“That’s fair,” Jim said.
“Okay, I guess.”
Jim scrolled his finger around on the iPod. “Here’s a good one.” He looked at me for permission.
I nodded, and Jim pressed play.
The first few bars of Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime” floated out of the speakers, and immediately, a lump formed in my throat. But this time Jim reached over and squeezed my hand and held it until the song was over. Next was “Do You Hear What I Hear?” followed by “We Need a Little Christmas.” After a while, I began to move around the kitchen, taking out mixing bowls from the cabinet along with flour, baking soda, sugar, and red and green sprinkles for cookies. I gave Jim various tasks, and together we baked while the holiday playlist scrolled from one song to another and snow fell prettily outside. Little by little, our mood became more festive. Soon there were dirty bowls and cooling racks stacked with cookies covering the counters. It was easy to tell which ones Jim made because they were oddly shaped. By the time Grandma and Dad returned from the mall my brother and I were dancing around and singing at the top of our lungs, our mouths half-full of cookie so that crumbs were flying everywhere. They didn’t say a word or tell us to turn the music down or even to clean things up. They just walked through the kitchen and let us carry on.
Later on I came upon Grandma Madison with her nose pressed against a window by the front door. “There’s the Doniger boy, out there shoveling snow.”
Part of Will’s landscaping business included plowing driveways and shoveling walks. As soon as I saw the snow this morning I knew he’d be at the house today. But I was surprised Grandma recognized him.
“You know Will? Doniger,” I added quickly.
“Yes I do and so do you, I see. Your father and brother are out there with him in case you’re interested.” I walked over to stand beside her and we watched the three of them working their way up the front walk through the snow. “You’d better be careful,” she added after a while.
I sensed her eyes on me. “Careful?”
“Your eyes give you away.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rose, if you don’t already know, then you’d better do some soul-searching and figure it out.”
“Okay,” I said, to get her off my back.
“You know his father died of cancer—”
“Two years ago this January,” I finished. “You know about Mr. Doniger, too?”
“Your mother told me when he passed away. When she first got her news about the cancer, the two of them discussed treatments and remission and”—she paused, her tone softening—“hospice. I think she wanted to be prepared.”
“Oh” was all I managed to respond.
“She appreciated having someone to talk to about it.” Grandma’s breath fogged up a round burst against the glass as she spoke and she sounded sad. “It’s written all over that boy’s face.”
“What is, Grandma?”
“That he’s lost his father. Such a shame. You can always tell.”
I looked at her. “You can?”
“Yes.” Grandma stared at me like she could see right through to my deepest insides. Her eyes shone like glass, and for an instant I thought I saw loss in them. “It’s all over yours, too,” she said, and walked away, leaving me alone by the window to ponder whether her observation was true.
22
ARE WE FRIENDS OR LOVERS
The days before Christmas break passed quickly. Everyone was festive, exchanging Secret Santa gifts and singing holiday songs off-key in the halls. The happier people became the more I noticed my own sadness. Krupa and I didn’t even decorate the outside of our locker with wrapping paper and bows. Ours looked lonely next to the others covered in sparkly tinsel and cheesy golden garlands up and down the doors.
“Do you need a ride today?” Krupa asked me. “I just got the car back from the shop so I promise you’ll actually get home.”
I mustered a smile. “Sure, I’d love one. Thanks.”
“Then I’ll see you in”—Krupa checked the time—“exactly fifty-three minutes, when they set us free for almost two entire weeks!”
“Yeah. Can’t wait,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ll be right here, ready to go.”
She looked at me with sympathy. “Soon you’ll be out of here and everything will seem better. Have fun during your free period.”
Krupa took off, and the halls began to empty. The last straggler disappeared and I was alone, or thought I was, until I felt someone come up behind me.
“Hi, Rose.”
I leaned my forehead against the cold metal of the locker door. “Hi, Chris.”
“What’s going on?”
“Oh, you know, Merry Christmas and all that,” I said, and forced myself to turn and face him. There he was, tall and blond and gorgeous as ever. I was surprised to see he wasn’t wearing his football jacket, and almost equally surprised to realize that it didn’t bother me anymore.
He looked nervous. “I’m sure it must be hard, this time of year.”
“Yes, it is. I bet you’re excited, though,” I said. “You love Christmas.”
Chris took a step toward me. Close enough that I could see the tiny curved line that always formed on his left cheek when he was about to smile, and each individual eyelash fluttering as he blinked, so blond they matched the color of his skin. “I do. And I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Thinking about what?” I asked, worried where this was going.
“Nothing is the same without you, Rose,” he began, and that curved line on his cheek deepened as his lips shifted into a smile.
My eyes widened. It was about to happen: Chris was going to tell me he wanted me back, just like I’d imagined so many times back in October when I’d hoped for this outcome so desperately. “No?”
He shook his head. He took another step closer. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” I said automatically. After two years of dating I was used to saying this to him if he said it to me. If Chris had said “I love you,” I probably would have returned the same sentiment without thinking twice. This was exactly the problem—I hadn’t thought before I’d spoken. If I were smart, I would have remained silent.
“You do miss me,” he said, seemingly relieved.
This time I was careful not to say anything further. I looked up into his eyes, trying to read them. His nervousness was gone, replaced by a growing confidence, and he leaned his right hand casually against the locker next to mine. “Remember Christmas your sophomore year, when I took you to Gianni’s for that really nice dinner?”
I nodded. Of course I remembered. That was the night Chris and I had sex for the first time. I couldn’t figure out where he was headed, but something told me to step to the side so that the wall of lockers was no longer at my back.
“Do you remember the ride there?”
The ride … Come on, Rose, think.
“How you loved what I’d done.” He laughed and sounded happy. “You told me how sweet it was and how it made you smile and so we left it there for weeks.” He reached into his bag and began to dig around. “Everything was so good between us back then.” His hand reemerged and in his palm I saw green leaves and a flash of white berry.
That holiday season Chris had attached mistletoe to the roof of his SUV over the passenger seat so every time we stopped at a light he had a reason to kiss me.
He held it above my head.
Oh god, this was Chris trying to be romantic and all I could think about was Will Doniger, how I hoped he didn’t come upon this scene and get the wrong idea, and how, if I was going to be honest, if I’d been standing under the mistletoe with Will my feelings about the situation would be entirely different. This thought sent color rushing to my cheeks—and apparently gave Chris the wrong idea.
“I knew you’d be happy,” he said, tilting his head to the side.
“Chris, no,” I said, putting my hands up and stepping away. His left arm
was still outstretched, the mistletoe hanging from his fingers, leaving a me-size space below. I began to back down the hall, first one step, then another and another. “This was sweet of you, but I’m just not … I can’t … I’m sorry.”
His eyes turned cold and the mistletoe fell from his hand to the floor with a shhhh. “Is this about Doniger?”
I halted, surprised, and closed my eyes.
“It is, isn’t it? I knew it.”
I didn’t say a word, dreading what came next.
“I heard about this thing you have going on with him. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That someone wouldn’t tell me?” Chris’s voice cracked and I opened my eyes again. His feet were planted slightly apart, his shoulders back, arms at his sides and hands balled into fists, huge and imposing. “Are you dating him?”
I breathed deep, searched for the right words to handle this. “No, I’m not dating Will Doniger, or anyone else for that matter.”
“You’re sure?”
“We’re just friends.” This was as close an approximation of my relationship with Will as I could offer at the moment. “Chris?” I asked nervously.
“What?” he snapped.
“Why should it matter who I’ve been hanging out with? You and I broke up.”
Something passed over his face, maybe regret, but it was there only a moment and was gone. “But I still love you, Rose,” he said, and looked away. “Don’t you still love me?” he asked, these words reverberating off the lockers on either side of the empty hall. A long silence followed this question, and when I was about to respond, Chris put up a hand, stopping me. “Wait, don’t answer right now. Just think about it, will you at least do that much?”
“Okay,” I whispered, because I didn’t want to hurt him any more than I already had. He grabbed his bag off the ground and stalked off. All I saw was his back before he rounded the corner. Feeling dejected, I gathered my things, put on my coat and scarf, and went outside into the wintry air, snowflakes floating around me from the gray clouds above. At least out here there was peace and quiet. I wanted to get away from the mess Chris and I had just made, and from the holiday spirit of people excited about break, so I started to walk. When I reached the edge of the school grounds I headed left and kept on going until I’d walked so far I was already halfway home. I wouldn’t need that ride from Krupa after all.
23
FAMILY TREE
When I was almost up to the front porch steps, the door opened a crack and Grandma Madison appeared. “Rose, you’re home. Good, good. Come on. We’re going to get a Christmas tree. It’s about time. Jim!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, making me jump. “She’s here. Let’s go!”
“Right now?” I exclaimed. A field trip to pick out a tree was the last thing I wanted at the moment. “Do we have to—”
“Yes, we do. Jim! Come on! She is standing at the door!”
Jim showed up behind Grandma, towering above her. “Hey, Rosey,” he said with such cheer that I could tell it was false. By the time he shut the door and locked it, Grandma was halfway to the driveway. Jim hopped down the steps and took me with him.
“What is going on?” I asked, suspicious that they were covering up something. “You guys are acting weird.”
“We didn’t expect you home so soon,” he said lightly. “All your presents are sitting unwrapped on the kitchen table.” He smiled in such a mischievous way that I almost believed him, until I saw the look in his eyes.
“I thought we agreed we weren’t buying presents this year,” I said.
“I was helping Grandma wrap hers when you came home early and surprised us.” He knocked on the front of the car as he circled around to the passenger side. “You sit in back,” he told me.
Grandma unlocked her station wagon and doors opened and slammed as we got in. She turned the key in the ignition, her eyes visible in the rearview mirror as she backed out of the driveway. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without a tree, so we’re going to get one, bring it home, string up the lights, and decorate it,” she said, listing the various tasks like items to check off on a grocery list. “We should have done this weeks ago,” she added.
“But Dad is the one we always go with—”
“Your father isn’t interested in getting a tree this year,” Grandma interrupted. “If he was, he would have already taken you two.”
Jim was quiet, staring out the window, and I didn’t speak the rest of the ride either. Only when we pulled into the parking lot at the Christmas tree farm did things begin to lighten up. Kids were running around with their families, excited to pick out a tree, and the smell of freshly baked pies floated our way from the nearby farm stand when we got out of the car. There was a bin filled with jingle bells, and every time someone picked them up they rang out. Jim immediately walked up to the most Charlie Brown tree in sight, with branches going every which way, the lower ones already turning brown. He touched the top and a cascade of needles fell to the ground. “How about this one?” he proposed with a grin, though his eyes became sad. “Mom would have liked it. Don’t you think?”
“Yes. But she would’ve gotten mad if we’d actually brought it home,” I said. “Come on.” I grabbed his arm and dragged him farther down the center aisle while Grandma lagged behind. When she caught up to us, we were ogling a giant evergreen that would never fit in the living room.
Grandma shook her head. “No,” she said. A smile played at her lips, though.
After arguing about the pros and cons of certain trees for almost an hour, we finally found one we agreed was perfect in height, size, and shape. While Grandma Madison paid for it, Jim and I got rope and strapped it to the top of the station wagon. The mood in the car on the way home was decidedly better, even lively, as Jim and I strategized about decorations and Grandma Madison added her opinion. Soon we were turning up the driveway, and I was actually excited to begin the decorating. Jim and I untied the tree, and careful not to break any branches, we followed Grandma into the garage as she directed us left, then right, so we didn’t knock into anything. But the instant we walked through the kitchen I found out why Grandma and Jim hadn’t wanted me to go inside earlier.
Dad was passed out in the living room, his body only half on the couch.
“Oh my god,” I said when I saw him. It looked like a storm had hit. Shattered glass lay everywhere and Mom’s collection of student artwork had been knocked off the shelves onto the floor, some broken in pieces. Her African violet was tipped on its side, the dirt spilling out and most of its fuzzy green stems snapped in half. “Dad,” I said with dismay. Tears filled my eyes and began to roll down my cheeks.
“Rose,” Grandma barked, and put out an arm, like she might be able to protect me.
I turned to her. “You guys just left him like this?” I shouted. “What did you think would happen? That he’d clean up by the time we got back? That some sort of miracle would occur while we were gone and he’d get sober?” I looked at Jim. He was still struggling to get the tree the rest of the way into the living room. Deep down I knew it wasn’t their fault, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault other than Dad’s, but they were here and I was tired of him not getting better and of me having to be the responsible one, even with Grandma Madison and Jim around.
Grandma didn’t say a word, her arms twitching at her sides, like she wanted to wrap them around me or maybe steady me, but couldn’t quite make her limbs move. Jim just stared at me, holding the tree upright, so tall it cleared the top of his head by a foot.
“You guys try taking care of him when he’s like this for once! You clean up this mess,” I said through gritted teeth, trying not to scream. Just when it seemed like my family might be turning a corner and that things would get easier, something happened to set everything back. “Have fun putting up the tree by yourselves,” I spat, and stormed off to my room. I got into bed and pulled the covers over my head to shut the world out.
During the night my eyes opened and wouldn’t shut again. It was only
two a.m. and I was exhausted, but my body refused to cooperate. I got up to make some tea, hoping it might help me go back to sleep. I reached the hallway outside my room and heard Grandma’s voice.
“Ellie never would have stood for this. Pull yourself together,” she said. “Your kids need you. Rose especially. You’re forcing that girl to act like a parent. You have a problem, James.”
“I do not have a problem,” Dad said, his voice hoarse. “Give me that bottle of ibuprofen. I have a headache.”
“I bet you do.” I heard the clatter of pills against the sides of a plastic container, the shake of someone spilling them into their palm. “You’re hurting your children and you have to stop.”
“If I’m hurting anyone, it’s myself.”
“Do you really think Rose wants to see you like this? Do you really believe your son wants to deal with this when he comes home from college on break? They need to be able to depend on you.”
“Ellie was the one who—”
“You are still their father and not only are you coming home drunk and forcing them to witness it, but you are driving, James. You are driving home drunk.”
“But—”
“No buts. You could kill someone,” Grandma hissed. “You could land yourself in jail. You could kill yourself and then where would Rose and Jim be? Without a mother and without a father. Is that what you want?”
I covered my mouth in shock. Grandma was saying all the things I’d wanted to say but hadn’t had the courage. But then I heard sobbing, big, heavy, uncontrollable heaves, and my chest tightened, and my throat, all the way up into my cheeks and eyes. Ever since the day of the funeral Dad had been so stoic I didn’t think I would ever hear him cry again.
“I know, I know,” Grandma Madison soothed.
“I can’t do this, Ma,” Dad wept, “I just can’t.”
The sobbing grew more intense and I turned around, tiptoeing to my room. I couldn’t listen anymore. I closed the door softly behind me and got back into bed, pulling the blankets over my ears, closing my eyes, hoping that if I fell asleep I might forget.
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