Jack’s thunderous laugh overwhelms her own. “Give it a few hours, Danielle, and he’ll have yours too. J.T. is one of the good guys.”
“Thanks, Jack. I have to give my mom and Mrs. Jennings the credit. And the school of hard knocks.”
I watch Danielle’s reaction to gauge what information Jack might have shared, but if she knows about his past, she doesn’t give any indication. I change the subject anyway, lest Danielle decides to ask him about the comment. “Hey, fair warning that we are probably leaving here early.”
“Well, of course,” Griffin teases. “Hard to spend so much time out of bed.”
I nearly choke as the heat of crimson blush creeps up my neck and fans across my cheeks.
“Griffin, you suck! Look what you did to her!” Danielle rescues me, putting down the potato she is peeling and throwing her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t listen to him. Ever.”
“It’s fine. But wrong, Griffin.” Partially, at least. “J.T.’s on another continent’s time zone. He just got back from Africa and I think it’s already the middle of the night for him.”
J.T. slides to my side, assuming the position Danielle has vacated. “And I might have wanted to get up way too early to get to Detroit today.” He smiles at me, eyes mischievous.
“Because you wanted to get laid,” Griffin chides, relentless.
“Dude, it’s obvious why you are the only one without a plus one here,” Evan calls him out.
J.T. doesn’t acknowledge his comment out loud but does flash a wickedly handsome smile in my direction. He mouths, “Guilty.”
“I saw that! He mouthed ‘guilty’.”
Evan’s arm finds Griffin’s neck in a mock headlock. “You are just jealous, man.”
“Guilty,” says Evan, and laughter ensues all around.
Danielle sets the last potato on the counter. “Okay, I am out! Peyton, it’s all you from here. Actual cooking is about to commence, therefore I acquiesce my duties to others more qualified. Where is the wine?”
I set the two bottles in front of her, and Danielle moves the white to the refrigerator. I watch her remove glasses from the cupboard. Four. Griffin has a beer, so I assume she hasn’t counted him to partake, which means she knows. No glass for J.T. I catch her attention. She lifts a glass to me, and I carefully shake my head no. She returns it to the cupboard quietly. I am grateful. If J.T. has maneuvered the last ten years one situation at a time, surely I can learn as well.
While passing the salad, Jack suggests we save the toast for the New Year, and I am grateful once again. I don’t want to cry in front of J.T., and I guess he feels the same. He does share how happy he is that we are all together, and I couldn’t agree more.
After, we gather in the living room. I am astounded by the decorated tree. I’ve never realized how beautiful they can be with white lights twinkling brightly on each green bough. My favorite ornaments are red and white glass candy canes because of the cute way Tuck keeps pointing to them, saying in his baby voice, “Cahn-dee!” I also enjoy Jack giving me the tree tour of his and my mother’s travels. A wooden palm tree with small fake lights with Key West in handwritten black font. A small purple metal Eiffel tower because they planned to go to Paris one day. A bunch of grapes and plastic champagne glass from northern Michigan.
Jack seems happy to stroll down memory lane with me, sharing his happy times with my mother. I am happy she had the chance to experience many places, but sad that I never asked her about their adventures together.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Jack moves to huddle in the corner behind the tree, emerging with a gold rectangular box. He drops to his knees and makes a three-foot-wide gap in the semicircle of presents. He leaves toward the front door and returns with a small step stool, which he places in the space he has cleared.
He presents the box to me. “It was Caroline’s tradition. Now, it’s yours.”
I lift the lid to see a beautiful angel wrapped in white tissue printed with swirls and snowflakes of gold and silver. I look up from the box and my teary eyes reflect Jack’s.
“Thank you.” I can barely push out the words as I take the two steps upward, stand on tippy toes, and place the hollow center above the top branch. I climb down and stand back to admire the tree that now looks complete.
I look to J.T. to share this special moment, but his easy-going nature seems to be waning. His hands are in his pockets and he looks a bit uncomfortable. Maybe he is getting tired. Or maybe it’s something else? Is it possible he isn’t all about this pomp and circumstance either? On the one hand, it might be nice to write this holiday off forever, on the other, it would be nice to make up for lost time.
Apparently, I am going to start tonight. A pile of gifts has started to amass at my feet. Danielle is under the tree looking childlike, handing each present to Tucker, who wears a Santa hat and toddles person to person, balancing the boxes. He sets each down with a squeal before running back to her.
When the presents are distributed, I gather mine in my lap where I sit cross-legged. I have three gifts stacked from Danielle, coordinating red and green printed paper tied up with a white and gold ribbon bow.
“I don’t want to open it, Danielle! It’s too pretty.” I am giddy.
“Only you get an actual fabric bow instead of a stick-on. Only a woman appreciates the effort!”
“Hey, there’s no bow from me but I wrapped it myself, and that should count for something, because I suck.”
“It does count, Griffin, it really does.” I mean it. It’s poorly wrapped but I appreciate the effort. There is a gift from Jack in a big box next to me, because I can’t fit it in my lap. I want to cherish all of them, so I insist the others open first.
Paper tears and bows fly. First, thrown by Tucker, but the grownups join in, each taking a turn being the center of attention with a chorus of oohs and aahs upon each item revealed.
Evan and Griffin seem to appreciate the iconic Detroit Shinola journals I give them. My gift to Danielle is met with equal fervor. She had texted after our Thanksgiving yoga conversation that she’d attended several classes. I give her a subscription to a popular yoga magazine and a trendy tank top. To Jack, I give an individual-sized Yeti cooler, because he had shared he likes to spend summer evenings with a beer and the elusive fish of a neighbor’s pond up the road.
I slide my finger under each piece of tape and methodically open my gifts, savoring my turns. I am leaving with a new yoga mat from Jack, and a towel to match from Griffin. Danielle’s shared gifts of her favorite things, stolen from Oprah. They are mine as well. Lush bath bombs, silver and gold wear-with-everything hoop earrings, a candle in a mouthwatering cinnamon apple scent, note cards with my initials engraved on the front in feminine font, and a large box of chocolate “for when all else fails.” I am peaceful and content surrounded by my very own pile of gifts.
J.T. is gracious when opening his authentic Blackhawks jersey despite the ribbing he has to endure from us Red Wings fans about his fanship conversion after moving to Chicago. I notice his jaw clenching, and he is quieter than during dinner. He is game-facing.
After the present opening is complete and the mess cleaned, I fake a yawn. I make it a little louder than it needs to be, then quickly cover my mouth as if it were an accident. “Oh, oops!” Acting is my profession.
“Looks like Peyton needs us to wrap this evening up,” Jack says jovially.
Danielle nods. “Santa has a LOT of work to do tonight.”
Tucker’s cute little voice rings out, “San-ta! San-ta!” They start the kids early on the Christmas magic.
I stand up, taking a leftover gift bag from Jack to put my presents in. He asks, “Are we on for tomorrow?”
“Sure thing,” I reply.
“I’m gonna kick both of your asses,” Griffin sing-songs.
I look to J.T. “We’re going bowling tomorrow.”
Danielle scoops Tucker into her arms. “I wish I could go bowling instead of to my in-laws!”
&nb
sp; Evan chimes in, “Hey now!”
J.T. smiles, and points to me. “Look out for this one. She gets a little competitive.”
“Yeah, yeah. I will own to that. And I will look forward to owning both of you tomorrow!” I say with a laugh.
Jack holds my coat while I slip my arms into the sleeves. He envelopes me in a goodnight hug. “Merry almost Christmas and see you tomorrow.”
I complete my round of goodbyes and say thank you to the rest of the clan, then make my way into the cold, clutching my bag of goodies like a child with brand new toys. J.T.’s arm around my waist to keep me steady on the snow and ice completes the comfort I feel.
Safely in the car, J.T. remarks, “You and Jack held up well today.”
“How about you? Did you hold up okay? That had to be a lot, to come with me. Thank you.”
“Yeah, sure, of course. I’m just tired.”
“I have an idea! Do you know where the Starbuck’s is in Morganville?”
“Yes, I think so. But pretty sure they aren’t open, Pey.”
“Of course they aren’t. Just go that direction.” Then, realizing I sound bossy, I add, “Please.”
As we approach the park that serves as the town square of Morganville, the life-size nativity scene is illuminated with spotlights as it nestles in the snow. “There,” I say, pointing in the direction. I head to the plastic manger, climb over the rope designed to keep people out, and kneel on the hay between Mary and baby Jesus. I motion with my hand for him to come join me. I know my grin is ridiculous. “Let’s take a selfie! I want to remember tonight with you!”
Secretly, I hope this might help get him out of his funk. He complies and holds the camera outstretched in front of us. I kiss his cheek in the photo.
“Let’s take one with Joseph. My mom will love it. She went with Joseph because he already had the good name.” He points to the baby Jesus figurine with his thumb.
He doesn’t seem to be holding this little field trip against me, thankfully. We snap one more picture of me with the cow and the wise men. Then, as if on cue, white, cold flakes drift through the air all around us, like we are in a snow globe. We face the scene and hold each other for a silent moment. J.T. kisses the top of my head and I look up at him. Our lips meet in a delicate kiss, against the backdrop of love and grace.
I fall into bed, with J.T. right behind, and next to me. He finds my left hip with his right arm to pull my body parallel to his. “Hey,” I say quietly. “This might surprise you, but I want to talk. I know you’re tired, but I think there is more to your story.” I reach forward and slide the dog tags around his neck between my fingers. “Please talk to me. I can tell something is bothering you.” He is silent and I wonder if he is warring with himself. I am patient, waiting quietly until he rolls away from me onto his back as if needing space, but finally speaks.
“Tim. He was killed on Christmas.”
“But you said it was on your birthday.” The moment the words leave my lips I know, his apprehension no longer a mystery. My hand instinctively covers his heart. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “Your birthday is Christmas Day. Joseph. Jesus. I get it now. Oh my God.”
“Yeah. How’s that for the worst day of my life? Every year. So I’ve got that going for me.”
He tries to say it with a cavalier tone to make light, but I hear the pain he tries to disguise. I wish I could kiss and love his pain away. All I can do is hold him. I run my fingers through his hair and hold his head and heart at the same time I keep puckered lips against his cheek. I wrap my leg over his body. My reasons for hating Christmas just got a lot smaller.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper in his ear. “Everything is always better in the morning,” I whisper again, my lips finding his earlobe and brushing against it.
His voice is solemn, “The last nine years, I’ve never slept on this night. I relive the images again and again.”
“Tell me.”
“Being torn away from Tim’s lifeless body as it was covered with a white sheet. I was covered in blood, way beyond just my hands. I was so numb. I remember my mother hugging me for the first time again, not being able to feel her warmth. I didn’t deserve to be warm when Tim’s body was deathly cold.”
My heart breaks a little more.
“I’m grateful for exhaustion right about now, and everything is better with you in my arms.”
“I couldn’t have said that better myself.” I pull him even tighter into me.
“Don’t worry about me, Peyton. I’ve got this.”
I reach over his body to clasp his right hand with my left, then place our intertwined hands in the center of his chest. “No, J.T., we’ve got this. I know there isn’t anything I can do to make it better, but this year, you don’t have to do this alone.”
DECEMBER 25th
CHAPTER 30 | Peyton
J .T.’s 5:00 a.m. shadow greets me in the morning. He tossed and turned all night, which meant I did the same. I tried to hold him but to no avail. It’s early but the sun has risen such that I can take in his long eyelashes, angle of his jawline, and messy blond mop hanging over his forehead and eyes. His brow furrows. I reach to smooth it reflexively, and lovingly, with my thumb. If only I could smooth the pain away so he could enjoy today. His birthday! His twenty-sixth. And it’s Christmas.
I hear a phone chime from the other side of the room. His phone. I move slowly and pull it from the back pocket of his jeans. I’m trying to be helpful, not spy, I convince myself. The notification still on the screen is from “Mom”. It says: “I know you don’t celebrate but Happy and Merry anyway. See you later.” The full word “you”, no abbreviating with the letter only, and no emojis. Grown-up texting.
J.T. stirs as I climb over him into the bed. He lifts his head and tries to open his eyes, then closes them again, returning his head to the pillow like it’s too much work to face the day. He groans in protest. I cuddle up to his warm body and he puts his arm around me, pulling me close. I groan back, but out of contentment. He smiles, not opening his eyes. “What are you doing awake so early?”
“I’m sorry. I was making sure the world wasn’t collapsing. Your phone made a noise. I’m a slave to the damn ding of a message.” I stroke his cheek, loving the feel of the stubble against my palm.
“Did you handle it for me?”
“It was your mom.”
“I could have told you that.”
“I’m not sure what to say, J.T. I want to wish you a you-know-what and a you-know-what but I don’t want to at the same time.”
“Say it, Peyton.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Happy Birthday, J.T.”
He pulls me on top of him with both arms in one swift movement and I laugh in surprise. “And Merry Christmas.”
“Somehow, they sound so much better coming from you.”
I smile. We’ve got this.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Peyton.” He squeezes my flesh against his tightly.
“Did I not mention that I don’t do Christmas either?” I casually let it slip, knowing I haven’t shared the fact.
Wide blue eyes look into mine. Bewildered. “You could have fooled me. You looked like a little kid last night! You were glowing—beautifully, I might add—when you had those presents in your lap.”
“It was the first time I’ve ever had that.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’ve never really had a Christmas with a bunch of presents before. Not for me anyway.”
He pushes himself up to both elbows. “I’ve been a selfish bastard. All wrapped up in myself, and here you are with a story of your own. God, I’m sorry. Why don’t you like Christmas?”
How nice, but unnecessary, that he owned that. My reason seems unworthy. “It’s really silly next to yours.”
“I hope it is, but I doubt that. Silly is good, Peyton. I wouldn’t want another soul to go through what I have. So, what gives?”
My fingers trace his t
attoo. Past, present, future. “My Christmas memories, well, totally blow. My mom tried so hard, but she didn’t have much money when I was little, and her family, well, they had plenty of money and not so much love.”
“How could that be? You were just an innocent kid.” His tone is filled with compassion and anger, together at the same time. His opposition to social injustice is palpable, and I understand his calling to fix the broken.
“My mom lost everything when she left my dad. Both his family and her own rejected her. How do you reject your own child? They thought she made a mistake and was choosing to live a life harder than it needed to be. I guess they decided she didn’t deserve their help and she could figure out how to make it on her own. Something like she’d made her bed so she should lie in it. Maybe she made them look bad, embarrassed she was a single mother. I really don’t know. I only had to see them once a year, at Christmas, because she said it was important to stay connected to family even if you had differences.
“There were five other cousins. My grandparents and aunts and uncles showered those kids with gifts. They always had a pile at their feet to open. They would rip through their boxes acting like nothing mattered. They left their toys scattered all over the floor and forgot them minutes after they were opened. I would wait and wait for them to open their boxes wishing I got what they did while I only ever got one present. I would hold that one like it was the Hope frickin’ Diamond.”
“Peyton, that sucks. I’m sorry.”
“It sounds trivial when I say it now. I’m sorry for what you went through, but you’ve given me the gift of perspective. Seriously, I think I am over it. Last night, when people opened the presents I gave them, I think I learned my lesson. It is better to give than receive.”
“I agree! And speaking of that—” He jumps up and starts toward the corner where his bag leans against the wall, then pauses, crouching down, next to my open suitcase. He looks back toward me. I move my eyes, unwillingly, from his ass to meet his gaze.
“What is this, Peyton?” He’s picked up several shredded pieces of my quilt. I had brought it back to try to fix. I throw my head back into the pillow and close my eyes. “Let’s talk about it later. It’s too depressing.”
One Day After Never (The Second Time's the Charm STANDALONE Series Book 1) Page 23
