Chapter 8 #2
If he just needs someone to sleep beside to make it through the night, that’s fine. But I won’t be rubbing his back till he passes out. The closeness we shared the other night and morning has faded. Snuffed out by Alex’s avoidance.
So this time in bed, it’s not intimate. There’s lots of space between us, me facing one way, him probably facing the other. Because no matter how much I want to be like that with him, Alex is clearly out of reach. Still madly in love with someone else. Jess.
Eventually, my eyes get heavier, my breathing mellows, and I drift off, thinking about snow.
The clicking of the front door has my eyes shooting open; just a habit from living alone, and, I guess, natural instincts trying to keep me alive living with two men.
I check the phone on my nightstand. 4:30. I was hoping for another half hour, but it wouldn’t hurt to start the oven for the cinnamon rolls I prepped yesterday.
Slipping away from beside Alex, I walk towards the great room but stop short, seeing Blanks and a tall redhead making out under the mistletoe in the entry.
Why do I hate it? And who picks someone up on Christmas Eve? Blanks does, obviously.
I wait a moment, tucked back in the hall until, eventually, he throws open the door to the basement, and the two retreat.
My throat is burning again, I get the chills, and a small part of me wants to cry.
Stupid, really.
So silently, I make the breakfast I planned. I prep some snacks for my day hike and pack my small bag. I lay everything out on the counter for breakfast and am just writing a short note when I hear the faint screams of ecstasy from downstairs, making the back of my eyelids hurt.
“Really?” I question the universe.
It’s fine. This is just not my time. It hadn’t been my time…ever. What’s another few years? Again, assuming I can make it to 100 or so.
I get dressed in the mudroom where everything had been hung up yesterday, and as silently as possible, I whisper, “Merry Christmas,” to them as I slip out the mudroom door.
After two miles, I stop, sitting on a fallen log to eat my breakfast and watch the sunrise.
For the last hour, I’ve moved slowly, working hard on not slipping on the slick pine needles or damp rocks. It’s still dark out, and the thought of spraining an ankle out here, alone, is a little more than frightening.
The flurries never manifested into an all-out snow last night. It was just enough to make everything damp without leaving a presence behind.
It’s cold, but with my blood pumping from the uphill climb, I’m comfortable.
Pulling out the cinnamon roll I packed, I slowly pick at it. And I cry.
At first, I try to fight it, swallowing past the tightness in my throat and forcing the food down. But eventually, I just stop and let the tears fall freely.
There probably hasn’t been a single year I haven’t cried on Christmas. It’s always been the most disappointing day of the year. There’s always some letdown. My parents. Work. The fact that I’m alone. It’s rarely about getting what I want because simply put, I’ve never gotten much.
A pack of underwear. Something picked up haphazardly from a convenience store. Something I buy myself, then eventually return when the guilt of spending the money weighs too heavily on me. I’ve gotten used to not getting gifts, at least not anything I want.
But no matter what, or where, or who I’m with, I’ve never gotten over the disappointment of this day. A day for family and warm houses and happy faces. This is a day I spend alone, tired, and longing for all the things this day has never been for me.
Sure, I could have stayed at Alex’s with them, but the idea of being there with them, yet still being completely alone, has me crying just a little bit harder.
I knew Blanks would be going to Alex’s sister’s again.
I knew I wouldn’t get invited to go. And I have no doubt Alexander plans to spend the majority of his day regretting his life choices.
Maybe he’ll stay in bed all day, or maybe he’ll chop wood till his body gives out, but I can’t be there for him today.
Not on Christmas when I feel like I’m dying inside.
As the sun peeks over the eastern ridge of the mountains, I sigh, and the tears begin to slow. It’s hard to stay feeling shitty in the most tranquil environment I’ve ever been in. This place is otherworldly, like a fantasy land brought to life.
The pine trees are crowding me in with haphazard boulders sprinkled throughout.
Squirrels are skittering around, flying in and out of burrows whenever I shuffle my feet.
The birds start singing as the sun starts hitting the tops of the trees.
The sound is shortly followed by the dripping and pattering of former frost falling from the heavy branches above.
It all works together to form a symphony. Water falling, birds singing, creatures scurrying.
I can finally swallow without the pain making itself known, so I pick up my cinnamon roll and eat while the sun warms the world for a beautiful Christmas Day.