41. Michelle
Chapter 41
Michelle
I ’m doomed to cursed holidays in Copper Run.
I sit on the couch, my feet curled up under my butt, with my fuzzy slippers on the carpet in front of me. Rocket is half curled in my lap after the loud noises. I look completely at home in a house that isn’t mine—with a family that belongs to the woman staring in my direction with her thin eyebrows perched high on her forehead.
“I should get going,” I say, unfurling my position and dusting my pajama pants off, as if specks of the awkward moment remain.
“Oh, Michelle—” Carol moans.
Brittany crawls, then stands, running to me and hugging my legs again.
“Don’t go,” she whines.
I pat her head and twirl my earring with my other hand, cutting my eyes to Tracy. She hasn’t stopped staring at me. I’m not the kind of woman to be intimidated, if that’s what she’s going for. But I understand when I’m unwanted.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Merry Christmas,” I say with a wave to Carol.
Brittany buries her head into my thigh, and I stifle a laugh by chewing on my bottom lip.
“Promise you’ll be here tomorrow?” she whispers.
“Promise.”
“Okay.” Then, reluctantly, she pulls away.
I give her the best smile I can muster. Carol exhales in frustration, narrowing her eyes at Tracy. I throw Tracy a gentle wave, but she doesn’t return it.
Fair enough .
I walk down the hall and back to the kitchen with Rocket beside me, but harsh footsteps follow us the whole way.
“Michelle.” Tracy’s voice comes out like a demand.
I sigh through my irritation and squeak around on my heel. “Thank you for inviting me, Tracy.”
She shakes her head. “The girls wanted you here.” Her eyes roll to the side, catching on something in the corner. “Cliff did too.”
I open my mouth and close it, but say nothing. I don’t know what I’d say anyway.
Tracy stalks over to the kitchen window, peering out to the road. Through the thick, falling snow, Cliff and Emily sit on the curb in their loose pajamas and no jacket.
Tracy’s shoulders pin back, and she tilts her chin higher, watching her daughter outside without her. She grips the edge of the wooden chair with white knuckles.
We’re too similar. I know because I do the same thing when I’m hurt—I attempt to cover any uncomfortable truth with pride, like a shield.
She darts her eyes to mine with the speed of a hawk.
“Tell me something,” she says like a cracking whip.
“All right,” I agree tentatively.
“Does Emily seem happy?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And Brittany?”
“She’s a kid,” I answer with a twitch of my mouth. “She could build a house out of sand and live inside without a care in the world.”
“You seem to know kids very well.”
“I don’t. But I know my sister, and she was like Brittany.” I tilt my head side to side. “Still is.”
“How old is she?”
“Old enough to probably not act that way.”
Tracy’s eyes dart between mine. “Are they happy with Cliff?”
I swallow. I don’t feel comfortable discussing Cliff with his ex, but the way her chin trembles, I find myself nodding.
“Yes,” I answer.
Tracy inhales and glances out the window again. She lets out the breath. “She chose him over me,” she says matter-of-factly, as if she were reading about their relationship through an encyclopedia.
I don’t answer.
I peer down at Rocket. He silently stares back at me. We’re at a loss for words today, I suppose.
“They …” Tracy pauses. “They really depend on him, don’t they?” The words start confident, and then with each syllable, she frowns further. All pretenses of confidence drain from her body.
“Yes.”
It’s sad to watch as her jaw tightens, but I don’t pity her. I see myself through her. It’s the same part of me that longed for my mom to want me the most.
“That’s good,” she says quietly. She finally turns to me. Her cheeks are blotchy. Her nose is red. Her jaw tenses. “Well, thank you for coming over.” It’s sharp, like disappointment is burning through as the reality she so carefully constructed in her mind immediately falls apart.
I turn to leave, but my heart suddenly beats so fast at the thought of not standing in this kitchen anymore, of not walking between their houses every afternoon. And not seeing Cliff. I have a couple of more days, but this feels weirdly definitive.
I won’t see his cocky smile burst at the sight of me. I won’t hear his low, husky laugh. I won’t hear his sarcasm and non sequiturs. I won’t hear his terrible jokes that make me laugh despite myself. I won’t feel his palm roam over my knee, onto my waist, and against my cheek. I won’t feel his hair tickle between my fingers.
But most of all, I’ll be across the country, where I won’t be seen . Not really. Not like Cliff does.
“Michelle?” Tracy asks.
I blink out my reverie and back to her. She’s staring at me again.
My nose feels hot. The area behind my eyes sting.
“I’m heading out,” I say stiffly.
My bottom lip trembles despite myself, and I hate it so much for doing so.