Chapter 20
Christmas was always full of magic at Grandee’s house.
Not the kind you see in commercials and movies. But one that was reserved for the earth and the moon.
Linden and I would light candles that Grandee placed in windows all around the house and hang dried orange slices and cranberries in garlands with rosemary.
The yule log was wrapped with yarn from the last year to burn on the longest night of the year.
Our tree was decorated with pine cones and dried berries strung with colored wool and lights.
We made ornaments that hung every year like tiny monuments to the past, sharing our lives from when we’d made them.
Small gifts of little or no consequence, but that made us smile or laugh, filled the bottom of our tree.
Because presents weren’t the point of Christmas.
Grandee would sit behind a table at the community center and serve plates of food and baked goods to families that didn’t have dinners or had nowhere to go. Linden would dress up like an elf and give out presents to all the kids and gift cards to all the adults. And I always cleaned up.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was our version of tradition.
This year, as Christmas gets closer, I wonder if Linden will come home or if I’ll have to be the elf this year.
She’s been at Carter’s lake house for so long, with “one more day” stretching into another, that I’m considering sending a picture of my face just so she doesn’t forget what I look like.
But it would only be me in the art studio, where I am every day, including today.
Avoiding Max. Who I feel like might also be avoiding me. I haven’t seen him since the night I thought we were going to kiss. But I’ve made sure to not be in the studio when he’s supposed to be, so it’s hard to tell.
Even thinking about kissing and Max in the same breath feels wrong.
I get a text from Linden two days before Christmas while working on my section of the mural. She texts me that she won’t be back to celebrate it. Everyone is planning on staying. It’s accompanied by a video of snow falling outside giant floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake.
I send a separate text to Grandee while I wait for my paint on the mural to dry. It’s the first coat on the canvas, and I feel nervous about how it’ll turn out.
I thought everyone had to come back for Christmas?
She texts back:
Hello Nieve!
Do you mean the solstice? I think everyone’s allowed to celebrate it how they feel.
Love, Grandee
I close my eyes and let out a deep breath, because she always sends texts like she’s writing a letter in the 1800s. And of course she’s pretending like she doesn’t know what Christmas is.
Behind me, I hear the door open and shut with a loud clunk, and Max walks in. I don’t jump, and I’m proud of myself for it. He gives me a smile, a small one, but it’s forced.
“You’re here,” he says, not really surprised.
“I’m here.”
He takes in my expression and frowns. “What’s with the face?”
I debate just brushing him off with a “nothing,” but the fact that he noticed something was wrong makes me want to be honest. “Linden is staying at the lake house for Christmas.”
He shakes his head, like he isn’t surprised but is disappointed. “I heard.”
“Do you have plans?”
“I go to my sister and her husband’s house. Nothing huge, but it’s the only time I see them.” He gives me a serious look. “Your grandmother doesn’t care that Linden isn’t coming home?”
“Grandee has always been more into the winter solstice. So, by the time the twenty-fifth comes around, she’s already done with celebrating.”
“Your grandmother really leans into the whole witch thing, huh?”
“She doesn’t try to beat the allegations, no.”
His expression changes to something a little more serious … a little more unsure. “Um, Grandee asked if I would drop you off at home.”
“Home?” I’m confused.
“Your house is close to where my sister lives, and Grandee wanted to see if I could give you a ride.”
Something scratches at my mind that this is odd, before it dawns on me. “You text with Grandee?”
“We exchanged numbers when I borrowed the truck.” The way he says it, like it’s completely normal, makes me feel like maybe I’ve missed something. A sentiment that seems to be growing more and more familiar.
But my insides roil a bit at the thought of being in a car with him for two hours alone. Again. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”
For the next two days, I barely see Max. And then, on a cold, overcast Christmas Eve morning, he’s driving me to Grandee’s.
It’s quiet in the car, something that feels oddly comforting with him, and I can’t tell why that bothers me as much as it does. So I say, “I’m really sorry you have to drive out here instead of spending time with your family.”
Max shifts down as we drive up a hill, and he passes a semitruck hauling hay. “It’s not a problem. I was free.”
Music plays softly in the background as silence finds us again. I think of all the drives with Linden on these same roads and how the car is never quiet, even on the days we don’t want to talk.
“Are your parents happy that you’re at a fine arts school?” I ask.
“My parents?” He looks over at me with an amused expression.
“Yeah.” Suddenly, I’m a little self-conscious about my question. “I’ve never heard you talk about them.”
“Steve and Amy don’t come up in a lot of conversations.” He laughs a little. “Other than this one.”
I stare out at the fields that seem to stretch on forever, trying to hide my embarrassment at asking such a personal question.
But I turn back to him, feeling like I need to defend myself.
“It didn’t come out of nowhere. I was asking because you said you don’t spend holidays with them, just your sister. And … I was curious.”
Max looks at me like he’s just now seeing the way my brain spiderwebs into different places and conclusions. He takes a deep breath.
“My parents are missionaries. They’re overseas in China, where they’ve been since I left home.
My brother is building schools in Thailand with his wife.
And my sister is normal and doesn’t make me feel bad that I didn’t go to Bible college and ended up at one of the best schools for art in the country instead. ”
The way he’s said normal makes me think he’s not a big fan of his parents or brother. “I didn’t know you were religious.”
He looks at me and laughs. “I’m not. They are.”
“But you know a lot about church stuff.”
He shrugs. “You know a lot about sheep, but you’re not a shepherd.”
“That’s not the same.”
The phone rings through the speakers of the car, cutting the music off, and the display reads CHAD III.
Max answers and says into the cab of the car, “Hey.”
Carter’s voice filters in and seems to come from all sides. “Hey, Maximo. How’s break? You still following Nieve around like a stalker?”
“Carter.”
“Have you talked to her? You should just tell her—”
Max yanks the aux cord from the phone, and static from the radio replaces the call.
“I’m in the car with Nieve, and you were on speaker.
” He glances at me before telling me, “He says hi,” and then back to the road.
“Not anymore … No … No … I will … Please fuck off … Dear god, why is anyone your friend?” He sighs. “No … No … I said no—Fine!”
Max plugs the phone back in. His eyes are still forward when he says, “You’re plugged in.”
“Hey, Nieve.”
“Hey, Carter.” My voice is wary because … what the fuck is this?
“How’s break been?”
“Quiet.” It almost comes out like a question.
“Can you do me a favor? A Christmas gift, if you will?” This is something that never changes—the way Carter uses his charm to ask for something.
“What is it?”
“Can you be nice to my boy Max?”
“Carter—” Max warns.
“He’s alone this Christmas, and I know he would love to have company. Maybe invite him over to have dinner? Like charity or a date or just two friends eating sad Christmas foods because they didn’t come up to the lake house.”
My stomach twists and turns. “Where’s Linden?” I ask, annoyed.
“The hot tub. She’s gonna be pissed that I talked to you and she didn’t.”
Max clears his throat. “Okay, Carter, we’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait, Max—”
“What?”
“Have you talked to Alex at all?”
“No.” His voice is quiet when he says it.
“Can you call her?”
His shoulders stiffen before he answers. “I’m busy.”
“But—”
Max disconnects the call.
We ride in silence for a bit longer. My mind lists the questions I want to ask in order but shuffles through them as I figure out which ones I’ll be brave enough to speak.
“Alex is the girl who is Carter’s Moby Dick?”
I know the answer because I’ve been stalking her for almost two months now.
His shoulders straighten. “A family friend. His family. But she’s not speaking to him right now.”
“How come?”
Max lets out a weary breath. “So many reasons. But basically, it comes down to Carter being an idiot and never really saying what he wants.”
My lungs feel like they’re filled with rocks. “What does he want?”
“That’s the problem. He doesn’t know, but Alex does. She’s graduating early with a master’s, she’s got an internship lined up, and she got engaged.”
Engaged.
“Carter isn’t a fan of her fiancé. Which is why they aren’t speaking right now.”
I wonder how I missed an entire person in my relationship with him. “What did Carter mean when he said you have nowhere to go? Did something happen at your sister’s?”
“Carter is just being Carter. Ignore him.” Except I feel like I can’t.
When we pull up to Grandee’s, she’s already on the porch. Max helps me with my things, but Grandee demands he come inside, and it seems Max has realized that arguing with her is impossible.
Inside, he keeps his coat on as he grumbles an excuse. “It looks like it might snow.”
“Dinner?” Grandee asks Max.
“Oh, that’s okay. I should be getting back.”
“Back?” I ask. I thought his sister lived close.
“Oh, nonsense. I made a huge thing of chicken and dumplings that will go to waste if you don’t sit down and eat some.”