40. Lyla
Chapter forty
Lyla
There was something nauseating about Christmas. Maybe it was the fact that I never had the classic Christmas card Christmas, where there was a happy two-parent household with a sparkling silver and gold tree in the background. Holiday tunes would play on the radio, and everyone would take turns unwrapping green and red boxes while someone’s dad videotaped the event.
It would have to be someone’s dad because there was no way in hell it was mine. The last time I saw Aaron Brooks for Christmas, I was a junior in high school. It was three months before everything happened with Hunter, and it was the last time I spent Christmas Eve with anyone except my mom.
After being home for two days, I wasn’t sure why I looked up Hunter’s Instagram account. He looked happy and carefree, playing football for Ohio State, and according to his profile, he was still dating Anna.
Even though I spent most of my childhood with Anna, she looked like someone I had never met. It was wild to think we still existed on the same planet. A person I had known for almost twelve years became a stranger overnight. It made me wonder if our friendship had ever been real.
It still hurt when I thought about how she reacted to my experience with Hunter. She made me feel like I was entirely in the wrong; that I was some sort of prude for not falling even more in love with the guy who gave me a memory I was trying desperately to get rid of. The night of Brady Blue Eyes was the first time I had spoken that story out loud in five years. If my best friend couldn’t validate me, how could I be sure someone else wouldn’t judge me the same way she had?
My version of the story would still be locked away somewhere if I hadn’t told Deacon. It was terrifying to think of another person making me feel embarrassed or ashamed for something that happened to me. He made me see my feelings as something . He made me feel seen.
My mom’s voice pulled me from the rabbit hole I was nesting in. “Sweetheart?”
I blinked a few times and fell back onto the couch. “What?”
She swiped away at a few tears rolling down her cheeks. “I said thank you for sharing that with me, and I’m sorry you’ve been—” She drew in a shaky breath, regaining her composure. “Honey, why didn’t you say anything?”
That was an easy answer. Seventeen-year-old me had no idea how to process what happened. Shit, I was twenty-two and still didn’t know how. In high school, my best friend told me I was overreacting to something that felt like everything. I never told my mom about Hunter because I was embarrassed and confused. But sitting across from her now, she didn’t carry any pity in her reaction. She looked proud of me.
Mom sniffed and shook her head. “God, and I just kept asking you about why you would want to change schools your senior year and—”
“Mom,” I said, reaching for her hand. “How the hell were you supposed to know? After everything that happened with Anna, I didn’t tell anyone. I just felt like I couldn’t.”
She sucked her teeth. “That little bitch. Making you feel that way for confiding in her? I let her come to our house for dinner! And you know I only make my homemade vodka sauce for family.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. It felt good to have this out in the open between us. “Are you angry I didn’t tell you?”
“Oh, honey, no. It only breaks my heart that you felt you couldn’t tell me sooner.”
I shrugged, feeling the dangerous pull behind my eyes. “I don’t think I knew how to express it until recently.”
Mom sipped her hot chocolate and poured another hefty dose of Baileys into her mug. She let it settle before taking another sip. “I’m so sorry, Jean Bean. There’s a lot I wish I could change for you, but that—” She covered her mouth with her hand, and I went and sat beside her on the couch.
I spoke slowly as I tried to process my thoughts. “I think it would do me some good to talk to someone. Like a therapist?”
“Anything you want, we’ll figure it out,” she assured me. “Have you told anyone else? What made you revisit this after all these years?”
I reached across the table for my hot chocolate. Mom handed me the Baileys, and I helped myself to a small pour. I still had to drive to Detroit to be at Deacon’s house by three, and it was already noon.
“Deacon.” I grinned unintentionally. “He’s easy to talk to. He’s—” I struggled to finish the sentence. Deacon was many things, and it was hard to sum him up in a one-word answer.
“He’s a special guy,” Mom offered with a small smile.
“Yeah.” I chuckled at her apparent smitten expression. “He’s pretty special.”
We rinsed our mugs in the sink, and Mom helped me bring my bags downstairs. I knew she had more questions, but for the first time in my life, she held her tongue .
“Let me know when you get there, okay?” She pulled me in for a hug. “And tell Deacon that he has to visit me before he becomes this big-time doctor.”
“He has a lot of school left, Mom. I think we have time.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I actually only had a few more months and that Dr. Scott would be living in Minnesota with a woman named Cassie.
Since everyone was traveling for the holidays, it took me an extra fifteen minutes to get to Deacon’s house. I pulled down his street and rolled slowly, like a creeper from one of those suspenseful kidnapping movies. I scanned the rows of cheerfully lit houses, immediately impressed by how beautiful the street was. My only experience with the city of Detroit came from rap songs and movies, and I was positive that neither of those mediums included a street that looked like this.
I rounded a corner, and when I saw a crisp white house with black shudders in the middle of a cul-de-sac, I knew that was the one I was looking for. I double-checked the address and called the man in charge.
The phone rang twice before Deacon answered. “Hey, baby!”
Cue the on-screen performance.
“Hey!” I mimicked his excitement in case I was on speakerphone. What could I say? At this point, I was a professional. “Where should I park?”
“Just pull in the driveway, sweetheart.”
“Well, I’m staring at a car unloading in your driveway. Should I wait for them to move?”
A woman who had to be in her seventies was carrying an oversized canvas tote with bows and tags sticking out the top. It was hard to miss her light-up “Keep Heaven Crowded” sweater.
“Jesus, Mary, Joseph,” I muttered, averting my stare so I wouldn’t completely lose myself to hysterics. The last adjective I would use to describe myself was holy , and I had a hard time believing that Deacon’s family would support my calendar-inspired sex habits.
The car in the driveway reversed and parked a few houses down the street. I slowly lifted my foot off the brake and rolled toward the empty spot. Anxiety crept into my chest at the thought of having to meet a living room full of people. There were at least fifteen cars on this street, and I had a feeling they were all here for the Scott Family Christmas.
“I’m just going to come get you,” Deacon said. “That way, you don’t have to walk in by yourself.”
I parked the car and nodded even though he couldn’t see me.
“Relax, Brooks.” I heard him smile through the phone. “You’re just meeting some family, and they’re excited you’re here.”
I rolled my eyes at his ability to sense my nerves from inside the house. “Whatever you say, Scott.”
The front door opened, and I knew right away it was Deacon. He was wearing a black Champion hoodie and—for all that was holy— gray sweatpants .
“Keep heaven crowded,” I sang and pulled into the driveway. “Merry fucking Christmas to me.”