by A. J. Downey
We didn’t say anything for a long minute. I mean, what was there to say? Finally, Poe smoothed his hands over my hair and tilted my head up to look at him, hands to either side of my face. He pressed his lips firmly against my forehead and sighed out.
“Let’s get changed. We’ll go out and pretend like nothing happened – which I know is hard because it did and I’m not happy, and I’m not over it. But in the interest of making it through tonight and tomorrow, we’ll watch some movies, cuddle up and sleep, and as soon as we finish opening presents tomorrow, we’ll find an excuse and jet.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
“I love you, Saylor Grace.”
“I love you, too, Jeremy Poe.”
“K, come on, let’s get dressed.”
“Okay.”
We changed after that, and with our bundles of clothes, went back out to the living room. His dad was changed into his set of flannel pajamas, and his mother too, into a long-sleeved flannel nightgown, white with faint blue snowflakes. His sister hadn’t reappeared yet.
“Oh, don’t you both look adorable,” his mother declared, and his dad nodded without looking.
Poe squeezed my hand and stepped down into the living room first, and I followed to the end of the couch where my bag sat. I stuffed my things into my backpack and kept it close, my boots at the ready in case I needed them.
“I put in Die Hard first,” his dad said, and I smiled and tried to take the peace offering for what it was.
This Christmas, while not as bad as some I’d had, seriously couldn’t get over with soon enough for my tastes.
I just wanted to be back in Poe’s bed, in his too-tiny apartment, away from all the unpleasantness.
19
Poe…
“Mom, can you grab me a blanket out of the hall closet before you go?” I asked. We were half way through Die Hard 2 and she was calling it a night. She looked at me and at Saylor sleeping lightly on my chest and nodded.
“Thanks,” I said.
“She out?” my dad asked.
“I think so,” I said. “Can’t say I blame her.”
“No, me either, I guess,” my dad sighed.
We’d watched Die Hard, and at the end of the first movie, Trish had turned in. We were just into the second film when Mom had gotten up declaring she needed an early night. She came back over, shuffling in her slippers with a blanket from the hall closet in her hands.
“Thanks, Mom,” I murmured as she laid one of those thin, but warm, furry blankets over the both of us. It was warm enough in the house, the woodstove going in the corner between the living room and open kitchen. Still, I knew Saylor, she’d told me she had a hard time sleeping if one; there wasn’t even a little light, and two, if she didn’t have anything to cover up with. Even on the hottest days, she’d said she at least needed a sheet.
I knew that about her, just like she knew peculiar little details about me. Because I told her. I told her everything. Even the things I would never tell my sister or my mother. Things I even kept from some of the guys.
I trusted her and believed in her to keep my secrets safe and it was one of the best feelings, knowing I had someone to rely on like that.
“Goodnight, baby,” my mother said with a big yawn. “See you in the morning.”
“Night, Mom,” I said simply. I was still pretty upset with both her and my dad, but I was trying not to let it creep and fuck up Christmas any more than they already had. Enough damage was done. Still, I couldn’t wait to take Saylor home.
“Boy,” my dad said, drawing out the word. “I don’t think I ever remember a time you were so pissed at your mother and me.”
“I can’t honestly remember a time you guys so thoroughly fucked up. I mean, I know you’re human, but that’s what’s killing me… I thought you were human, you know?”
Again, my dad gave a gusty sigh, this time edged with annoyance.
“Watch yourself, Jeremy,” he grumbled.
“I am,” I said, steely.
“Hmm, I think it’s high time I got my ass to bed, too.” My dad heaved himself to his feet.
“Night,” I said clipped.
“You want this light out?” he demanded and I thought about it.
“She’s afraid of the dark, were you planning on leaving the tree on?” I asked.
“I wasn’t, but you’re in here and it’s well-watered so go ahead and leave it on.” He snapped out the light over the kitchen stove, the one he’d asked about.
“You got the remotes close enough?”
“Yeah, Dad. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, and son?”
I looked over curiously. “Your mother and me? We’re only human. The nice thing about humans is they can learn from their mistakes.”
“Yeah,” I said, “they can.” I was waiting for his usual caveat, and I wasn’t disappointed.
“Most of ‘em don’t want to,” he said and usually he left it at that. “But the good ones do,” he added.
“Yeah, Dad and I know you and Ma are good people, Trish too. Maybe convince Ma to cut her only daughter some slack when it comes to the boys this Christmas? She misses them, too, and she doesn’t tell you the half of what that sorry son of a bitch gets up to. She calls me.”
“Eh?” My dad straightened, his brow wrinkling.
“She thinks you like her ex better than you like the two of us combined.” His brow smoothed out in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. At least that was one thing we had going for us, the men of the Poe line. We may get the occasional receding hairline, but male pattern baldness wasn’t our thing.
“You’re sure full of hard truths tonight, aren’t you?” he demanded, and while he didn’t sound happy about it, I thought I could hear the edge of something else. Something like pride?
“Guess Saylor is rubbing off on me,” I said, looking down at the crown of golden blonde hair on the top of her head. Her breathing deep and even, her hand warm on my chest. “She’s so honest it hurts, but she’s never brutal or unkind about it.”
“Salt-of-the-earth is what they call folks like that,” my dad said.
“Yeah. She’s one of those. Take my word for it until you can see it for yourself. She’s been shy, pretty much terrified to meet you guys. She just wanted you all to like her so damn much. Didn’t want to lie, even though I did –”
“And look where the truth got her.” My dad nodded and didn’t look happy with himself.
“Yeah.”
“You got a right to be pissed,” he said.
“Treat her better tomorrow or we walk,” I told him.
“You’ve made your point,” he declared acidly, and I backed off.
“Night, Dad.”
“Night, Son.”
And that was that.
Any more and it would have been a screaming match and I didn’t want to wake Saylor up.
She sighed out and cuddled closer whispering, “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked as Bruce Willis shot it out with terrorists in the backstage baggage area of the Washington D.C. airport.
“Standing up for me like that, especially to your family.”
“I told you I would –”
“Yeah, but a lot of men say a lot of things but then when it comes time to pony up, they fold like cheap paper in front of their mom or dad and I get it, I really do – it’s hard to stand up to your family and the people who raised you, but no one has ever done that for me before.”
I kissed her forehead. “My parents, especially my dad, can be rough around the edges but they are good people at heart.”
She nodded her head against my chest, and I kissed the top of it again, her hair silky against my lips and her breath warm where she sighed out in contentment and it penetrated the weave of my shirt.
“You’ve had it rough enough. Let me carry things for a while and give you a much-needed break.”
“Not for too long, though, okay?” she said. “I don’t want to g
et too soft.”
I chuckled. “I don’t see that happening. You’re too much of a feminine badass.”
She snorted and held to me tightly before asking meekly, “You want me to get off of you?”
“Not on your life,” I answered, soothing my hands over the blanket covering her.
“K, good, because I’m reeeeeally comfy.”
“Can you see the TV?” I asked.
“Yeah, mm-hmm.”
“Okay, good.”
I don’t know about my precious and beautiful woman, but my Christmas Eve got a whole lot better after that. Her in my arms, an action movie on the screen, warm, safe, bathed in the light of the tree.
Only thing that could possibly make it better would be if we were naked, in our own house, the both of us freshly fucked.
All in good time, I guess.
Christmas morning, I couldn’t tell if Saylor was genuinely asleep or not, just like I hadn’t been able to tell the night before. At any rate, my mom woke me up with a touch to my shoulder, holding a steaming mug of coffee out to me.
“Do you know if Saylor likes coffee?” she asked me in a dramatic whisper and Saylor contracted slightly with a bit of laughter.
“Coffee would be lovely, Mrs. Poe.”
“Oh, please,” my mother waved her off, “call me Laura.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Saylor carefully pushed herself up off of me taking her warmth and the blanket with her.
The room was still fairly warm, but not warm enough. I held my mug out to the side over the protective area rug as my mom moved off and I waited for the slight flurry of activity to settle down. Once I was sure I wasn’t going to spill, I sat up slowly.
“Morning,” my dad grunted, shuffling into the room in his deerskin slippers.
“Morning,” I groaned, a little stiff from the couch but mostly from not moving all night. It was like that with Saylor. I slept so deep, so hard, when I was with her, I swear I didn’t move all night long.
She smiled at me sleepily and asked, “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I declared, taking a careful sip of hot coffee.
“Saylor, honey, what do you like in your coffee? Would you like to come fix it to taste for yourself?”
“Coming,” Saylor said, and it was probably only to me that she sounded so guarded.
She rose gracefully and stepped around the storage ottoman that tripled as a coffee table to step up into the kitchen.
“Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?” she asked and I smiled. Despite what they thought of her, the conclusions they’d readily jumped to about my bohemian babe, she was still trying to help out.
“Oh, no! I’ve got it, and Trish will be up to help, soon.”
“Okay, I just thought I’d offer. I actually like to cook.”
“Who taught you how?” my dad asked. I mentally face palmed, but she answered before I could say anything. That one was just my dad being my dad. A question popped into his head and he asked, whether it was appropriate or not given whatever circumstances.
“My granddad, actually. When I was six or seven.”
My dad gave a low whistle.
“Awfully young,” my mother remarked slightly disapproving.
“He wanted to make sure I could take care of myself before he went,” she said. “He was in good health, so we thought, but he always worried about it. About what I would do when he was gone.”
“How come?” Trish asked from the kitchen entryway with a yawn and a stretch.
“Uh, when I was two or three, my dad murdered my mom and then killed himself. My grandmother had cancer and died not too long after, so it was just me and my granddad. When he went, he knew it would just be me and when he did go in his sleep, from a heart attack, I was only fifteen. It was the foster care system after that and that was a joke. I’ve pretty much been on my own and a street kid ever since.”
“You’ve been homeless for ten years?” my mother asked, agape.
“Yeah, well, I mean I’ve had places but rent out in the Pacific Northwest is expensive and I’ve always managed to get by.” She shrugged and raised the coffee mug between her hands to her lips to blow across the surface. She’d been moving around the kitchen, doctoring herself up a cup as she’d been talking.
“That’s intense,” Trish commented, getting herself a cup of coffee.
“I mean, I guess.” Saylor laughed a little nervously. “I got my GED and I didn’t want to drown in student debt, so I sort of skipped the whole college thing. I’m just happy to make my music,” she said.
“Oh, so you’re a musician,” my mom said.
“I told you that, Ma,” I said gently.
“That’s me,” Saylor said with a sad sort of smile. “On the corner singing for my supper.”
“That’s no way to live,” my dad said, and his tone wasn’t dispassionate or disapproving, it was more like a little sad.
“Really?” I said. “Because I’m pretty sure she does it every day.”
Saylor smiled at me and mouthed ‘It’s okay’ but it wasn’t – still, my dad got the picture and my mom changed the subject.
I didn’t even want to open presents, I just wanted to get the fuck out of here – take Saylor out of here – but my sister’s pleading look told me I needed to stay, if only so I wouldn’t abandon her in the middle of the brewing family shitstorm.
I honestly couldn’t do that to her.
We managed to get through breakfast by sticking to safe topics and staying out of Saylor’s past. Of course, that meant focusing on mine some and because nobody can fuck with you like family? That meant dredging up some really awful and embarrassing childhood memories. Memories I could have lived with never letting see the light of day ever again.
It was worth it to see Saylor laugh lightly and there were a couple it was nice to watch her cringe in solidarity. I actually couldn’t wait to be alone with her again to have a real discussion about a few of them. She somehow made me feel better, she soothed me about some of the darkest parts of me – the things that really bothered me even though for anyone else they might seem like no big deal.
“Right, I think that we’ve all been held in suspense long enough,” my dad said, and my mom smiled.
“Presents anyone?” she asked, and some genuine smiles broke out among us.
I had no idea what Saylor had been up to, but I did know she’d managed to source something for everyone and with her own earnings. Some, she’d confided, she’d traded services for. Singing outside the shops and luring in some business, running the odd errand for shop owners during their busiest times.
“Who’s going to be Santa this year and hand out gifts?” Mom asked.
“I can,” Saylor said immediately. “I’d like to do something to help.”
“Have at it, girl.” My dad smiled at her and she nodded.
I didn’t honestly care that much about what was under the tree if it didn’t have that simple, beautifully folded brown paper wrapping.
I know it sounded petty as hell and it was shitty on my part, but I sort of suffered through my parent’s typical gifts of socks and tee shirts, a nice watch and a really nice shave kit. Don’t get me wrong, I liked these things, and I even needed them, but I really wanted to know what Saylor had done.
She’d gifted my sister a piece of street art that was absolutely amazing. A canvas that’d been spray painted, the silhouette of a mother and two young children beneath a large tree, playing on a swing. The scene was set at dusk and done all in purples and lavenders, my sister’s favorite colors.
It made Trish tear up and gave my mom serious pause. Even my dad had complimented it rather than giving one of his trademark monosyllabic grunts of approval.
For my dad, she’d gone hard and had bought him an expert whittling knife for his little figures he liked to carve. My dad liked miniatures but didn’t really like the store-bought lead figures, so he preferred to make his own. He had a whole representation of old Indigo City and
the 1912 riots out there as his latest project. When he was finished with them, he usually found a museum to donate them to and they almost always took what he had to offer, gladly.
“Thank you, Saylor,” my dad said in a tone that bordered on chagrined. “It’ll get a lot of use, I promise you that.”
Saylor smiled simply and nodded and dare I say cracked my pop’s icy facade with that gift. I’d had no idea what she was going to get him. I had suggested the hobby paints he used but she’d definitely gone above and beyond.
For my mother, she’d gotten hand-crocheted kitchen pot holders and a handmade pottery mixing bowl from Ally and Dawnie’s funky little boutique. It may not seem like much, but my mom loved to bake and she was positively giddy with the gift.
That just left me, and the tiny little box between my hands that rattled with what had to be a snaking chain pooled in the bottom.
I opened it to a white gold chain, a pendant like a compass rose sitting on the coils. I looked up at Saylor.
“It was my granddad’s,” she said softly, twisting her lips back and forth, her nervousness palpable.
I didn’t know what to say. I knew how much it meant to her, and I honestly didn’t know what to say. It said everything she wasn’t able to – that this was definitely a forever kind of thing going on between us, and I made the decision right then and there that yeah – it was.
I pulled her into my arms and hugged her tightly, kissing her temple and swearing I would never let her go. That no matter what, I would always keep tabs on her, even if she told me to fuck off, to know that she was safe.
I really loved this woman so damn much in such a short amount of time that the idea of soulmates didn’t seem so farfetched anymore.
“God, I love you,” I muttered, and I didn’t care what my family thought.
They’d better get used to it because Saylor wasn’t going anywhere.
20
Saylor...
He bought me a lute. All because I said it would be nice to learn how to play one. It would be different, and I was always afraid of losing or having my granddad’s guitar damaged beyond repair and I couldn’t believe he’d gone to such an expense.
