chapter 40
[Jude]
I stare at my father a moment too long before Mae, his wife, clears her throat. She’s a beautiful brunette woman, close to my dad’s age, and everything opposite my mother. A little carefree; a lot lighthearted, and she makes my dad smile like I’ve never seen before.
“Surprise,” Mae says, making jazz hands from where they stand in the hallway.
“Merry Christmas, son,” Tucker says, hesitantly.
I’ve been ambushed, and they know it.
Julia!
Still, I know my sister did this out of love. Fear and love. Fear she’d lose me and love.
Don’t you leave me, Jude.
My guardian angel was not my sister, but Julia has been a steady force for most of my life, and I appreciate what she’s trying to do. I accept it.
“Merry Christmas, Dad.” My voice is rough as I step back and wave for them to enter my place.
As soon as Tucker and Mae enter, Lolly breaks free of Julia and races for them.
“Boppa,” she cries out. “Mimi.”
Like a punch to the gut, I realize that Julia’s children have only ever known Mae. She is their grandmother, not our mom. Another thought hits. She’ll be better at the position.
And in our mix and match of family, nothing follows a straight line.
With Lolly in Tucker’s arms, she says, “Can we open presents now?”
“Yes, we can open presents now,” Julia confirms as Chopper enters the living room with their oldest boy, Charlie, beside him, and their second son, Ransom, in his arms, who looks like he’d rather continue sleeping as his head lies on his father’s shoulder.
“Santa came to Uncle Jude’s,” Lolly confirms for everyone.
Suddenly, I realize I don’t have a single present for any of them.
I sent gifts to Julia, Chopper, and the kids, but I don’t even know what was sent. I had my assistant pick out items, sparing no expense. As for Tucker and Mae, I hadn’t sent a gift to them. Ever.
My head hangs in shame. “I don’t have anything for everyone.”
Mae steps closer to me. “That doesn’t matter. Christmas isn’t about gifts. It’s about gathering together.” She offers me a soft, warm smile.
I miss my mother, but she was always cold, always standoffish. As that’s all I’d known, that’s how I thought it should be. My mother’s image in front of others was more important than compassion in her home. She’d been everything I’d turned into and no one I wanted to be anymore.
The tenderness in Mae’s eyes reminds me of Angelica, but I ignore the pinch behind my rib cage.
The next hours pass in a whirlwind of unwrapping presents. Brightly colored paper is made into balls and tossed across the room. Gadgets and gizmos, with instructions and batteries required, fill my living room floor. The kids squealed with excitement, and the adults ooh-ed and aah-ed.
And it all felt so foreign.
This was nothing like the stilted holiday I’d had as a kid. The formal attire and photo opportunities. The neat piles of used paper and the tight smiles over gifts ‘donated’ by sponsors to meet Mother’s influencer image. The awkward silences between the gift exchange and the family dinner.
This was different.
I stare at my sister, animated and bright, adoring her children as they marvel at what they believe Santa brought them. I glance at Tucker, smiling just as wide, his arm casually around Mae, who leans forward, equally excited by every gift her grandchildren open.
How did they do it? How did they let the past go?
Suddenly, I’m too warm and I stand, stalking toward the kitchen, needing at least the island between me and them. Hell, I’ve needed most of the country to separate us, like them in California and me, here, alone.
My stomach turns again. Because I didn’t want to be alone.
“You okay?” Tucker says behind me, and I busy my hands, pouring coffee from the machine my sister must have set last night.
“Yeah,” I mutter toward the coffee pot. “It’s just a lot.” I hate admitting weakness, but I find I’m too weak to resist.
Tucker is suddenly beside me, hip leaning against the countertop. I slowly glance up at him. His hair is fully gray now. The lines near his eyes tell a story. The concern in them puzzles me.
One day, I’ll look like him, but not really.
“You feeling okay?” His voice is hesitant, like he knows any minute, I’ll snap. I’ll bark a sharp retort or a lashing comment.
I hate you. How many times did I say that to him when I was younger?
“I just feel . . .” I sigh, risking a glance at him again before looking back at the hot liquid in my coffee mug. “A little untethered.”
Tucker remains quiet.
“Displaced, actually.”
“Displaced?” he questions, and I look firmly at him.
“Yeah. Actually, my entire life I’ve felt displaced.” Not so much as a stranger or an outsider, just somewhere, or rather, someone, no one wanted. Learning I wasn’t Tucker’s son and that we shared a father. Learning how my mother had been a young girl taken advantage of. The reality made me sick.
“A product of . . .” I couldn’t say the word, and I swallow thickly. What is wrong with me? Blinking at the burn in my eyes for the second time today, I recognize that earlier the wetness was tears, but I don’t want to admit that I’d been crying. I’d been overcome with something I couldn’t define.
And I don’t know why I’m taking this sharp turn down memory lane.
Quickly, Tucker cups my neck, and I pull back instinctually, but he doesn’t let go. He squeezes gently, holding me still.
“You are a product of love.” His tone is tight. His words determined. “I love you.”
Despite.
He leaves off the quantifying word.
Despite my dickishness over the years. Despite missing holidays and birthdays.
Despite trying to sabotage his relationship with Mae, because I couldn’t see him happy if I was unhappy.
Despite the accusations that he never loved my mother, and the hurtful pride I tossed at him when I inherited the family business.
As if reading all of this in my eyes, Tucker reiterates. “I love you. As your dad.” Not my father. Not the man who produced me, but the man who raised me as his own.
I nod, still unable to find the right words to say back. Words that don’t feel big enough for a man who has taken my shit over and over again and still stands in front of me offering his love.
“I’m sorry.” I swallow thickly, knowing an apology is weak and long overdue. “I’ve been so . . . wrong.”
About everything. Him. Mom. I don’t know how to make amends.
It’s never too late, Angelica had said.
Tucker simply nods, easily accepting my contrition. Too easily, but I don’t have the energy to argue.
“Now, how are you feeling?”
“About apologizing?” I arch a brow. I am not about to psychoanalyze my feelings while still rolling in the uncertainty of them.
Tucker chuckles. “I meant after the heart attack.” His brows pinch again, concern marring those lines near his eyes. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Because I’m selfish? Because I didn’t want him to know? Because I didn’t want him to worry?
Because I didn’t think he’d care.
“It wasn’t a heart attack,” I admit, shrugging. “It was a broken heart.”
Tucker slowly softens his hand on my neck and pats over my chest with his other hand. “What happened?”
“Stress.”
His brows rise. He knows the pressure of running Ashford’s. It’s one reason he skipped out on wanting the place.
“But you’re okay now?” His voice is still hesitant, still troubled. Still concerned . . . because he does care.
Slowly, I shake my head. “Actually.” I roll my lips. “I’ve met someone. And I think I fucked up.”
I glance toward the living room where Chopper and Julia continue to open complicatedly sealed packages, and Mae is trying to help, but I’m certain their ears are tuned in my direction.
“I met someone,” I announce a little louder. “But I . . .” I fucked up. And I should be there right now.
Mae spins on the couch, glancing over the back at me, and smiles. She’s such a good woman, and I’ve done her wrong as well.
I have more apologies to share, but the next one goes to Angelica. I need my angel.
Glancing around my place, there isn’t a stitch of holiday cheer. Not a tree. Not a decoration. Nothing to entice Angelica to come to me. I need to go to her.
“I have to go somewhere, but I promise I’ll be back.” I reach for my keys on the kitchen island. I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothing, and smell of Angelica and I together, and that’s exactly what I want.
Her and me.
Rushing to the front door, I sense my family staring at my back as I pull it open with force, and halt.
Like a crowd of carolers, a family stands in the hallway outside my door.
Christmas and her boys. Maggie and Gertie.
And at the center of them all is Angelica.
My angel.