14. Twelve
Twelve
Creed
Eden’s mattress jumps as I launch myself onto her prone form. Her head bobbles on the pillow with each bounce, and I’m inches from her face. The glare she gives me is deadly, but there’s no dampening my good mood.
Eden palms at my forehead, attempting to shove me away and burrow deeper into her blankets.
“You have to get up!” I tell her with a wide smile.
She’s relentless in her refusal, so I resort to my trump card.
Grabbing her wrists in one hand, I wiggle my fingers in warning above her midsection.
Tickling is torture for someone who never makes a peep.
Some might say it’s manipulation, but I say it’s necessary.
The girl is too stubborn for her own good.
The look she gives me is one of betrayal, and I can feel the shit eating grin take form on my face. With a huff, she relents and I release her. The moment I do, she signs, “asshole”. I really gotta stop teaching her profanities; she only ever uses them against me.
“Naughty!” I scold, shaking my head in disbelief. “I won’t be surprised if Santa left coal for you.”
A wrinkle forms between her brows. “Santa?” She mimics the sign.
“Duh! I told you yesterday it was Christmas Eve.”
She only frowns in confusion.
I groan and hop off the bed, rubbing my hands down my face in exasperation. Talk about a buzzkill. I motion to the door. “Meet me downstairs in five minutes. You’ve got a lot to learn today.”
By the time Eden is on her last bite of cinnamon roll, I’m bouncing on my heels in anticipation.
Cecil sits at the island, a coffee cup in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
The headlines were grim; more disappearances and more unexplained dead bodies.
Everyone knew why, but news outlets would be fools to directly call out the Brothers of Divinity.
Determined not to start my day with the macabre, I snatched the paper from his hands and replaced it with a cinnamon roll.
My brother may be intimidating, but he never turns down a pastry.
Christmas is one of the only days a year my brother agrees to stay home.
Money has always been tight, so we’re not able to go all out.
No decorations, no fancy wrapping paper, no prime rib dinners or matching pajamas.
However, Cecil has always ensured I have gifts under the metaphorical tree.
And since I’m unable to shop and have no way to make my own money, my gift to him is usually a hug that he doesn’t return.
Speaking of my brother’s love and affection, he swats me on the back of the head as he takes his mug to the sink. “Stop bouncing. You’re gonna make me sick,” he says, shaking his head in annoyance.
Finally, after the longest five minutes of my life, Eden brushes the crumbs from her fingers. The moment she’s on two feet, I’m tugging her behind me into the living room.
The glow of two dozen tealight candles gives the room a whimsical warmth, and Eden’s silver eyes glow with their reflection.
“Stay here,” I instruct, racing to the closet in the foyer. The gifts are in the paper sacks from the shops, but I doubt she’ll mind. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd never recieved a gift before today.
When I return, she follows me with her eyes and wrings her fingers together. The pajamas she’s wearing are actually Cecil’s, making her appear even smaller. It’s like witnessing the child version of Eden experience her first real Christmas.
Propped in the corner of the room is a poor man’s version of a tree.
Branches from evergreens have been bundled together and secured with rope, and I fashioned a star out of aluminum foil.
Pine needles litter the floor and it’s sagging to the side more each second, but cutting down a whole tree wasn’t an option. Trust me, I tried.
I place her gifts at the bottom of the makeshift tree, and then plop down into a plush sofa.
Eden is frozen, looking between me and the display.
My brother appears in the doorway, shoulder leaned against the frame to watch.
That only unnerves Eden more.“They’re for you,” I explain, pointing to the bags.
Cautiously, she slinks to the tree and runs her fingers along the pine needles. I stifle a laugh when she leans to take a whiff. She looks bewildered, and I catch the smallest tug of a smirk on my brother’s face. It’s a Christmas miracle.
Eden situates herself on the rug, sitting criss cross. “Do I… What do I…” Her hands start and stop, apprehensive.
“Open them already!” I urge, the anticipation stealing the last of my patience.
Her posture relaxes and she daintily places a sack in her lap. Newspaper is shoved haphazardly in the bag, my attempt at replicating tissue paper. She looks from the bag to me. I shoot her a thumbs up of encouragement. That does the trick, and she reaches in.
A cream knitted sweater comes out first, and she delicately traces her fingers along the stitching.
When I gave Cecil my list, I was very specific with what clothing to get her, right down to the colors I thought she might like.
Getting her clothes was inevitable, but Christmas is a perfect opportunity to surprise her.
The way her eyes light up and cheeks pinken tell me I was right.
Cecil watches her as closely as I do.
After the first gift, she’s quick to pull out the rest. A pair of dark denim jeans, three pairs of wool socks, a cotton t-shirt and shorts for sleeping, a black turtleneck, some fuzzy lounge pants, and lastly, a powder blue sundress. Her lips form a perfect ‘o’.
I definitely owe Cecil for this one. I didn’t have high hopes, but I was pleasantly surprised with what he chose.
The guy isn’t one for niceties, so he must be coming around to the idea of Eden staying.
The way he watches her might even lead someone to believe that he likes her.
A weird swirling starts in my gut at the thought and I focus my attention back to the present.
I begin to ask Eden how she likes her gifts when she reaches back into the bag. Her hand comes out clutching a thick sketchbook. My gaze immediately shoots to my brother, but he’s staring at Eden and the way she grins from ear to ear.
The sketchbook wasn’t on my list.
Leaping to her feet, Eden throws herself into my lap, cutting off my airflow as she squeezes my neck. The force of a dozen kisses travel over the side of my face and into my hairline. Feigning disgust, I crane my neck to escape the attack.
As fast as she came, she’s gone and snatching her gifts from the floor.
“I’m going to put on my dress—I’ll be back!” Her hair whips behind her as she races out of the room, leaving Cecil and I alone. He’s still in the doorway, staring out the window and gnawing at the inside of his cheek. Contemplative.
Rising from my chair, I cross the room to stand in front of him. When he refuses to meet my eyes, I wave my hand to get his attention. Begrudgingly, he does.
“She liked her gifts.”
Cecil watches me, but doesn’t respond.
“The book was a good idea,” I continue, searching his face for any flicker of emotion. He shrugs.
“I thought you hated her.”
His left brow raises. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t need to. But now… you like her?” I try to keep my expression neutral, but I can’t help the suspicious narrowing of my eyes.
Cecil pushes away from the wall and shoulders past me, heading towards the couch to plop down. I follow and stand in his line of sight so he can’t ignore me.
“Well?” I prod, the toe of my sock tapping impatiently.
“It’s a book, Creed. It’s from you, anyway.”
“No. You’re the one who got the gifts.”
“You asked me to.”
“I never asked you to get the book,” I argue. Why can’t he admit that he wanted to do something nice for her? The more reluctant he is, the stranger it is.
“Well, she thinks it’s from you.” He avoids my gaze as he says this.
“Do you wish she knew it was from you?”
The question has his nostrils flaring and he stands up, taking a menacing step toward me.
“I don’t give a shit what—” Eden runs back into the room and Cecil quickly stops his signs, clenching his fists at his sides.
Wearing her new dress, she smiles widely, tucking hair behind her ears. She gives a spin. The cotton fans out, falling just above her knee. The square neckline accentuates her slender neck and the light color makes her hair appear even darker. She looks…
“Beautiful,” I tell her. She blushes, subtly glancing at Cecil. Lord knows why, but she’s seeking his approval. The bastard that he is, he offers a blank stare, lips pressed together in a firm line.
The longer we stand there, the more self consciousness creeps in and erases the joy in Eden’s eyes. Fidgeting, she looks directly at Cecil. “I’ve never had a blue dress. Papa thought—”
Before she can finish, my brother storms past her and is out the front door. I squeeze my eyes shut, blowing out a slow breath. He’s never been this hot and cold. If it’s some sort of quarter life crisis, he can keep it to himself.
When I open my eyes, Eden is still standing in place, but her lower lip has a slight tremble.“I guess he didn’t like it,” she says, eyes trained on her feet.
I look out the window. My brother walks to his truck.
She doesn’t watch for my reply, but I do, anyway.
“He did.”