out, so we’re crazy busy, and I was manning the bumper cars for two hours before I finally got switched to the carousel. There’s a pedal on the floor I have to step on for the bumper cars to work, and now there’s a major cramp in my foot.
I throw my head back against the couch and let my eyelids drop shut. I should set my timer, but I can’t seem to find the motivation to dig into my pocket.
Like a sign from God to stop being so damn lazy, my phone vibrates against my upper thigh. I let out a sigh and ignore it for a good two rings before my arm listens to the command to answer the thing.
His picture fills my screen, and I groan and press the green answer button. “Hey, Dad.”
“Did you think about what I asked?” he says with no preamble.
“About the mortgage?” I ask, even though I know damn well that’s what he’s talking about. We’re getting closer and closer to Christmas, and Demi’s at home for winter break, and I’m sure they’re struggling with how to feed her three times a day or buy more pills.
“I’d like to know what to plan for, PJ.” My dad is the only one to call me PJ, and for that reason, I never tell anyone that nickname. He usually uses it to patronize me.
Exhaustion pulls me under, but I at least have some strength to bite my tongue. Another shift though, and I would’ve just asked him who the parent is here.
“Dad… do you have anything for Demi for Christmas?”
“What kind of question is that?” Frost edges his voice, getting colder by the second. “A roof over her head is gift enough.”
But you’re not providing that either… “So no.”
“She’s old enough to get it.”
“She’s ten.”
“So were you.”
Yeah, and I remember going to school come January wondering if I’d slept through the holiday. No presents, I get. Mom and Dad have always struggled, with Dad hopping from job to job and spending most of his income on his “medicine.” But there was no tree or singing or dinner or any attempt at all to indicate a holiday had come and gone.
At ten, with my buds celebrating and playing with their toys, I started asking if we didn’t believe in Christmas anymore. Dad sat me down and said that there were more important things than presents. Like water and cable. If given the chance, I think I would’ve liked to be a kid just a little longer.
Demi’s the baby, and I worried about how fast she’d have to grow up once Mad and I left the house. Ten is still too early for me to accept, and I’m not going to let it happen to her.
“I’m planning a Christmas for Demi,” I tell him. “Got a tree already.”
“You spent money on a tree?”
“Yes.”
“So you have enough to spot me for the month.” Relief starts to replace the bite in his tone. I better stop him before he gets too happy.
“Dad… I have enough to provide Demi a good Christmas. I was gonna ask her to spend the night on Christmas Eve at my place. Mad and I will make sure she has a good breakfast and a few gifts.”
A buzz runs through the phone, and I pull the screen away to see if he’s still on the line.
“Dad?”
“Why would you take her for Christmas?” he spits out.
“You just said you didn’t have anything for her.” Frustration runs under my tired skin, waking it up. I push my hair back and grip it, trying to iron out my temper. “I’ve been saving up for it.”
“And my mortgage?”
“That’s not my responsibility,” I blurt, and the ingrained guilt he planted in me long ago starts growing in my chest. “But I will try to help. I can’t pay for it all.”
“You have enough for pointless presents, but not enough to keep a roof over her head?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “I thought I taught you priorities, PJ.”
I grit my teeth so hard I can hear them rub against each other. I sit up straight, resting my elbows on my knees. He’s one to talk about priorities. His pills and booze have always been up there at the top, and it’s exactly why he’s out of work again.
“Demi’s happiness is my priority.” It is my
only priority right now. “Bailing you out over and over again isn’t helping anyone.”
“Bailing me out?” His voice rises, and I brace myself for the wrath. “Boy, I provided for you your whole life. Now when I need your help, you turn your back.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t helping, Dad.”
“You should be grateful. Happy even.”
The guilt weaves around my organs, squeezing the life out of me. Thorns from its branches pierce my stomach, my heart, my brain, and I put my head in my palms, wheezing for breath. He’s so blind to how much he relied on me and my sister. He’s so out of this world, preferring to live in a haze, unable to process just how resentful I am for my upbringing.
I never got to finish high school. My senior year, he practically forced me to work more hours, get a bigger paycheck, help out more at home. And the expenses were my fault; I ate too much food, spent too much time on the TV, left lights on… and I believed every word of it.
“How could I be happy about this, Dad?” I ask him, my voice utterly defeated. I won’t win this argument. I never could. I’ll be sending a payment to his mortgage company just as soon as I get to a computer. Unfortunately, I don’t trust him with cash. “You chose your drugs over your family.”
“I don’t smoke anymore.”
I’m not talking about the weed, and he knows it. “The drug test was a fluke?”
“Yes.”
He’s always denied it, and there he goes again. But I know where the stash is. I know what times of day he pops one. I’ve stolen some of it before, back when I was fourteen and in the first stages of my rebel years. Candace would probably shit a brick if she knew that I once stole my dad’s fentanyl and then dumped it after one dose just for spite.
And he didn’t say anything. Still hasn’t. He doesn’t abuse drugs, after all.
“Look, I gotta clock back in,” I tell him, not completely untrue. I want at least ten minutes of shut-eye. “I’ll make a payment to your mortgage company tomorrow, okay?”
“And Christmas?” he grunts. “You still taking Demi for that?”
“Yes.” I won’t let him decide that for me, too. “Mad and I will pick her up on the 24th.”
He hangs up the same way he answers—no warning. I put the phone down and rest it on my leg, rubbing out the stress from my eyes. Maddie won’t be too happy with me; with paying his mortgage and Christmas, I won’t have much left to contribute to our own utilities. She’s been out of the house as much as I have, but she’s preparing for her boarding competition and hasn’t had much luck on the second job front. Not many places are willing to be so flexible.
I take note of the time. She’s boarding in the Wheel Zone right now. I should probably go warn her.
Right as I go to stand up, another vibration from my phone pauses my butt mid-rise from the couch.
Mom.
I let out another groan and flump back down. “Hi, Mom.”
“What’s this about taking my baby away for Christmas?” Mom and Dad have the same phone etiquette.
“Not all day.” I pick at the T on my cap. “Just for the morning.”
“And you’re going to spend the day with your father and I, right?” Her accusatory tone shrinks me to five years old, and that’s just her mom power over the phone.
“I… I don’t know,” I admit. The sound of the break door opening turns my head toward the entrance. “I’m not up to seeing Dad right now.”
I catch the smallest bit of reddish hair and wide brown eyes before they duck back behind the corner. I smirk at the wall, wondering if Candace believes she’s really that stealthy.
“It’s Christmas, Peter.” Mom voice again. “You can’t take all my kids away.”
“Do you have stuff planned, Mom?”
“You know we can’t afford—”
“Then you’re welcome to stop by my place.” My parents have not set foot in my apartment, and it’s not for a lack of invitation. The apartment is a touchy subject, since both Mad and I moved out before either of them was ready. Mom, emotionally and Dad, financially.
“You know your father won’t be happy.”
“He should be,” I bite. I know she’s not the reason I’m so upset, but I can’t help but let the bitterness out now. I’m getting lectured about Christmas after Dad told me they weren’t doing anything and after I committed to paying their mortgage. “He doesn’t have to worry about a disappointed ten-year-old again.”
I let out a long breath, eyeing the corner where I know Candace is hidden. “Can we talk later, Mom? I have to get back to work.”
“Fine.” She hangs up, and I try not to bury my face again. Candace wouldn’t like to discover the guy she hired to teach her to be bad weeping over an argument with his parents.
“You can come out now,” I say, forcing my classic smirk onto my face. Her dark brown eyes peer out from the corner, and an apologetic wrinkle pulls her brow.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “I didn’t mean to listen—”
“You completely meant to listen!” I say with a laugh. Her eyes narrow, and she gives me a good whack in the shoulder as she sits. A lightness eases through the heavy branches inside me, and the thorns start to retract. I scoot closer without really thinking about it and knock my knee against hers. “What’re you doing here?”
Candace has art class on Mondays, so she doesn’t work the late shift, which is about to start. I still haven’t found sleep, but her presence is better than an energy drink.
She lifts her hand, her paycheck clutched between her fingers. “Forgot to pick it up Friday.”
Oh to be in the position to forget pay day. My gut feels sticky and heavy as I realize that every bit of money on mine is now going to my dad.
“So… are you not inviting your parents for Christmas?”
I raise an eyebrow, and that apologetic wrinkle makes an encore appearance.
“Sorry. It’s not my business.”
“No.” I lift a shoulder.
“No it’s not my business or no you’re not inviting them?”
I chuckle and fall against the back cushion. My knee is still pressed against hers. I’d move it, but I kinda like the warmth, and it’s not like she’s straddling me on my bike again. I thought for sure my brain would short-circuit that night and I’d prove every horrible bike horror of hers right.
“I let them know they can come if they want. But I need Demi there.” My eyes focus on my lap. “I’ve got her tree.”
“Is it decorated yet?” she teases.
“Maddie made it look much better, yeah.”
“Good.” She leans into the couch with me, and I wonder why she’s not more in a hurry but grateful she’s sitting in my silence with me. Almost like she’s sucking the tension out of the atmosphere around me bit by bit.
“I hope they come,” she says after a minute.
“Hmm?”
“Your parents.” She rolls her head to meet my eyes. “I hope they come for Christmas.”
I’d like to say me too, but I’m not sure what I want.
“You close to your parents?” I ask, dropping my gaze to her leg. She’s wearing an awful pair of red sweats, her fingers playing with the drawstring. The tiniest spot of paint spatter stains the hip.
“Yes. Not physically, but… emotionally?” She laughs. “I know I’m lucky in that aspect.”
“You’re lucky in a lot of aspects,” I say pointedly. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t disagree.
“I’m not lucky enough to have Christmas plans, though.” She nudges me. “Just found out Mom and Dad are stuck in Paris.”
“How sad for them.”
“Right?” Her smile falters. “So it’ll be me and the spider’s corpse for Christmas this year.”
“We both know you cleaned that corpse up a long time ago.”
“Can’t fool you.”
“You really got no one to spend Christmas with?” With her money and comforts, I feel like she should have some party to go to o
r some fancy place to fly to in a private jet.
But she shakes her head and lifts a shoulder. “I’m used to being alone.”
Well, that’s not okay with me. I curl my hand in a fist and lightly knock on her upper thigh. “You should hang with me and my sisters.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.” I lift my eyes and wait until she meets my gaze. But when she does, I lose my nerve, and I scramble for an excuse to have her at my house. “I could use the help, actually. It’s my first year playing Santa.”
“You haven’t even wrapped anything, have you,” she accuses. Accurately.
“I’d first have to get wrapping paper…”
“You are hopeless.” She sighs, but it’s light and friendly, like I’m not hopeless at all. “You do realize it’s the twenty-first.”
“Is that bad?”
“Pete…”
“See?” I put my hands together. “Please help me.”
She snorts and pushes my hands down to my lap. Her hand lingers longer than usual, and she jerks back, eyeing me like she hopes I didn’t notice.
I noticed.
“What time?” she croaks out, reaching up to twist at the end of her ponytail.
“Well, I’ll be picking Demi up at seven-ish when I get off work. We’ll do cookies and shit that night.”
“You got the Christmas Eve shift? Yuck.”
“Requested it.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “Need the holiday time.”
She nods, taking in a long, deep breath. When she breathes out, I get the scent of candied apples—something I’ve come to associate with her. “I can head over early. Get all the gifts wrapped and hidden for you. Get out of your hair so you can have time with your sisters.”
“You don’t have to do that.” The way she jerks at my haste must have her wondering if I don’t want her in my place without me, but really, I don’t want her to be there and disappear before I get the chance to see her. “We can wrap when she hits the hay.”
“That’ll be past my bedtime, probably.”
“Thought you were a rebel.”
“And you’ll drive me home on Christmas Eve?”
