Chapter Twenty-Eight
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LIESEL
I t’s Christmas morning. We moved Coop into the guest room last night, so I’m waking up in my childhood bedroom.
To Coop’s face.
A gasp escapes my lips, and then I clutch my chest, breathing hard.
The life-size cutout of Coop is right next to my bed.
My brothers kept it?
Just when I thought I couldn’t hate them more …
I’m this close to marching into their room and jumping on their dumb faces to wake them up when I think better of it. If they’re awake, they make trouble.
Besides, a quick check of my phone tells me it’s not even 7 a.m., and we aren’t allowed to wait on the stairs until 7:30.
Not even at twenty-five years old.
I open my phone to check my messages and see a text from Juliet from only a few minutes ago. We talked last night, and she was as happy for Coop and me as she was sad for Coop and his family.
Juliet
Merry Christmas! Did your family kill Coop in his sleep?
Liesel
I don’t think so.
She responds right away.
Juliet
You didn’t check?? Lee!
Liesel
They’re getting along! We played like five board games last night, and they barely even fought.
Juliet
Well deck the halls and call me Santa.
Liesel
I know!
Juliet
How are you? First Christmas at home, and all that. 3
Liesel
It’s actually nice being home. I miss Mom, but it hurts less being with everyone. It almost feels like she’s here.
Juliet
I’m so glad. Keep me posted on how the day goes. Love you, friend!
Liesel
Love you too! Give Nate a hug for me.
I put my phone back down on the bedside table and stretch like a cat. Then I look around my room. I redecorated it in high school, with Mom overseeing it. The light sage green of the walls has always felt calming to me. Bookshelves surround my desk—a time capsule devoted to my love of sci-fi, fantasy, and awesomeness—and high shelves line the walls. Unlike the shelves in my brothers’ room, which are full of trophies, mine are full of memories. Bobbleheads from baseball games. Seashells from beach vacations. Honor roll certificates and perfect attendance awards. And the angels my mom started to collect after her mom died, only a year before my mom first got sick.
For a while, I collected them with her. I stopped when she passed, but I’ve never stopped loving them.
I miss my mom.
I miss her so much.
This hollow spot in my heart will never heal, but after the last few weeks with Coop, I feel a little like the tree outside. I can grow around the wound. It will never be gone, but what I can become is all the more unique—more beautiful—because of it.
I open my closet and pull down a box from the top shelf. My mom bought and wrapped Christmas sweaters for us for the next … I don’t know how many years. Dad gave the boys theirs the day after Thanksgiving, but I skipped out. Just like I skipped out on decorating the tree and the house and going to see Christmas lights. And just like I missed Christmas Adam with Mom’s family. At least I can blame the storm for that one.
But I don’t want to miss out on anything else. That’s not what she’d want for any of us. Nothing made Mom happier than being with her family. I felt the same way once, and I felt it again yesterday.
Nothing makes me happier than being with my family.
The fact that Coop was also here …
I can’t think that far ahead. The very possibility sets off an excited flurry in my chest.
I unwrap the gorgeous red and white twine bow and kraft paper Mom always put around our presents. The idea of her making sure we always have new Christmas sweaters makes me smile. I can imagine her lovingly picking each out. Making sure they were all carefully, beautifully wrapped. Gift after gift after gift.
But … my mom didn’t wrap this. She couldn’t have. She wasn’t able to wrap for years.
This was my dad.
My heart grows three sizes thinking of my big, beefy dad, of his huge hands doing such delicate work, and all because of his love for his wife. For his kids. For me.
I am so lucky.
I pull the twine, open the crisp white Kraft paper, and then look at the simple “ Love, Mom ” note that my dad copied from a card she wrote one of us years ago.
I pull the tissue paper off the sweater and laugh in shock.
Liesel
YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT CHRISTMAS SWEATER MY MOM GOT ME!
I snap a picture, laughing with tears streaming down my face. It’s an ugly gray sweatshirt featuring a calico kitten sitting in a stocking wearing a Santa hat. Beneath the kitten in a festive script, it reads “The stockings were hung by the chimney with cats.”
It’s Juliet’s sweater!
Her response is immediate:
Juliet
Lee! *sob face emoji*
*angel emoji*
*Twin emoji*
I hold the sweater to my chest and laugh, letting happy tears pour down my face. How can Mom be gone and still be with me?
I put the sweater on over my pajamas and look at my reflection in the closet mirror. My hair’s a mess and I have no makeup on, but my smile …
I look happy.
I feel happy.
How it’s possible to miss her so much and be so happy is a mystery I don’t know if I’ll ever solve. But maybe it has something to do with gratitude. Gratitude that she loved me so much.
I hug my arms tightly around myself.
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. “I love it.”
I check the time. It’s 7:12 a.m. I tiptoe out of my room and downstairs. My brothers probably set their alarm for 7:30 on the dot, because they like sleep, but they’re also basically big, dumb children. My slippers land softly on the floor as I pass Dad’s office and stop at the cracked door to the guest room. The sun is just about to peek over the horizon, and it’s letting in enough light through the blinds to show that Coop isn’t in bed. The light is off in the guest bathroom, too.
I pad through the house, looking in each room until I find him.
On the bench at the bay window in the family room, he’s looking out at the snow-covered front yard while he pulls on a therapy band, working out his arm. The room is still dark enough in the early morning sun that the lights twinkling from the tree and from where they line the ceiling cast a cozy glow on him. In a pair of green and cream flannel pajama pants and a cream waffle knit top, he looks Christmasy without being embarrassing (unlike my brothers). The look reflects the other side of his personality that I’ve gotten to know and love. Not everything about Coop is showy. So much of him is sincere and real. All of him is pretty wonderful.
A creak in the hardwood floor gives me away, and Coop spins to see me. He stands and smiles, but when his eyes catch my sweatshirt, a wide-mouthed gape replaces it. “Where did you get it?”
“It’s the Christmas sweater my mom left for me this year.”
I meet him in front of the Christmas tree, and he holds me close. “She’s even more awesome than I thought.” He kisses my temple, and his hand fiddles with the collar of the sweatshirt. At first, it feels like he’s just playing with the skin at the nape of my neck. But then he angles his head, and I feel the thick cotton pull from the back of my neck.
I push away with big eyes. “Are you checking the size?”
“Just seeing if it’s big enough to fit me!”
“You’re not stealing my sweatshirt.”
“You stole mine.”
“I won yours. In a bet,” I say.
“We tied.”
“First place is first place.”
“I want the sweatshirt.” Coop tugs on the bottom of it and I push him away with a laugh. “Take it off.”
His hands grip the bottom of the sweatshirt, and he tugs me against him. “I’m not taking it off.”
His hands pinch my sides, and he grits his teeth in that playful manner that makes me want to squeal. “I guess I’ll have to stick around for a while, Sugar Plum.”
I smile, stretching up enough that he kisses the tip of my nose. “Oh yeah? How long is that?”
My eyes close as he kisses one eyelid and then the other. “How long will it take you to let your guard down?”
“Long. Like, super long. Years. Maybe decades.”
His lips are roaming my face, pressing softly against the skin of my forehead, cheeks, chin, and jaw. Then I feel his breath against my mouth and the softest brush of his lips against mine. “I’m good with that,” he says.
I smile as he kisses me. I’m kissing Cooper Kellogg in front of a Christmas tree in my childhood home. I have a life-size cutout of him upstairs in my bedroom. But the real thing down here is so much better.
He gives me another soft kiss and then rests his forehead against mine. I open my eyes to see that he’s smiling.
“Have you heard from your parents?” I ask.
“I got a ‘Merry Christmas! We love you’ text about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Did you try calling them again?”
His lips pull to the side the way they do when he’s holding back emotion. “No. They’ll call me when they have time.”
Hurt and defeat war on his face, while outrage burns in my chest. He loves his parents with his whole heart, and they sound like amazing people. But how are they not beside themselves trying to get in touch with him? What excuse could they possibly have?
“I’m sorry,” I say. Upstairs, my brothers’ alarm goes off. “We need to go sit on the stairs before the Tweebs find us.”
We get up, and he puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk to the stairs. “Tweebs?”
“Twin dweebs. I stole it from a TV show when I was a kid.”
“But you’re triplets.”
“Technically, they’re identical twins and I’m a fraternal triplet.”
We sit at the foot of the stairs, and a moment later, my brothers lumber down the stairs, yawning. I rest my head on Coop’s shoulder.
“Does that mean I really can call them the Fischer Twins?”
“No,” I say immediately. “You can call them Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber. Tweebs. Dorkwads. Twerps. Jagweeds—” Lucas flicks the back of my head.
“Don’t hit her!” Coop says, turning to slap Lucas’s hand.
“Kids, that’s enough,” Dad says from the top of the stairs. All four of us turn to see him wearing a Santa hat, red and white checked pajama pants, and no shirt, although he’s holding one in his hand. He’s all giant pecs and chiseled abs.
Coop gawks. “Cover those things up, bro. There are children present!”
He stuffs an arm into the hole of his white shirt and then the other as he walks down the stairs.
My dad is disgustingly ripped. Honestly, he’s pretty much ruined muscles for me. So while I appreciate that Coop is toned and athletic, it’s also kind of a snooze fest. His cocky smirk, on the other hand, makes me weak in the knees.
Not that he’s smirking now. He’s almost cowering as my dad pulls the shirt over his head on his descent. The four of us separate like Moses parting the Red Sea, and when Dad passes, Coop stares in awe.
“Your dad is terrifying.”
“I know.”
My brothers push past us next, and then Coop and I stand. “I’m taller, though.”
I give him a peck on his cheek. “And you should be very proud.”
We spend the morning opening presents, most of which are things like books, socks, See’s Candy, and special salts for smoking meat. Dad gets me a dainty gold satellite chain and smiles when I put it on.
“I thought it would look good with your mom’s earrings,” he says.
I jump up and hug him, careful not to disturb a sleeping Bear on his lap. “I love it. Thanks, Daddy.”
“Coop, sorry we didn’t have more for you,” Dad says, even though he most definitely took a couple of name tags off of my brothers’ gifts and gave them to Coop.
“Right, like that hoodie wasn’t meant for me?” Logan grumbles.
“You have plenty of hoodies,” Lucas says. “He got my Redmond Real Salts. How am I supposed to grill now?”
“Those were mine, too,” Logan says, pointing. “Yours are right there.”
“Score!” Lucas says.
“Sorry, boys,” Dad says with a chuckle.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Coop says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you guys anything. But, I do have something for Liese.” He pulls a gift bag from the bench where he was sitting this morning. I give him a quizzical look and pull out the gift wrap and then take out a Firebirds jersey. It has Coop’s name on it.
I snort. “Seriously?”
“What? You look hot with my name on your back.” My brothers, Dad, and I all groan. “Put it on.”
I’m wearing pajamas under my cat sweatshirt, so I peel off the sweatshirt and put on the jersey. It’s one of the really nice ones that players wear, though this one’s too small for Coop. It’s roomy without being too baggy, and it maintains its structure when I tuck the front into my pajama bottoms. It will look amazing with some leggings or jeans, and the idea of Coop’s hungry eyes on me makes me flush. I hope my family thinks I’m just embarrassed. “There. Happy now?”
“Very,” he says suggestively. Then he rips the cat sweatshirt from my hands and throws it on. “No take backs! Merry Christmas!”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “I will pry that off your dead body.”
“I’m not dead.”
“You will be.”
He grins and looks at the bag. “There’s one more thing in there.”
My forehead wrinkles as I look at the bottom of the bag to see …
The gorgeous wrought iron and ceramic angel ornament from Feeding Futures.
“Coop,” I breathe. I hug him and he wraps his arms around me tightly. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“That’s nice,” Dad says. I hang the ornament carefully on the tree and pause to look at it among all my mom’s favorites. It’s beautiful.
Then I grab a box from under the tree and turn back to Coop.
“I got you something, too.”
“You mean in addition to the sweatshirt, right?” he asks.
“No chance.” I hand him the box.
He opens it up and then grins. It’s a sweatshirt with Buddy the Elf on it … but with Coop’s face on it instead of Will Ferrell’s.
He laughs and hugs me again.
“Ugh, you two are disgusting. I hope you break up soon,” Lucas says.
Dad throws a pillow at his head at the same time that Coop says, “We’re not breaking up.” He holds me tighter when he says this, and it feels final. Like he’s putting a stamp on this relationship.
Coop and Liesel.
Done.
I grin.
“Well, then, I guess we should show you our present, Coop,” Logan says with a sigh. He and Lucas swap mischievous glances.
“You guys got him a present?” I ask skeptically. “If it’s a flaming bag of dog poop?—”
“Dude! We’re grown men. We’re not pulling some dumb prank on the guy. Chill,” Lucas says.
“We’ll be right back,” Logan says.
The two run for the stairs, and based on the pounding, they’re taking them two at a time.
“I have a terrible feeling about this,” I say.
“Me too,” Coop says.
“Not me,” Dad says, leaning back on the armchair in a way that makes his guns look even more massive. He grins at Coop, and the feeling of foreboding intensifies.
My brothers run down the stairs like a herd of elephants, and a moment later, they appear with something behind their backs.
Or someone?—
“NO!” I scream, rushing them. “No way!”
Logan holds me back while Lucas pulls the life-size Coop cutout from behind his back. Every part of Coop opens up in gleeful delight. His eyes, his mouth, his arms. He looks at me and says, “YOU LOVE ME!” Then he bursts out laughing. And so do my brothers and Dad. They all laugh themselves to tears, while I stand there and punch my brothers’ shoulders as hard as I can.
Dad gets up and tries to pull me off of the tweebs, but he’s laughing too hard to keep a hold of me. Coop succeeds where he fails. “Why are you mad? This is the best gift I’ve ever been given.”
“I hate all of you. I’m running away from home.”
“Don’t go, Lee!” Logan says through his stupid streaming laugh-tears.
“We love you!” Lucas says, clutching his stomach.
I punch the Coop cutout in the face before the real Coop can stop me, and that only makes everyone laugh harder.
Including me.
“I guess you really did get everything you wanted for Christmas,” Coop says.
“I hate you.”
“Nope. I have proof. You love me,” he says, folding me in his arms and rocking us back and forth. “Or you will soon enough.”
The cockiness on this guy!
Dad sets Bear down and starts picking up wrapping paper and putting it into a large black garbage bag, and the rest of us quickly chip in. When Coop tosses his wrapping paper in the bag, I hear my dad ask, “What does your family do Christmas morning?”
“We watch Christmas movies while we do a gingerbread house competition every year.”
“That sounds fun. I’m sorry we don’t have any kits.”
“They definitely do not use kits. Am I right?” I say to Coop.
He nods, a wistful smile on his face. “We homemake the gingerbread.”
Dad slaps him on the back and Coop falls forward. “All right! Looks like we have a new tradition, kids! Coop, show us how it’s done.”
I watch as my dad takes Coop into the kitchen and my brothers follow. My heart thumps in time with their steps. But there’s an ache there, too, and this time it’s not because I miss my mom. It’s because I know how much Coop misses his.
My family has rallied around him. They’re not just accommodating him, they’re making him feel at home. That can’t change the fact that it’s not his home, though. And the song is exactly right: there really is no place like home for the holidays.