Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Tuesday morning, I sat on a stool in the kitchen, the room dimly lit by the grey light seeping through the window. More snow, finally. Not that I loved bad weather, but Calgary was so much prettier in the winter when it was white.
I stared at my hands, fingers entwined, resting on the smooth, cold countertop. My eyes were red-rimmed and sand-blasted. I was theoretically all cried out, but sitting in an empty kitchen when I was supposed to be at home drinking wassail nearly started another round.
The phone rang, and the sound sliced through the silence like a knife. I flinched. It couldn’t be Logan. Possibly a friend, but doubtful. Most likely my parents. Did I want to talk to them? I definitely didn't want to explain myself because I shouldn’t have to.
The plumber.
Damn it, I had to pick it up.
I stood and rounded the counter, then reached for the phone. I lifted the receiver to my ear, bracing myself for whatever was on the other end of the line. "Hello?" My voice cracked.
"Hello, Sharla.” Not the plumber. Mom’s voice was soft. Reserved. The one she always used when she was trying to avoid conflict.
“Hello.” I’d already said that, but I didn’t know what else to lead with. Silence stretched between us for a moment. I stared at Rob’s card still sitting on the counter. He’d just left it there, trusting me not to read it.
Mom clicked her tongue. “We were planning to go ice skating at the mall today.”
Fantastic. A guilt trip. “I guess you still can.”
She let out a slow breath. “We don’t want to go without you.”
I clenched my teeth. “Who’s we?”
"Sharla, everything you told us . . . it was a long time ago. You've both changed since then."
My hands balled into fists at my sides. "It doesn't matter how long ago it was! It still happened, and nobody has ever acknowledged it. Nobody has ever apologized."
Her voice wavered. "I know, sweetheart. But it's not that simple. They're family."
I wanted to scream. To throw the phone across the room. Family. Of course. Why wouldn’t that take precedence over their own flesh-and-blood daughter?
"Why can't you tell him to leave?" The words tumbled out of me, hot and angry.
My mom's breath hitched. "Sharla, I can't just kick them out. It’s Christmas."
I drew in a shaky breath, my chest heaving. "I see." My voice was barely a whisper. "Well, I guess that tells me everything I need to know."
I moved to hang up the phone when I heard, “Sharla? There’s something I need to tell you.” I pursed my lips, placing the receiver back against my ear.
Mom cleared her throat. “We got a letter in the mail from the Alberta Heritage Fund. They awarded you eight hundred dollars.”
My mind went completely blank.
“It looks like it’s an academic award or something,” she continued. “I deposited it in your bank account this morning.”
“Oh.” The word escaped with a breath. “Thank you.” An academic award? I got good grades, but when had I been submitted for something like that?
“You’re welcome.” After a few moments of silence, she said, “I need to go get groceries.”
I forced my lips to move. “Okay. Talk to you later.”
“Love you, Shar.”
I hung up the receiver. I didn’t say it back. I knew I should’ve, but I couldn’t drag the words out. It didn't matter how long ago it had been. My parents still didn't get it. I knew they loved me. I knew they wanted what was best for me, but in that moment, it didn't feel like enough.
And eight hundred dollars? What kind of insane conversation did I just have?
I stared at the receiver, the dial tone echoing in my ears. My chest felt hollow, like I'd been carved out with a soup spoon. I leaned against the countertop, my legs shaking as the guilt set in.
I shouldn’t have lashed out.
I’d almost hung up on my mother, and I didn’t say “I love you.”
“What a bitch.”
My head snapped up. Rob stood on the other side of the island, his hair dishevelled. “That’s my mom you’re talking about.”
He walked to the cupboard. “Still stands.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “You and my fifteen-year-old self would’ve gotten along.”
“Hmm. She sounds hot. Was she already a big Bryan Adams fan?”
I snorted, then turned so he wouldn’t see my flushed cheeks from his comment. I pulled a banana off the bunch.
Rob pulled out a bowl and grabbed a spoon from the drawer. "I'm sorry, by the way."
I frowned. "For what?"
Rob poured himself a bowl of Fruit Loops. "For eavesdropping."
I grabbed the milk for him and passed it across the counter. “Yeah. That was a dick move.”
He shrugged, sitting down across from me. "Not quite as dickish as talking loud at nine-thirty in the morning." I feigned indignation as he poured his milk. "I'm sorry you're not going home for Christmas."
“That’s a lot of apologies for one morning.”
Rob chuckled, then pushed the Fruit Loops box toward me. “This morning calls for more than a banana.”
I hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks.” I grabbed a bowl and spoon.
Rob started eating, and I followed suit. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had something that tasted like literal childhood. Like Buckshot and Benny with Saturday morning cartoons.
We sat there in silence, the only sound the clinking of our spoons against the porcelain bowls. When I finished my cereal, I set my spoon down and looked up to find Rob watching me. "Thanks for this."
He took his last bite and swallowed. “For calling your mom a bitch?”
I grinned. “Exactly.”
“Anytime.” His mouth quirked, and he dropped his eyes.
I took my bowl to the sink, then reached for Rob’s. He pushed it forward but didn’t let go. “I changed my mind.”
I frowned. “About what?” My heart flipped. About moving out? I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. So ironic. It was all I’d wanted for the past year, and now that it was happening, I felt like my stomach was on a merry-go-round.
“Maybe we can be friends.” Rob let go of his bowl and the handle of his spoon skittered along the edge.
I rinsed both our dishes and put them in the dishwasher just as a knock came at the door. Was it possible for a plumber to be early?
Rob stood and answered it. The plumber walked in with a bucket and tool belt, and Rob smiled, making easy small talk as he led him into his washroom.
I walked back into my room to get ready for the day, then stopped. There was nothing to get ready for. I took in my rumpled bed and, before I could question it, crawled back in and pulled the covers up to my chin.
_____
When I woke, afternoon light slanted through the window, bathing the room in a honeyed glow. How long had I slept?
I jumped out of bed and cleaned up in the washroom, then put on fresh clothes and brushed my hair. I walked out to the living room and found Rob sitting on the couch with a book. Rob read books?
He glanced up and smiled. "Ready to go?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Normally I would ask what he was talking about, but then Rob grinned and stood from the couch. He walked to the front door and grabbed his coat.
Okay, then. Apparently, we were going out.
We walked to his truck and drove. I stared out at the campus as we drove past. The trees were bare, their branches stretching like fingers against the grey sky. Fresh snow already dusted the sidewalks.
Rob parked at the A&W and turned to me. “I was craving a Teen Burger.”
I grinned. “And poutine.”
We crossed the parking lot, and Rob held the door for me. The warm smell of root beer, onions and fries enveloped us. We ordered, and I insisted on paying for Rob’s food to thank him for picking me up at the gas station.
Normally, an added expense like that would’ve stressed me out, but with that award, my bank account was flush.
We collected our tray and sat across from each other in the corner booth. I unwrapped my Teen Burger carefully, the paper crinkling in my hands. The first bite was perfect—charbroiled beef, crisp lettuce, and that tangy, mustardy sauce.
Rob lifted his burger, his elbows on the table as he leaned in, focused. "I don’t know if there are enough pickles.”
I laughed, spearing a gooey forkful of poutine. The cheese curds stretched as I lifted the fork to my mouth. "You should probably complain." He took a big bite. “What’s the verdict?”
He held up a finger while he chewed and swallowed. “It’s good.”
I snorted. “Excellent recommendation.” I took another bite, then washed it down with a gulp of root beer. "This doesn't feel like Christmas.”
Rob raised an eyebrow. “What does Christmas feel like?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Rob shrugged. “We didn’t have many traditions growing up.”
I set my burger down. “Why aren’t you going home for Christmas?” I’d wanted to ask him since yesterday, but there were too many distractions. Rob was from BC, I knew that much, but I had no prior knowledge of his family situation.
He hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of his tray. "It’s complicated."
I stayed quiet, giving him space to continue like he’d done for me.
"My mom died when I was nine," he said finally. "She had cancer. It was fast. One day she was there, and then she wasn’t."
My heart clenched. When we told me about his dad screwing him over for taxes, I’d just assumed his mom was still there for him.
He nodded, not meeting my eyes. "After that, it was just me and my dad. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who knew how to be a parent. He worked long hours at the mill, and when he wasn’t working, he was drinking. By the time I was in high school, he’d pretty much checked out completely."
I swallowed hard, the warmth of the food in my stomach replaced by a cold knot. "That sounds . . . really hard."
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Hockey got me through. I spent more time at the rink than I did at home. My coach—he kind of stepped in, you know? Made sure I had rides to practice, helped me apply for scholarships. He was the one who pushed me to leave BC and come here."
"And your dad?"
Rob shrugged, leaning back in the booth. "We haven’t talked in years. Last I heard, he sold the house and moved up north somewhere. I don’t even know if he remembers I exist half the time."
I blew out a breath. “Welp. I think I’m the asshole.”
Rob laughed out loud. “That’s what you took from that?”
I fell back in my chair. “Absolutely. For the past month, I’ve been complaining about my boyfriend being gone, and then I made you come pick me up and told you my sob story?—”
“Yes, let’s rank our sad childhood histories.” He smirked.
I watched him momentarily, then leaned forward and popped a fry in my mouth. “We need to make this Christmas magical.”
Rob’s grin faded, his brow pinching. The air between us seemed to thicken. “And how do you suggest we do that?”
“I don't know, but we don’t even have a tree. Or lights. Or anything."
Rob's lips twitched. "You want a tree?"
I shrugged. "Maybe? I don't know. It just feels weird to have nothing."
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "We could put up some decorations."
“Do you have any?”
Rob took a drink of his root beer. “I’ve got something that could work.”