31. Christmas Day
Christmas Day
Ash and I blink awake at sunrise on Christmas morning wrapped around each other.
We did eventually put our clothes back on—considering it’s winter and we’re in the middle of the woods—despite not wanting to.
The fire has reduced to simple embers, but it stayed awake as we slept. Almost as if to keep us safe.
“I could wake up like this for the rest of my life,” he whispers into the soft morning glow, breath clouding in the cold. Into the golds, yellows, and pinks that cover the treetops and the pillow of snow beneath us.
“Considering you said you want us to be married within the next ten years, I would hope.” The joke falls slightly flat given his sincerity, but he chuckles anyway.
That’s just like Ash, though, to make sure I don’t feel uncomfortable being myself.
“Within the next two years actually, Goldilocks.” He kisses the top of my head.
My heart pitter-patters a stuttered beat. “I guess you are old as fuck, aren’t you?”
“I’ve never heard you complain. Hey.” He nudges my shoulder with his. “How would you feel about Dad and I coming over for a little after presents this morning? It would really mean a lot for us to spend part of the holiday together, and for you to meet him.”
The ‘because I don’t know if this is his last Christmas’ goes unsaid, but not unfelt.
And it’s that fact that has me nodding. As much as Ash always knows what I need, I like to think I sometimes know what he needs, too.
And the way he’s looking at me—with hope and a little trepidation—tells me he needs this.
This isn’t terrifying in the least. I’ve never met a romantic partner’s family before—most likely because I don’t stick around long enough for that to be a consideration—but I’m not envisioning me being a big hit with parents.
“You’ll drop me off to my car and we’ll meet at the house?” Thank God I’m going to meet his father in a scenario where I can easily hide behind my charming grandmother. Who will probably be unable to say no to extra visitors because I’m springing it on her last minute.
I’m a coward, but at least I’m self-aware enough to admit it.
He hums in agreement, burrowing further into my neck. Soft kisses press against every mark he made last night until I’m breathing heavily and forgetting we’re supposed to be anywhere other than right here. “The fucking sounds you make.”
Ash is incredibly vocal. Always complimenting, sharing, just talking, and as much as I thought it would be annoying . . . it works.
He rolls on top of me, and I meet the gentle thrust of his clothed hips. “Aren’t we supposed to be leaving right now?”
“When you’re beneath me, nothing else exists.”
“But you bought me Christmas presents and I want to open them.” I nibble on his bottom lip but dodge his kiss, giggling to myself.
He chuckles, blowing a raspberry into my neck that makes me squeal. “Presents first. Family second. Then you in my bed tonight. Fair?”
I nod, pulling him into a hug.
I love you.
The house is all creaky and happy as I step inside. It’s always liked Christmas morning, as I think it was probably the most normal day of the year growing up. Mom actually showed up emotionally.
Well. No. She showed up emotionally as much as was possible for her. Which still wasn’t enough, but was a lot more than usual.
I’d even get a few words from her. Which was triple what I’d get on a regular basis.
The inside of the house is covered in garlands. Alive and thriving garlands. They twist around each other and move softly with the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree.
It’s like Mother Nature threw up in here. And I like it. Which is a testament to how soft Ash is making me.
Christmas music blares from the living room and I softly step toward the stairs. I’ll revel in the festive vibes, but only once I change clothes.
I’ve been sleeping on the ground, for goodness’ sake.
I strip off the cold clothes and snuggle into my red, floor-length dressing gown. It may be a bit dramatic, especially for meeting Ash’s dad, but this is me.
I’m not hiding who I am anymore or trying to be anyone else.
But I also wear a tank top and long pants underneath it.
Belle winds around my legs as we walk back downstairs. She probably smells Ash on my skin, the little trollop.
I swear she meant to pick him but got confused by the soulmate bond.
Hazel and Grandma sit in the living room by the tree in pajamas, giggling over coffee. It’s a pretty picture, like something out of a magazine.
And I still don’t feel like I fit.
“Dear, I barely heard you. Come, sit, we’ve been waiting until you arrived to open gifts.” Grandma waves me over. I delicately sit on the floor opposite Hazel, Belle curling around my back.
“I figured we’d do our gifts now and then when Noah comes over we can do more broad presents,” she continues.
“And Ash and his dad,” I say.
Grandma’s mouth lifts in a conspiratorial smile. “I didn’t realize your overnight date was going to turn into a daytime invitation. But seeing as he is your soulmate, I would like to get to know him.”
“The more the merrier!” Hazel hands a gift to Grandma.
It’s a gentle acceptance that makes my eyes water. I covertly wipe the tears with the sleeve of my robe.
Grandma gives Hazel a smile and opens the box, chortling when she opens the top. It’s an animal skull with a long snout. “The skull of an Odocoileus virginianus!” She turns to both of us with a smug smile. “Or more commonly known as a white-tailed deer.”
God, they’re weird.
“Well, if Grandma is in the spotlight . . .” I say, handing her the slightly heavy box covered in Snoopy Christmas wrapping paper. Most of the inside is fluff to make sure her gifts didn’t shatter.
She handles it gingerly, as if she subconsciously knows the contents are fragile. A small gasp escapes her as she sees the tea kettle. “It’s beautiful, Laura.”
Something warm and gooey unfurls in my chest at the joy on her face. Knowing I did that, that I showed someone I cared about them? After last night with Ash, and today with Grandma, it may be becoming a habit. I don’t think I mind.
Hazel scoots the next gift my way. It’s from her, if the excited look on her face is anything to go by.
I try to make my smile as genuine as possible as I pick apart the wrapping paper. Inside the box is a bubblegum-pink Brother SE700 sewing machine. It’s a beautiful model, and perfect for my hobby of making little accessories.
But it’s pink.
Even Ash knows pink isn’t really my favorite, and I didn’t have to tell him.
But why would she know any different? I’ve practically shoved pink down people’s throats since I was a kid because I know it’s expected of the blonde, bubbly baby sister.
I hate that I’m realizing we were never open with each other. We were never real. We may have always loved each other, but we never knew each other.
And we still don’t.
It’s why everything with Mom was able to blow us apart. Because we were never solid and that . . . sucks.
“It’s perfect,” I say, instead of everything else in my head. Because it is. I’m the one who isn’t. “Thank you.”
I don’t want to have a sisterly bonding moment, so I hand my gift to her without meeting her gaze. Just like Grandma’s I picked out a cute wrapping paper—little presents with smiley faces—and taped it up to the best of my ability. Slapped a little bow on top and everything.
She carefully unwraps the necklace and tilts her head, letting it hang between her fingers to catch the light. “It’s beautiful, Laura.”
“It’s a protection spell.”
I don’t imagine the little hiccup in Hazel’s throat, as if she’s trying to hold back a sob. My eyes remain glued to the floor.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Even this feels right. Like I’m taking a step of my own to mend this rift between us.
Grandma clears her throat. “One more gift from me.”
Hazel and I both take the proffered boxes. I open mine to find a natural pearl necklace, a vintage piece that certainly has been around for a while. It’s just one strand, and the pearls themselves are about the size of my thumbnail.
“Laura, those are my mother’s pearls. Pearl is for self-care and nurturing.
I’m hoping it will encourage you to love yourself as much as I do.
” She turns to Hazel as I discreetly wipe a tear from my cheek.
“Hazel, that is my grandmother’s circlet.
She was also an Air witch and apparently tuned it to her magic.
I hope it helps you focus your magic as it did for her. ”
We murmur our thanks, a weird energy hanging over the room like smoke. As if these gifts show we love each other but that love isn’t enough to wipe away all the other junk we have to go through.
We have to talk. And that’s truly the last fucking thing I want to do. But I’ve finally accepted that I’m not going to have a real relationship with my sister unless we do.
We just have to actually do it.
A knock on the door captures our attention and snaps the tension in the room like a rubber band, and like magic I know exactly who it is. We’ve spent enough time together now that I can sense his presence from far away.
Ash. Thank fuck.
I practically leap toward the door, toward the person I love most.
I open the door to his face, and I may have seen him only a couple hours ago but I don’t think I’ve ever missed someone so wholly. My happy smile slips until his eyebrows furrow in worry, and he takes me into his arms without a word.
A throat is cleared behind him. Ash leans back a little but keeps me wrapped in his arms. “Dad, this is my Laura. Laura, this is my father, Birch Cedar.”
Birch is practically an older clone of Ash. He’s not as tall, but he’s just as wide and has the same kind, emerald eyes. His hair is gone, and he’s a little thinner than he is in the photo on Ash’s dresser, but I know chemo has been hard on him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I reply, sticking out my hand and skipping over the jumping jacks my heart is doing in response to being called ‘my Laura.’