Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
ELI
Christmas Day with Jack’s extended family is slightly crazier than Christmas Eve. I can tell everyone wants to spend as much time as possible with each other, because they don’t get to see each other very often, but it’s also clear this much time together, with few breaks, is a lot.
So we do some things all together and take a longer time apart in the afternoon, a small group going to the park. We didn’t get fresh snow today like we did yesterday, but there’s still a decent amount, so we end up having a snowball fight.
It’s as we’re heading back to Jack’s house that I check my phone and see I missed a call from my mom.
“I’ll meet you back there,” I tell Jack. His eyes flit to my phone and his brows lift in comprehension immediately.
“Got other plans?” Grant asks, walking around me.
“Never mind,” Georgia tells him. “It’s none of your business.”
I send her an appreciative look and turn and walk back toward the fountain, my finger already on the call button.
“Merry Christmas, Elliot!” Mom says right when the call connects. Her voice is cheery. “How has your day been, sweetheart?”
I stroll around the park and tell her the highlights.
An inkling of guilt drops down my spine as I realize it might sound like I don’t need them, and I trail off and say, “It would be a perfect holiday if I could see you guys, too, but I got to talk to you. I’m really glad you called today, like you said you would. ”
Mom’s voice is unsteady. “Next year we’ll be home for Christmas.”
I stop walking. “I wasn’t trying to make you say that.”
“You’re not making me say anything I didn’t already plan. Next year, I’m not taking any jobs over Christmas. We’ll be home with you. I promise.”
I don’t know if I can trust it. That she called today is definitely a step in the right direction, though, and the part of me that desperately wants to trust it gains a bit of confidence.
“That sounds good.” I start walking again and ask what she’s been up to, and hear about the dinners and receptions and parties she’s been attending all week and capturing with her photography.
“We’re ordering in for dinner tonight,” my father says.
I blink, taken aback. I didn’t realize he was listening all this time, or that he was in the same room as my mother.
“We’re in our suite now.” He sighs. “What I mean is, if you need anything, or want to talk again . . . we’re available the rest of tonight, no interruptions. We leave for Belize on New Year's Day.”
An open invitation to talk more, if I want to. I nudge a bit of snow with the toe of my boot. “Thanks.”
“If we don’t talk again today,” he says, awkwardness plain in his tone, “enjoy the rest of your holiday with the Bensons.”
“Tell them Merry Christmas from us,” Mom says.
“I can do that.”
“Love you, my darling boy,” Mom says.
“Goodbye, Elliot,” my father says.
“Love you too. Bye.”
I slide my phone into my back pocket and continue walking aimlessly while my thoughts churn over the conversation I just had. I shake my head when I realize I’m missing precious time with a different family that’s actually here, and set my course back to the Benson house.
My step is lighter than it was on the way to the park, impossible as that seems.
My parents called.
It’s small.
It’s ridiculous.
I know I have a hint of a smile anyway. I walk in and Jack’s eyes find me right away, scrutinizing me.
He sees that upturn to my lips and the rigidity that had snapped his posture when he saw me, that fierce readiness to protect me if I needed it, floods out of him.
Relief takes its place, and my smile grows. My loyal sunshine.
Whatever conversations had been taking place trickle into silence, most eyes flicking to me.
“My parents say Merry Christmas,” I announce.
Mrs. Benson lifts the almost empty container of cookies toward me and dips her head, reminding me of softening steel. Jack must have told her I was talking to them. I feel her approval from across the room, alongside her frustration with my parents, as she says, “Good.”
The Christmas feast Mrs. Benson prepares is so good I barely have room for dessert, but I power through, and I’m glad I do. I’d have missed out completely on her chocolate peppermint bundt cake if I hadn’t. Uncle Henry eats the sliver that’s left after everyone’s had some.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Eli,” he says when they’re about to leave that night. Their flight is early in the morning, so they’re saying goodbye to everyone now. “Keep making them smile, okay?”
He extends his hand, and I shake it warmly. “I’ll do my best.”
He laughs. “That’s all any of us can do.”
Georgia gives me a hug, then blushes and runs to the car. Grant nods at me and says it was nice to meet me. I’m glad Jack was right and there was no lasting drama. The guy does just seem like a jerk.
Mrs. Benson hugs her brother for a long moment and watches them all leave from the door, waving them off. Then she sighs and leans against the wall. “It’s always bittersweet when they leave.”
Janet pats her arm. “I’ll take care of the kitchen tonight.”
I look at my coat. “I should probably go, too.”
“What?” Jack asks.
“Everyone’s tired. I thought you’d want to go to bed.”
“Not yet,” Mrs. Benson says, which surprises me. We had an early, active start after a late night, and she spent a long time today cooking and baking. “I need to wind down a bit.” She does seem high on energy again, all of a sudden. Second wind?
I don’t need a lot of convincing to go into the living room with them. “Oh, I’ll have to show you your gift tomorrow,” I tell Jack. “Or tonight, if you walk me to my house. I need something there.”
It’s a lame hint that gives a lot of my gift away, but Jack’s smile broadens. He’s practically buzzing with energy too. “Just wait. Mom, you ready?”
She leaves and re-enters the room carrying a large box, which she sets on the couch. “Merry Christmas, Eli.”
Their energy makes sense now. I shake my head, lifting my gaze from the box to her. “Mrs. Benson, you already got me gifts. You shouldn’t have gotten me anything else.”
“It’s kind of my gift too,” Jack says. “And it’s also kind of selfish on our part.”
“How?” I ask, almost laughing at the absurdity.
“Just open it!” he says, pushing me toward the present. His hand lingers on the small of my back for a moment before he urges me forward, sending warmth skirting through me. I sit on the couch and slide the box onto my lap. It borders on being heavy . . .
The paper comes off in a few easy pulls, exposing a brown cardboard box that’s clearly been opened. “I only peeked at it to make sure it wasn’t damaged when it shipped,” Mrs. Benson says. “And make sure it works.”
I’m not worried. There are words on the box, but I look away as I feel around for the flap to open it. It’s so rare to have a physical gift to open that I can’t ruin the surprise.
Finding the flap, I pull it and ease the box open, setting my gaze on the contents. My chest tightens. Black and white keys, lined up in a row.
“We thought you might set a keyboard up here,” Mrs. Benson says. “That way you can play whenever you want to.”
I sense the unspoken thought behind it. That way, I don’t have to go to the house that’s never felt like home to play the piano.
I can stay here, in the place that felt like home the first time I entered it.
I can play anything I’d like without fear of judgment.
With the promise of warmth and acceptance after the last note has faded.
I ease the keyboard from its protective, clear plastic sleeve and run my fingers over the gleaming naturals and accidentals. These keys have a different feel to them than mine at home. Slightly lighter, maybe a shade narrower. It’ll probably have a slightly different sound.
None of it matters. I can’t speak.
“Do you get why it’s selfish?” Jack asks. “This way, we get to hear you play.”
My eyes burn. “I think it’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten,” I manage.
Mrs. Benson wordlessly sits beside me and pulls me against her.
I let myself sink into her embrace, closing my eyes.
At this rate, it’s becoming a holiday tradition for me to cry.
Thankfully it’s only a few tears this time, easily stopped.
After all, I need to show them how appreciative I am for their gift.
“Will you play for us?” Jack asks.
“Were you reading my mind? That’s what I’m about to do.”
We set the keyboard up and Mrs. Benson brings in the padded bench seat that came with it, which she’d stored in the closet.
I race through “Jingle Bells” as a warmup and launch into a few other carols.
They’re far from perfect, since I haven’t practiced them before, but Jack and Mrs. Benson have matching smiles, and Janet and Hugh have come out to listen, too.
Janet takes Hugh to bed a few minutes later, with a final “Merry Christmas” to everyone.
I play two more songs after that, a bit quieter, and then lean back.
“It feels incredible,” I say, looking between Jack and Mrs. Benson. “It must have been too much . . .”
“You don’t get to worry about that,” Mrs. Benson says.
Jack leans closer. “So, you were saying you could show me my gift at your house . . . any chance you can show me here, now?”
I exhale a laugh. “I’m not done with this yet, but I promised myself I’d show you what I have so far. It’s almost there.”
“I can give you two space,” Mrs. Benson says, backing up.
“You can stay,” I say.
She leans down to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll ask you to play it for me tomorrow, Eli. Trust me, I want to hear it.” She frames my cheek with one hand. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
“You too, Mrs. Benson.”
She heads to her room, Widget right behind her. I move over on the bench and pat it to tell Jack to sit beside me.
“You sure? You’re half-off the seat like that.”
“Sit.”
He sits.
And I begin. I’m still not in love with the opening, but I don’t worry about it now.
I just let everything I felt as I composed this piece swell through me, pouring onto the keys through my fingertips and swirling in the air around us.
Loneliness transitioning to belonging. Indifference warming to love.
It’s my story, from right before Jack and his family entered my life to now, and something inside me shudders to play it before the one who brought out this change in me, trembles in ecstasy that he can hear—that he can feel—what I’ve felt.
Because I know he can. I know it in the way he moves, breathes, watches . . . lives . . . in these notes with me.
He feels all of it.
“Does it have a name?” Jack asks in an impossibly soft voice, once I lift my fingers from the keys and the sound fades.
“I’m calling it Catching Sundrops.”
Jack’s breath is a ragged intake. His blue eyes snap to mine.
“I wrote it for you,” I tell him. “I also wrote it for Mrs. Benson, for making me feel like part of a family . . . that’s the first bit. But the rest . . . I especially wrote it for you.”
His throat bobs. “That’s . . . that’s . .
.” he drifts closer with each whisper and seals his lips against mine.
It’s slow and sweet, and tastes of the chocolate peppermint cake we had for dessert.
He draws back as slowly as he leaned in, as if afraid to move too fast. “You have my heart, too, Elliot James.”
I stand, pulling him up with me. “Walk me home?”
The need I feel is mirrored in him. Need to hold him as close as I can. Need to kiss him when no one can see.
We put on our boots, coats, and hats and step outside, and pause. It’s snowing. Fat, heavy snowflakes fly down around us.
We make it about halfway to my house when I can’t wait any longer, and stop him with a hand on his wrist. I drop my bag on the ground as he turns to face me, and guide him back against an oak’s sturdy trunk.
He pulls me by the back of my coat so I’m pressing him to the tree.
He pulls me a bit harder than I expect. I stumble against him, and the motion sends the snow on an overhanging branch down on top of us.
The thick, heavy snow curtains down, covering my hat and shoulders, sneaking into the gap between my coat and my neck.
Jack’s mouth is opened in stunned amazement.
Traces of snow cling to his pale eyelashes.
We stare at each other, still covered in snow, and reach for each other in the same instant, locking together.
Jack backs against the oak tree again, but there’s no more snow to displace. It wouldn’t matter if there were.
I’m impervious to everything that isn’t Jack’s arms wrapped around me, his frozen fingers framing my face, his lips claiming over mine. Snow, cold, time . . . nothing else exists for an unknown spell of a moment.
Jack’s panting breath is warm on my lips when we do come back to reality, but his nose brushing against mine?
“You’re too cold to stay out here,” I say in a ragged whisper.
“I’m not cold,” he protests.
I take his hands and rub them between mine, and he melts. I pull him away from the tree, keeping one hand folded in mine as we resume walking. “Told you.”
“That was worth being cold—but I didn’t notice till you pointed it out.”
I squeeze his hand.
“Back to normal tomorrow,” he says when we approach my house. “Just us and friends for the rest of break.”
I hum. “That does sound nice.”
“Did you have a nice Christmas?” he asks in a rush. “Being completely honest.”
I stare at him until a blush joins the pink in his cheeks from cold and kissing. “Being completely honest? I’m so glad I spent the holidays with family.”
“There are more holidays. New Year’s, Groundhog Day, Valentine’s Day . . .”
I raise one eyebrow. “Groundhog Day? Really?”
He playfully shoves me. “Are you questioning if it’s real, or why I said it?”
“Idiot,” I say on an exhale.
Jack grins the way he only does when I call him that. The way that makes me want to pull him close and kiss him, no matter where we are or what we’re doing. His blue eyes shine, locked on mine. “I’ll celebrate them all with you, Eli. That’s what I mean.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Calendar Boy.”
I lean closer and drink in that irresistible grin before he can say anything.
Snow continues to fall in heavy flakes around us. I’ve no doubt it’ll be beautiful tomorrow, with all of this snow coating the branches of trees and blanketing the ground. It’s beautiful now, swirling around us in a silent dance.
I touch my forehead to his and sway with him right there in the falling snow. Just for a little while.
It’s cold, but I can’t resist.
And I’ll hold him close to keep him warm.
The End