by Jacki Renée
“What have you two been up to?” I ask.
Kourtney and Emma hide behind me.
“We ambushed him with snowballs,” Kourtney says.
“What’s this for?” Emma points to the counter.
“Christmas cookies. We can leave out some for Santa," Kourtney tells her.
“Yeah?”
“Go hang up your jackets and hats, then wash your hands.” My eyes follow them out of the kitchen.
Bryan steps into the laundry room. He returns minus a jacket and cap, wiping his face with a towel.
“Can we talk?”
“What do we need to talk about, Bryan? You said you were frustrated.”
“Is that all you heard?”
I exhale. “Bottom line, you’re not interested in long-term relationships...”
“You’re condemning me for a conversation I had years ago?”
“You said the same thing at the club.”
“We were talking about my past!” He stares at me. “This is about you...”
The excited laughter of two girls racing each other down the hallway stops him from finishing his sentence.
“Are you helping us make cookies too?” Kourtney runs over to him.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Kourty says you do this every year.” Emma picks up a bottle of specialty candy sprinkles. “What kind are we baking?”
“Sugar cookies. You can make them any color and decorate them any way you want.” I hold up the cookie cutter collection I started when I was pregnant with Kourtney.
We spend our late afternoon singing Christmas carols, baking and decorating cookies. Relationships and broken promises are put on the back burner as we get into the spirit of the holidays for our girls.
Sweet scents perfume the air and the kitchen counters are filling up with decorated cookies cooling on parchment paper. We’re running out of space.
“Daddy, I’m getting hungry.”
“Me too,” Kourtney chimes in.
“I can call my elves and ask them to bring dinner a little early.”
“You have elves?” Kourtney asks.
“They visit Emm and me every year.” He smiles at her and winks at Emma. “Go get cleaned up while I help Dani clean the kitchen.”
Kourtney runs over to Bryan, throwing her arms around his waist. I know he sees the sadness in my eyes because I see the same emotion reflected back at me.
“Thank you for letting us stay,” Kourtney says.
He picks her up, kissing her cheek. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
She jumps out of his arms and follows her friend.
The kitchen isn’t that messy. I made sure I cleaned any spills and swept the flour off the floor after Bryan showered the girls with a handful. The few dishes in the sink won’t take two people to wash, but Bryan and I clean the kitchen in silence.
“You can fight. So what. Why is it your first reaction to Vin?”
I walk out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The window seat is a place of comfort and solace. I draw my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around my legs, and stare out the window.
In foster care, the possibility of being moved always hovered in the background. If he were alive, James would attest to that. He’d been in four different foster homes since he was three years old. Even though I wasn’t moved from their home, I didn’t view the Franklins as permanent people in my life.
James and I had our ups and downs, but nothing close to the emotional turmoil I’m having with Bryan. I’ve cried more than I did when I learned James was dead.
Max suggested I become a voyeur, peeking through the camera of my life.
The Christmas lights outside the windowpane add depth to the darkness that I use as a backdrop. I take a step behind the camera and start from the beginning. I know exactly why I didn’t keep my word. Suppressed resentment from the void he left in my heart. The morning he walked out the door, saying goodbye, I was on my own. The foundation to my inner fortress set. The walls went up. My world became my child and giving her the best life I could as a single mother. Being the best therapist to those in need. But even the strength of the walls couldn’t keep out the loneliness. Moving to Boulder, being here with Bryan, my fortress was infiltrated with permission. This time will be different, I convinced myself, yet here I am. Sitting on a window seat taking a close look at how we got to this point.
Vin, a panicked man, is desperate to find his best friend’s child. He’s not stampeding. He’s walking with a purpose and spots Emma with a woman he doesn’t know. Not only does she block him from the child, she throws the first punch. She throws all the punches.
In the bedroom, Vin asks a simple question. There’s no malice behind his words. He even looks concerned. Yet she responds with aggression. He immediately backs off when told to do so and is the second one through the bathroom door when they thought she was hurt.
She demeans his character before she even knows him and pushes a sensitive button for all males young and old, straight or gay. The size of a man’s penis is a matter of pride. She uses that knowledge to taunt him.
In the kitchen, she uses double entendre to defend her behavior, but she broke her promise any way it’s viewed. The woman throws the first punch. He isn’t the aggressive one. He starts off with harmless teasing but ends up reacting to her behavior.
What is it about Vin that triggers such aggressiveness?
The answer appears on the backdrop. I come from behind the lens and look at him head-on.
Those leering eyes that undressed me whenever our paths crossed. His lack of appropriate clothing every time I dropped off the rent check. The stomach-turning odor of rotting fish and old socks slapped me in the face when he opened the door.
Vin’s body-size and threatening presence reminds me of Derek Tucker. The manager of the apartment building I lived in when I first moved to Arizona.
Mr. Tucker was a predator. The suggestive words and innuendos he used every time we conversed kept me guarded. I slept with a baseball bat near me.
When I lived in that apartment building, finding a parking spot on the street was next to impossible and I didn’t like parking in the assigned stall. The lighting in the underground structure was horrible.
One rainy night, I stayed late with my study group. I was going to spend the night at James’s, but he didn’t answer when I called. I drove to my apartment, looked for a parking spot on the street, then finally pulled into the parking structure. As soon as I got out of the car, Mr. Tucker came at me. Forcing me against the door. His hands groped my breast. From the smell of his breath, he’d been drinking liquid courage. His bravery got him cracked ribs and a broken nose once I stopped punching and kicking him.
I uncurl my limbs and walk across the room to get my cell phone. My fingers brush across the screen as I scroll through the contacts until I find the number.
“Hi, Danikins,” Max answers on the second ring.
A sob escapes my lips and I drop to the floor the minute I hear the nickname. Bryan was right: I don’t know what it’s like to have true friends. But I’m learning.
Between weeping and stuttering, I tell my friend Max the short version of my twenty-seven years of life.
***
The chime of the doorbell rings throughout the house.
“Kourt, can you get that?” Bryan calls from downstairs.
I make it to the landing when she reaches the door. Her laughter fills the foyer. I reach the bottom step and laugh too, my soul no longer heavy. After a two-hour phone therapy session with Max, I feel better.
Standing in the doorway, wearing elf hats with elf ears are Bryan’s three best friends. They’re holding insulated bags. One elf’s arm is in a sling decorated with tiny red-nosed reindeer.
“You guys are so cool.” Kourtney hugs Ignacio and Anthony before running back to Bryan, taking his hand.
A strange look crosses Vin’s face.
Bryan has a fire
burning in the fireplace and Christmas music plays on the surround sound speakers.
We unpack a smorgasbord of food and drinks. The adults reminisce about our Christmases when we were eight years old. I tell stories about my holidays with Mr. and Mrs. Franklin. The girls explain how they came up with their joint Christmas list and which gifts they hope they really get.
I watch how Kourtney interacts with Ignacio and Anthony. She’s comfortable around them but shies away from Vin. That strange look crosses his face each time he tries to joke with her and she withdraws.
I also notice who Kourtney is sitting next to. Bryan.
“Danielle, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?” Emma giggles.
“Emm, who do you want to read the story?” Bryan asks.
“Uncle Vinny.” She skips over to the bookshelf and skips back to her uncle. “Come on, Kourty. Uncle Vinny is the best reader. He makes up funny accents.”
Kourtney turns to me. Uncertain.
Vin watches me too. It’s obvious she’s taking her cues from me. He pleads with his eyes. He wants her to trust him like she does the others. I see it now. He cares about us and Kourtney’s mistrust bothers him.
If I hadn’t been so determined to knock down the memory of Derek Tucker, I would have seen Vin’s nothing like him. Vin is a harmless teddy bear who needs a hug once in a while.
“Go ahead, Kourtney. Go listen to the story.”
She doesn’t move, and everyone in the room gets quiet.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” I smile.
She takes a tentative step in Vin’s direction, glancing at Bryan first then back at me.
Her next step is taken after our encouragement.
Now she keeps her eyes on Bryan. It’s his assurance she seeks to take the last step.
“Do you want to sit next to me too?” Vin asks.
Kourtney gives a slight nod.
He winces as he pulls his arm out of the sling and reaches out to her. Once she’s settled next to him, Vin opens the book and starts the classic Christmas story with an exaggerated Transylvanian-like accent.
A year ago, I couldn’t convince her to take a picture with Santa and now she hugs these men like they’ve been a part of her life since birth. She looks to Bryan for security and validation. My baby has come so far. For the two steps forward she’s taken to expand her comfort zone, she will take five steps back if I cut them out of our lives. Is that really fair to her?
I carry a load of dishes to the kitchen. Bryan follows with food containers. We stare at each other for a few seconds. I break the connection going to get more dishes.
We pass one another going back and forth. At one point, I bump into him in the doorway of the family room.
“Mommy. You and Bryan are standing under the mistletoe. You guys have to kiss.”
When did Vin finish the story?
“Kiss her, Daddy.”
“Go ahead. Smooch and make up,” Vin’s making kissy sounds for emphasis.
Emma and Kourtney snicker.
“Time for bed, girls,” Bryan says.
“Aw, come on. Can’t we stay up a little longer?” Kourtney whines.
Bryan shrugs. “Fine, but Santa won’t come if you’re still up.”
They scurry out of the family room.
“Wait, we have to leave cookies and milk for Santa.” Kourtney stops at the bottom of the stairs.
“Shower and put on your pajamas, then come back down,” I tell them.
They race up the stairs while I go to the kitchen.
I rinse and load the dishes in the washer, then turn it on and store the leftover food in the refrigerator.
“How many cookies do we leave for Santa?” Emma runs into the kitchen, Kourtney right behind her, both dressed in matching pajamas.
They couldn’t have showered that fast. Kourtney loves the water. I usually have to make her get out.
Kourtney climbs on the counter, getting the Santa plate I brought from the apartment.
Emma opens the refrigerator, reaching for the carton of milk. They put a half-dozen cookies on the plate and pour milk in a Santa glass. I help them carry the tray to the family room.
The girls run around the family room saying good night to everyone. Kourtney runs to Vin last, hugging his waist.
“Uncle Vinny. That was the funniest Christmas story ever.”
He picks her up in his good arm. “I’m glad you liked it, Kourty Bear.”
She kisses his cheek before hopping down.
“I’m right behind you,” I call after them.
“Mommy, may I sleep in Emmy’s room?” She’s dancing on the middle step.
“Only if you two go to sleep and not play around.” I walk out of the family room.
“You’re falling for her, Bry,” Ignacio says.
I pause on the first step to hear his response.
“Never thought I’d live to see the day the mighty Hawk falls fast and falls hard,” Vin teases.
“Look who’s talking. The Tank got crushed by a seven-year-old,” Anthony taunts.
“Kourty Bear would rather stay in a dangerous situation than to come with me to safety. That wasn’t cool. So yes, she did something your weak-ass could never do.” He laughs.
“Don’t make me choose between you and Dani ever again. That goes for all of you. I guarantee you won’t like my choice.”
“Bry, I’m the last one to give relationship advice, but since you’re my brother from another mother, it’s my duty to tell you—grow a pair as big as hers and take a leap.”
I rush up the stairs before they see me.
I check Kourtney’s bathroom, then go across the hall to Emma’s. The girls are in bed, covers pulled up to their chins. They watch me with hope-filled eyes.
Shaking my head, I stand in the doorway to the bathroom. “Get out of bed and take real showers.”
They turned on the water, but forgot to at least wet their towels.
One at a time, they take a shower and brush their teeth.
In bed, Kourtney and Emma play tug of war with the covers until I’ve had enough with their shenanigans. They settle down.
For the past few nights, Kourtney’s slept without Mr. Cuddles in her arms. He’s fought off the monsters and watched over her while she slumbered since she was three years old.
I go back downstairs.
The men are in the foyer eating cookies and fastening their coats, the gifts from Kourtney and me in their hands.
“We got the presents out of the truck for you,” Bryan tells me.
“These cookies are good.” Vin talks with his mouth full. “How do I get some all to myself?”
“If you’re on Santa’s good list, I’ll raid the bakers’ stash for you.”
“Some of us are better than others.” Anthony winks at me.
I go to the kitchen and put a dozen cookies in plastic storage bags for each elf. There’s still a lot left.
“Good night, Dani. Merry Christmas.” Ignacio hugs me, taking a bag of cookies from my hand.
Vin gives me a one-arm bear hug. “Welcome to the family, Dani.” He too takes a bag of cookies.
“Go easy on him, Dani,” Anthony whispers as he hugs me. He takes the last bag of cookies. “Merry Christmas, little sis.”
Bryan opens the door.
“Merry Christmas. Drive safe.” It doesn’t bother me that they are calling me by my nickname. It feels good to be thought of as someone’s little sister. “Thank you for tonight.”
We watch them drive off before closing the door.
“Can we talk, in the family room?” Bryan asks, gesturing with his hand.
I promised Max I would talk to Bryan once the girls went to bed and we got the gifts under the tree.
The lights are off, but the fire burning in the fireplace provides enough light for me to see the four monogramed Christmas stockings hanging on hooks attached to the mantel and all the presents around the tree. The coffee table had to be moved to accommodate the bo
xes and bags.
“We went a little overboard this year,” Bryan says, rubbing the back of his neck.
I perch on the sofa. He sits near yet leaves space.
Bryan sighs and fidgets.
He takes a deep breath, holds it and releases it, lifting his head. He stares into my eyes.
Vulnerable. That was the look in his eyes I couldn’t identify. Bryan looks unsure and vulnerable.
“None of them were you, Dani,” his voice cracks.
“I don’t understand.”
“Those women. Amelia. I didn’t want a relationship with them.”
I can sympathize.
His long eyelashes accentuate the longing in his eyes. “Only you.”
“I know how anguish alters a person’s behavior. It’s why I specialize in grief counseling. The levels of pain a person experiences at the loss of someone you feel connected to, deep in your soul. It’s...” I shake my head, unable to find the words. “This constant tug of war between us makes it easy for me to push you away. I don’t want to get too close then have to deal with you leaving us.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You say that now, but...”
“I’m not leaving.”
Deep down I believe him. His words are spoken with so much power, why wouldn’t I? But there’s still the issue of the other day.
“You scare me, Bryan. You stripped me of the ability to defend myself.”
“Hearing that doesn’t make me proud. Causing you pain doesn’t make me feel like a man. I’m sorry, Dani. I was trying to stop you from getting hurt and hurting yourself. I went too far.”
I watch the flames flicker and dance in the fireplace. And listen to the wood crackle. The silence is comfortable after days of tension. Even the atmosphere in the house seems light.
“What do you want from me?” he asks, at me.
“I want you to be my friend. I want you to censor what you tell your friends.”
“For you, I will. And for the record, we’ve always been more than friends.”
He reaches for my hand but pulls back before he touches me.
He wants that physical link with me but is unsure if I’ll welcome it. I see it in his eyes
