15. Sophie
15
SOPHIE
S ix years of solitary Christmases and, before that, eighteen years of shitty ones, have taught me not to expect much from the holiday.
Families in matching pj’s, gathered around a sparkling tree, a fire crackling merrily as kids tear into mounds of gifts wrapped in red paper felt more like an urban legend than something I could ever have for myself. Maybe that’s another reason why I never told Honor, or Bram, or anyone else, that I didn’t have anywhere to go on December twenty-fifth.
I didn’t want Honor to feel obligated to include me, sure, but it was more than that. If I found out all those happy, wonderful things really existed, it would make my inevitable return to solitude even more painful. I didn’t want borrowed time with somebody else’s family; I wanted mine. Not the people I was born to—who love the Bible more than they love their child—but my people.
How did I not see that if I never let anyone in, I would never have that?
The last few days with Bram have been more intense and life-changing than any other period of my life. I’ve been pulled in a dozen different directions, torn between guilt and happiness, fear and hope, shame and gratitude. I’m not sure what to expect today, but as I lay curled on my side in Bram’s bed, my eyes closed as the last haziness of sleep fades away, it occurs to me that something has changed.
For the first time in my life, I’m happy it’s Christmas.
Not because there will be a mountain of gifts waiting for me, or even a tree, but because I have a person. Somebody cares where I am and would be hurt if I didn’t turn up to the celebration. Somebody who loves me.
Holy shit. Bram Vogel loves me.
Overnight, all the sharp edges of my emotions seem to have settled. Things aren’t resolved, not by a long shot, and I’m not magically absolved of all guilt for feeling the way I do about my best friend’s father.
I love him, though. I’m all in on Honor’s dad; the wonderful, slightly extra, brilliant man who sees exactly who I am, and wants me not despite it, but for it. Everything I’ve wanted, but never dared hope for, has happened.
All I want today is to cuddle with Bram on the couch and watch Christmas movies, make cookies, drink hot chocolate, have great sex, and savor this brand-new sense of rightness. When the roads are clear tomorrow, this pause from real life will be over. It will be time to face the music, and deal with the less pleasant results of my new relationship.
So, as I allow my eyes to open and gaze over at the mattress beside me, my heart sinks a little when I find it empty.
Sitting up, I crane my neck to peer through the doorway into the bathroom, which is dark and appears to be just as unoccupied as the bedroom.
I’m officially a little bummed, but then again, I told Bram I didn’t want to make a big deal of the holiday. Maybe he’s just trying to respect my wishes, because he’s awesome and respectful like that, and is downstairs working on his laptop or something. Even so, it’s hard to shake off the slightly sour mood waking up alone has put me in, and I take my time washing my face and getting dressed in more borrowed clothes before heading downstairs in search of Bram.
I don’t get far, stopping dead halfway down the stairs as I gaze in bewilderment at the living room, which has been completely transformed since I went to bed.
In the corner beside the crackling fire, there is a real, honest-to-God Christmas tree, strung with white lights and ribbons and ornaments. Made of what appears to be regular white copy paper, paper chains crisscross the ceiling, interspersed with handmade snowflakes and more strings of Christmas lights.
It’s the most beautiful, magical thing I’ve ever seen, and all I can do is gape as I take the last few steps downstairs.
“Merry Christmas, Sophie.”
I whip around, my bottom lip trembling and heart full enough to burst. Bram is standing in the entrance to the kitchen, looking at me hopefully, as if there’s a universe where I could be anything other than overwhelmed with love for him doing this.
“What did you do?” I laugh, my voice wavering.
My overinflated heart lurches as he moves toward me. “I stayed up late.”
He must have been up all night to pull this off, an impression reinforced by the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “Bram. You didn’t have to!”
“I did.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, and as I’m still standing on the first stair, we’re eye to eye. “You deserve a good Christmas, Sophie. You spending the holiday alone for six years is… I can’t even think about it, sweetheart. It’s never going to happen again, though.”
At this point, I give up the battle with my tear ducts and break down completely, sobbing into his shoulder as Bram strokes my back. “I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “I know I’m too damn old for you, and you’re too smart for me, and you’ll be walking into a whole host of drama with my kids, but I want this, sweetheart. I want you.”
It’s a struggle to get myself together, but when I do, I pull back enough to look at him properly and mop my eyes with the shoulder of my T-shirt. “I guess it’s a good thing I love you too, huh?”
Bram’s face splits in a huge smile. “A very good thing,” he agrees, and without wasting another moment, leans forward to kiss me deeply. It doesn’t last long. Soon, he’s pulled away and, brimming with boyish enthusiasm, takes my hand.
I permit myself to be pulled into the kitchen, and realize I was so overwhelmed by the elaborately decorated living room and the declarations of love, that I failed to notice the mouthwatering scent filling the house. The source is a tray of huge, sticky cinnamon rolls, sitting on top of the stove, steaming hot.
My mouth falls open. “Oh my god. Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’m trying to impress you. Is it working?” Bram asks mildly, directing me to my usual spot in the breakfast nook.
“Considering my eyes haven’t stopped watering since I saw all this, I would consider your mission successful.” I gaze up at him and my heart flutters at the crooked grin that meets this statement.
While Bram busies himself with maneuvering two of the cinnamon rolls onto plates, I crane my neck so I can see the decked-out tree in the living room. “Did you really go out and cut that down in the middle of the night?” I ask, spotting a collection of towels draped around the base, undoubtedly to catch dripping snow .
A warm chuckle greets my words. “I spotted it from the window yesterday.”
My mouth waters as he places the cinnamon roll in front of me and moves to take the seat across from mine. While I turn my fork over in my fingers, I make no move to bite into my breakfast. As Bram reaches toward his glass of water, my hand reaches over the table to touch his.
He stills, gazing at me, and there’s a fissure of worry in his warm eyes, as if he’s worried I’m about to tell him this isn’t a good idea again. “Thank you,” I tell him instead, “for doing all this. I know I haven’t been easy. I just—” my words falter, and it takes me a second to regroup. Bram waits patiently, like he understands that telling people my real feelings isn’t something I’m all that familiar with. “I want to be this good to you, too. I want to make you happy.”
“You do,” he assures me and, obviously sensing my skepticism, smiles. “At some point in the past year, it occurred to me that nobody has ever made me feel as good as you do, sweetheart. Just being around you is like stepping into the sun. Then, when we saw each other on the street that night?—”
“The night I puked on your shoes.”
He huffs, “Yes. That one. I saw your face, Sophie. I saw your face and it dawned on me that I’d been taking all that happiness, and all I’d given you in return was hurt. I never want to feel that way again.”
I release his hand and lean back in my seat. “That’s not all you gave me.”
“No?”
No. He’s given me respect, friendship, and care. Even when I was sure nothing would happen between us, there was never a time when I didn’t think Bram cared about me. That’s more than I can say about my family, or my work friends, or anyone except the Vogels .
As I start to reply, however, Bram winces. I watch as he pulls out his phone, staring down at the screen which I can see displaying the name Lenora Vogel.
“You should take that,” I rush to assure him, because what I have to say can wait. It’s Christmas, of course he should talk to his kids.
He nods and gets to his feet, stealing a quick kiss before turning and walking from the room, his cheerful greeting of, “Hey, Len. Merry Christmas,” carrying after him.
Positive Bram would want me to eat, I help myself to a bite of cinnamon roll and groan quietly. Holy shit, he is so far out of my league. How did I land a hot, successful older man who is a literal gourmet cook and wants to help me explore my every kinky fantasy? It seems way too good to be true, but while my anxious, insecure brain wants to find some other explanation for my wildly good fortune, I don’t allow myself to go there. My long-established pessimistic worldview has been torn to shreds in the past twenty-four hours, and for the first time in my life, I have a good feeling.
This is going to work out.
Biting back a smile, I take another bite of cinnamon roll and prop my chin on my hand, gazing out the kitchen window at the gently falling snow.
At the sound of Bram’s footsteps, I turn. He’s reentering the kitchen, shoving his phone back into his pocket, and the carefree expression he was wearing as he left is nowhere to be found.
“What’s wrong?” I demand, heart in my throat as he returns to his seat.
Bram stares at me, his expression tight. “Leni just asked if I have feelings for you.”
Horror washes over me. Someone telling Honor about me and Bram before I can is the very worst way this could unfold. It’s one thing to confess, it’s a whole other to be caught. If I have any hope at all of keeping my best friend in my life, this needs to come from me.
There is no air in my lungs, and it seems to take an inordinate amount of time to regain the ability to breathe. At last, once I’m confident I’m not going to keel over, I swallow. “What… What did you say?”
I wouldn’t blame him if he lied. We hadn’t even discussed what telling Honor and Leni would entail, but I’m positive neither of us expected this. My strange interaction with Lenora before I left for work the morning of the storm was driven completely from my mind in the wake of the chaos that unfolded later. At the time, I was worried she was suspicious, but for her to ask Bram directly about his feelings, Leni must have pieced together a lot more than I realized.
Bram reaches out to touch my hand, echoing the gesture I made a few minutes ago, and I realize I’ve been clutching my fork so hard that my knuckles have turned white.
His warm eyes search my face, his trepidation obvious. “I told her I was in love with you.”