Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Are you sure?” Rafe asks in that way where he makes me really, really think about it.
And I just don’t know.
Rafe’s kiss tastes like cinnamon.
“So, listen,” he says, handing me a bowl of cereal. He runs a hand through his hair. “My mom.” He looks up sheepishly. “She’ll kill me if I don’t show up for Christmas.”
I must look as confused as I feel because Rafe says, “It’s the day after tomorrow.”
“Oh. Shit, man, you should’ve said something.”
Rafe sits back down next to me, and Shelby, who has been staring out at the ocean, mesmerized, starts eyeing my cereal from her place on the floor.
“I am saying something,” he says, turning me to face him. “I’d rather be with you than watch the monsters tear into their presents and then complain about what they didn’t get.”
I didn’t even think about Christmas. Christmas without Pop… that’s… I can’t imagine what we’d do. The idea of going back to Philly and sitting in that house with Brian and Sam, watching sports and getting drunk while we… I don’t know what we’d do. We never did much for Christmas anyway.
One year, when Daniel was ten or eleven, he asked Pop if we could get a tree and make Christmas cookies. It sounded kind of nice. Not that any of us would’ve known how to make cookies. But a tree seemed okay. Pop looked so pissed. And guilty. I could tell what he was thinking. That he took care of us—cooked and gave us money for clothes and shit—and Daniel was pointing out this way that he’d failed as a father. I couldn’t stand the look on Pop’s face, like he was worried he was doing everything wrong, so I just laid into Daniel, telling him only girls baked Christmas cookies and trees were for snotty Rittenhouse shitheads who have nothing better to do than sit around and stare at them.
Daniel’s face fell, then his lip started to quiver, then his eyebrows wrinkled, and he walked away before he started to cry. Pop clapped me on the shoulder in thanks and Daniel never mentioned anything about Christmas again.
Rafe’s looking at me, concerned.
“You’d be welcome at Gabriela’s,” he says.
I shake my head. The last thing I want is to meet Rafe’s family when I feel like this.
“I just… I know I said I’d meet them, but I’d be lousy company right now,” I say.
“I understand. Another time.”
“I—do you think…? Never mind.”
“What?”
“Could I maybe… stay here? Over Christmas? I just don’t think I can handle my brothers right now.”
A flicker of fear passes over Rafe’s face, and I know he’s thinking about the other morning in the ocean. But he takes a deep breath and nods.
“Yeah, you could do that. I don’t like to think of you alone on Christmas, though.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “I don’t care about Christmas. I’ll be fine.”
I RUN until my legs shake, then sink down into the cold sand and look out at the water. It smells clean and wet, and the waves drown out my panting breaths. It’s like running along the edge of the world. Mostly, it’s the sound I like. The way it covers things up. My shitty breathing and my stupid thoughts.
There’s this one thought that’s rattling around, though. This one thought that the waves can’t quite drown out. It was there when I woke up a few days ago. Rafe’s arms were around me, his face tucked into the crook of my neck, and I was too comfortable to move. I stared out at the sun rising over the water and it was just… there.
I’m free.
I’d almost fallen back asleep when Rafe shifted in his sleep, pulling me to him like a stuffed animal. He fumbled for my hand and held on and I just smiled. I didn’t have to get up and go to work. Didn’t have to pretend anything with anyone. Didn’t have to worry about how to act because Rafe already liked me, god help him.
I fell back asleep pretty soon after that, but over the next few days, it kept popping up.
Now, without Rafe to pay attention to, it’s back. I’m free. Pop is dead and I feel shitty about it, but also, for the first time, I think… maybe things could really be different. Maybe there’s a chance I could be different. Feel different.
Back at the house, I pick up my phone to check the time and see an unplayed voice mail from last night.
“Colin,” Daniel says, and he sounds freaked. “I have this memory. At least, I think it is. I’m not totally sure it really happened, but… if it did…. It’s—it was a snow day at school and I came home early. You were in bed, drunk, and I remember Dad’s pills, for his back. Anyway, I remember a lot of them, Colin, and I just. I wanted to make sure—I wanted to see if…. Look, just don’t do anything fucking stupid, all right, you asshole? Because I…. Just, please be okay. Okay?”