43. Othelia
Chapter forty-three
Othelia
The fire burns hot in the hearth, its mantle draped with garland. Next to it stands a twelve-foot tree covered in artificial snow. The room is dark except for the twinkling lights and glow of the fire.
Rian and I have no intention of celebrating Christmas. We might do some presents with Layla in the morning, and that will be it.
No decorations, no festive cheer, no big family feast. Christmas was Sloane’s second favorite holiday, right behind Halloween, and she would always go all out making whatever house she and Rian were in look like two elves came and threw up their festive cheer in the night. Now it’s one more reminder that she’s missing.
When our mom got wind of our plans last week, she went ballistic.
"Why haven’t you decorated the house yet, Othelia?” she yelled, clutching her Hermes bag over her shoulder, scanning the room for a hint of decoration that might have been hiding somewhere. Standing with my eyebrows raised and arms crossed, I waited to see what insults would come next.
“Really, Othelia, you’d think since Rian was letting you live with him, you would make more of an effort.” Her tone dripped with condescension.
“He said he didn’t want to celebrate it. It reminds us all too much of Sloane.” I tried not to roll my eyes, but I looked away from her, just in case.
“Stop being so selfish, Othelia.”
My hands dropped to my side as my jaw followed. Selfish? Seriously?
“I wasn’t being selfish, Mother. I was following Rian’s lead.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He has no idea what he wants. Do you think when I lost your father, I just rolled over and died with him?”
“No. You just turned into a raging bitch,” I mumbled under my breath. She just walked right by me, too busy inspecting the space and mentally listing what she thought we needed. I plopped on the couch, getting back to my coffee, which had gotten interrupted when she had shown up at the door out of the blue.
“I will send you the details when the decorators are organized. I expect your schedule to be clear.” She looked me up and down, lip curling as she took in my messy bun and sweats. “Right. I’m off. Some people had things to do other than sit on the sofa all day.”
So now we’re sitting in Rian’s lounge, surrounded by a Macy’s level of Christmas decorations that we never asked for, wearing the Christmas onesies that Sloane got us last year, each with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s while we binge watch NCIS.
The doorbell rings, and Rian jumps off the couch to see who it is. I join him after placing my ice cream tub on the coffee table, surprised to find Marcus, his wife Chrissy, and their children standing on the doorstep.
“Hey guys!” Their faces brighten as Rian greets them, giving them all hugs as he invites them out of the cold. They enter, shaking off the light dusting of snow, taking off their coats, and Rian hangs them over the banister. “What are you doing in our neighborhood?”
Chrissy’s smile drops first. “We are actually here for a reason,” she says while pulling out two present boxes and handing one to each of us.
I look over the small box, wrapped in brown paper with a red bow on top, before looking over at Rian’s. His box is much larger, but still wrapped in the same paper and bow.
“You didn’t have to get us anything,” I say, about to rip open the tape.
“We didn’t. This is from Sloane.” My fingers pause mid-rip and I hear Rian intake a sharp breath.
“Why? How—” I try to clear my throat. “How do you have them?”
“Sloane said she had something made for the both of you, but she was worried Rian would snoop for presents and find them. So she asked if she could have them delivered to our house. We had totally forgotten about them till they showed up at our door, but by then Sloane was…” Her words trail off and she exhales a calming breath before continuing. “We were going to bring them to you earlier but thought she would have liked them delivered on Christmas Day.”
Rian stares at the package in his hand as he lets out an anguished sound and then coughs to hide it. “I, uh, thank you. Sorry, I uh, thanks for…” He sprints upstairs and we hear the bedroom door shut.
Looking back at the Dupont’s with tears filling my eyes, the words I need to say just not forming. With a sad expression, Chrissy pulls me into a tight hug.
I need Rook here. I can’t deal with this on my own.
“We will get out of your hair,” Marcus says as he slips Chrissy’s coat over her shoulders. “Can you text me later to let me know he’s okay?” I nod as he squeezes my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, we should’ve delivered them ages ago when they came. I just…” Chrissy looks ashamed that she might have ruined Christmas for us, but she doesn’t have to worry because Christmas was already fucked.
“No, please, it’s fine. This is exactly what Sloane would have wanted. You did the right thing. He… we… both just need to process.”
I walk them to the door and wish them both a Merry Christmas before checking Layla is still asleep in the lounge room.
Knocking on the doors to the master, I wait until Rian responds before entering, not wanting to disturb him if he isn’t ready. He’s sitting at the end of his bed, staring at a pair of new Bauer gloves in his hands.
“They’re gone,” I say, taking a seat on the rug in front of him, crossing my legs as I place the beautifully wrapped gift in front of me.
“She got you new gloves?”
He snorts as he looks back over the crisp, black shell. “Yeah, she got me new gloves.” He looks up at me, eyes puffy and bloodshot. He grabs the paper from the bed and tosses it at me.
Rian,
Your old gloves stink so badly that I feel like
I need to fumigate the laundry after every
session. I also thought that, thanks to our soon
to be new addition, it was time to upgrade.
I can’t wait to add more initials to these
gloves with you.
Potatoes
S x
When I look up, Rian is holding out the gloves for me to see the embroidered inscription on the inner cuff of both gloves. The left still says potatoes, but the right now has two lines of red stitching. The first says Daddy , and the second has LJ , Layla’s initials.
I cry uncontrollably, and Rian is right there, crying along with me, as he cradles the gloves.
“Potatoes?” I ask through snorts as I wipe my face with the sleeve of my onesie.
He chuckles, but it almost sounds more like a wail. “It’s something she said before we said I love you for the first time. I had no idea what she was on about. Every time we hung up the phone, or I dropped her off, she would kiss me and say potatoes before shutting the door.” He wipes at his eyes, but it doesn’t make any difference as his tears continue to fall.
“I remember thinking it was super weird, but I loved that about her, the way she was so different from anyone else.” He runs his finger over the stitching, his mind lost in the past. “I remember one day, taking her for ice cream and when I joined her at the table handing hers to her, she said it again. By now it had been like four months of her saying this word and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I asked her.
“She looked straight at me and smiled that megawatt smile and said, ‘potatoes has eight letters and so does I love you.’” He chokes out another sob. “She was telling me she loved me for months and I had no idea. Since then, it was just how we said it. She had it embroidered into my last pair of gloves too.” He places them gently on the bed next to the letter before sliding onto the floor next to me. “What did you get?”
“I’m not sure I want to open it.” I stare at it like it’s a beautifully wrapped emotion filled bomb.
“She wouldn’t want it to stay wrapped, Til.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath, lean in, and open the little box carefully.
Inside, I discover a small black box, and as I open it, a folded note catches my eye, delicately placed on top of a shimmering necklace. A Hopeless Mercy pick stares up at me, encased in acrylic and surrounded by white gold with a matching chain. I stare at the pick, recognizing it as one of the first picks we had made with our names printed on it.
I still remember the day our manager unveiled the box of black picks. We were all cheering and celebrating because we had finally made it. Graduating from plain to personalized picks.
Picking up the note, I stare at the ceiling, not ready for the last words Sloane will ever say to me. Rian’s hand finds mine, and he nods his encouragement. A ragged sigh escapes me as I take in the looping script.
Tilly, my Rockstar.
I know you often feel you aren’t good enough.
In life or in love. I wanted you to have something
as a reminder of how far you have come,
and how proud I am of you.
You have so much love to give to the world,
and when you meet the right person,
it will all just feel so effortless.
I kept this pick from the first show you
played on the Hopeless Mercy tour, nearly
ten years ago. You were so nervous before
you went out, but the second you were
under those lights. I knew this was
exactly where you were meant to be.
(You also flicked this at my head during the last song!)
Continue to love everyone unconditionally,
and know that I will always be right here,
loving you unconditionally right back.
S x
I crumple into a heaping pile of sobs and Rian scoops me up, pressing me to his chest as we both sit on the floor crying together, only breaking apart when the sounds of Layla giggling as she wakes filters through the baby monitor.
Reaching for my hand to help me up, I squeeze the little box in my hand. “More ice cream?” Rian asks and I nod, numbly walking after him as we make our way back towards the little girl who is the last piece of the person we miss the most.
After another two episodes of NCIS, I excuse myself from the lounge, finding myself back in Rian’s room, heading for Sloane’s closet. Needing a few minutes to soak her in before I can bottle it all back up and try to continue living without her.
The floor is still littered with clothing, haphazardly dropped from the last time she picked an outfit, neither Rian nor I able to bear the task of packing up her things. I run my hands along her dresses that hang on black coat hangers as I make my way towards the back of the room. Finding myself a corner in-between her coats and hoodies to tuck myself away. Surrounding myself in Sloane.
With my knees tucked up close, I lean my head on them, closing my eyes to fully immerse myself in her scent. With my eyes shut, I can pretend she is here with me. Sorting through her clothes as she works out the perfect outfit, telling me off for not showing off my curves.
I have no idea how long I sit huddled in the corner, but the sound of Rian calling for me jerks me back to reality. Sloane isn’t here, she isn’t anywhere. Tears are streaming down my face again, but I ignore them to go help Rian.
When I’m back on the landing, I call out but the sound of the doorbell stops me mid-yell.
“Can you get the door?” he shouts again, clearly busy with Layla based on the noise from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I whisper before repeating myself, louder, as I swipe at the damp streaks on my face “Uh yeah, I got it.”
Swinging the door open, I’m startled by a chorus of “Merry Christmas” coming from Jericho, Trace, Lennon and Charlie, smiling on our stoop.
“What are you all doing here? I thought you were staying in LA.” I’m baffled. We had talked earlier this week about our plans, but none of them mentioned a trip to Chicago.
“Yeah babe, we weren’t letting you two sit here alone all day.” Charlie hugs me, her bump now visible even through her winter layers. “We didn’t have time to organize a Christmas dinner, but we have Chinese,” she sings, holding up bags of takeout as she strides inside. Lennon walks in after her, also carrying multiple bags of delicious smelling food, giving me a kiss on the cheek as he passes.
“Tilly! Merry Christmas,” Trace says, leaning in to give me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before he drifts off, following the scent of food.
“Merry Christmas. We would have been here sooner, but we had to make a detour.” Jericho kisses me on the cheek. “I hope you like your present,” he says with a wink.
“The Chinese takeout?” I ask. Jericho laughs but doesn’t respond, stepping aside to reveal another person I hadn’t seen standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Rook smiles wide up at me, his hands tucked into his black double-breasted coat, a beanie firmly covering his head. Without thinking, I take off, slippers and all, jumping the three stairs straight into his arms. Thank God for his fast reflexes as he pulls his hands out of his coat just in time to catch me, as I wrap my arms and legs around his body.
I lean back in his arms as he chuckles. “Well, that was a nice welcome home.”
“What are you…” I’m too shocked to even form the words
“I called these guys and asked if I could bum a lift,” he chuckles, leaning in to nuzzle my neck and I hum at the feel of him.
“But your mom?”
“I spent yesterday and all morning with her. I brought her pastries, and we listened to Elvis, but I also wanted to be with my girl on Christmas.” His thumb runs across my cheek, his brow furrowing as he takes in my puffy eyes. “Yeah, I had a feeling you might need me.” He places gentle, loving kisses on my cheeks before finding my lips.
“Need you?” I lean back, smugly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, still attached to him like a spider monkey.
“No, the way you jumped into my arms was definitely not a sign of desperation.” He deadpans, but a soft smile rests across his face. His gloved hands run over my ass before he eases me to the floor.
“Nope, just missing your dick, that’s all.” I squeal when he tickles me, and I try to squirm out of his grip.
“We can fix that later, but I think the guys want to eat first. Then I’ll eat you for dessert.” He smacks my ass as I run up the steps and through the door, towards our unconventional family, my heart feeling lighter than it has in days.