Chapter Thirty-One
Hayden
Bigger Than The Whole Sky
Taylor Swift
Christmas Eve arrives faster than I would like, and for the first time in years, I don’t have to carry the weight of it alone.
Morning light spills in soft waves across my apartment while Vanessa moves through the kitchen in one of my sweaters, the Christmas tree glowing gold behind her. The sight still does something catastrophic to my chest.
Four days ago, this apartment looked like a museum exhibit designed by a depressed millionaire.
Now there’s ribbon curled beneath the couch, ornaments hanging unevenly because Vanessa insists imperfection builds character, coffee brewing on the counter, Christmas music constantly humming through the speakers, and Vinny asleep beneath the tree like it’s his.
This is my life now. My warm, messy, beautiful life. And I love it.
Vanessa glances at me over her shoulder while pouring coffee into two mugs. “You’re staring again.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s usually concerning.”
A quiet laugh slips out of me before I cross the kitchen toward her. She hands me a mug as she moves closer. Everything with her feels natural now. I press a soft kiss against her temple before leaning against the counter beside her.
“You nervous?” She wonders out loud and the question settles between us with a heavy thud. Because Vanessa knows today matters. She doesn’t know all the details, not everything, but she knows enough.
“A little.” Which is probably the understatement of the century.
Her fingers weave through mine reminding me that she’s there. And somehow that almost makes this harder. Because I’m not used to someone standing beside me when things hurt. I’m used to carrying them alone. I’m still learning this part, but she makes it easier.
The drive to my parents’ house is quiet. Snow falls in a steady rhythm beyond the windshield as the drive out of the city changes to suburban streets wrapped in Christmas lights and wreath-covered doors.
Vanessa keeps one hand resting against my thigh the entire drive. She’s my quiet anchor. Somewhere about twenty minutes in, conversation fades to silence. It’s a nervous silence and I can feel myself retreating inward on instinct. Bracing for the impact I know always comes when I visit my parents.
Vanessa notices. Of course she notices. But she doesn’t push and doesn’t ask questions. Instead, her fingers tighten around my hand when I grip the steering wheel too hard. And somehow that almost undoes me. Her steady assurance and presence now constant for me.
“You can still change your mind,” I offer without looking at her.
“About what?”
“This.”
Her gaze stays on me for a long second. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Jesus Christ . This woman. I look away before she can see how she effects me.
My parents’ house looks exactly like it did the last time I was here a year ago. Same white lights. Same faded wreath hanging on the front door. Like time stopped here years ago and nobody ever figured out how to start it again.
Something tightens beneath my ribs the second I pull into the driveway. Vanessa notices the shift in me because she reaches for my hand before I can even shut off the engine.
“Hey.”
I look at her, really look at her. Black wool coat. Soft copper curls. Concern in green eyes that somehow still look at me gently even when I feel like I’m splintering apart inside.
“I’m glad you came with me,” I admit as I look into her eyes.
Her thumb brushes once across my knuckles. “Me too.” The lie almost makes me smile.
My mother opens the door before we even knock. She freezes the second she sees Vanessa standing beside me. Not disapproving, just surprised.
“Hayden.”
“Hi, Mom.”
Emotion flickers across her face before she steps aside to invite us inside. “Come in. It’s freezing.”
The house smells like cinnamon and pine and grief. I don’t know how else to explain it.
Christmas decorations cover every surface; stockings, garland, candles, and ribbons. Like my mother is trying to disguise a wound that never healed in the first place.
“Mom, this is Vanessa.”
My mother’s eyes soften. “Oh,” she nods and smiles. “You’re Vanessa.” Something about the way she says it makes me realize that Luc must have been talking with my mom again.
Vanessa smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Jesus. I grind my teeth and glance toward Vanessa and catch the tiny flicker of surprise across her face too.
My father appears from the living room a second later, taller than me by maybe an inch, even now despite age softening him around the edges. “Hayden.”
“Dad.”
Then his eyes land on Vanessa and something complicated moves across his expression before he steps forward to offer his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.” Finally ? Interesting word choice.
Vanessa shakes his hand. “You too.”
Everything feels too polite. Like all of us are avoiding certain fractures in the floorboards. Then Vanessa’s attention catches on something in the hallway, or more specifically, the framed photographs lining the wall.
I see the exact moment she notices Emily, and her dark curls and bright smile. The gap-toothed grin frozen forever at six years old. My chest locks as my breath catches in my throat and I feel Vanessa goes still beside me.
And God, there it is; the beginning of understanding. How my parents have memorialized a daughter that’s no longer here. Freezing her in time. Focusing on her so hard, that the son that’s still here is almost forgotten.
Dinner is worse than I could have imagined. Not because anyone fights. Because nobody does. The polite silence is what kills me. My mother overfills wineglasses. My father asks safe questions about the band. Christmas music hums somewhere in the background.
And beneath it all, sits Emily. She’s no longer here, but she’s everywhere. In the empty seat at the table, in every pause, in every glance, and in every careful redirection.
Vanessa stays close to me the entire evening. Close enough that her knee rests against mine beneath the table. Grounding me without making a spectacle of it. At one point, my mother disappears into the kitchen after dessert.
Vanessa notices and rises from the table. “I’m going to help her,” she informs me.
Panic flashes through my chest before I can stop it. “Vanessa.”
She looks at me with a soft smile. “I’ll be okay.”
I nod once and watch her disappear down the hallway, and then it’s just me and my father sitting alone at the table. And the silence becomes unbearable. My father stares down into his whiskey glass for several long seconds before speaking low.
“She would’ve liked her.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Emily. We never say her name out loud. I swallow hard. “Yeah,” I agree roughly. “I think she would’ve too.”
I glance up when I notice Vanessa standing outside the dining room, not wanting to interrupt this moment with my father.
Silence again. Then, “I was too hard on you.”
Everything inside me stops as I shift my eyes toward him. My father still won’t look at me. He just keeps staring into his glass like maybe the amber liquid inside it will somehow erase thirty years of regret.
“You were only ten years old,” he speaks again. “And I spent too many years acting like you could’ve done something to save her.”
My chest physically constricts. Because in an instant I’m ten again. Snow falling hard outside. Emily laughing while building a snowman on the lawn, right beside the sidewalk.
Me turning away for one second because I heard dad fighting in the kitchen with my mother so loudly it scared me.
Then headlights, so bright as they careened onto the sidewalk. Tires screeching and then the loud thud before the sound of shattering glass. My mother screaming as she ran out of the house. Red, red blood on the white snow.
I grip the edge of the table so hard my fingers ache. “I should’ve been watching her.”
The words leave me automatically. The same way they always have when he told me I should have been paying better attention.
My father looks at me from his glass then. And for the first time in my entire life, I see grief there instead of blame.
“No,” his voice breaks as he shakes his head. “You were just a little boy. And the driver was drunk. There was nothing you could have done.”
Emotion slams into my chest so hard I can’t breathe around it. Because never, not once in over twenty years, has he ever said that to me before. Not once. My father drags one hand down his face.
“Your mother and I…” His voice falters. “We lost her and didn’t know how to survive it.”
Something inside me cracks wide open. Twenty-three years. Twenty-three years of carrying guilt that never should have belonged to me.
“Why, Dad? Why now?” My voice cracks, and I cover my mouth with my hand to keep myself from screaming the rage I’m feeling. “What happened after all this time that you’re saying this to me now?”
He purses his mouth tight, tears streaming down his cheeks when he responds. “Somewhere in all that grief, we didn’t see what we had done to you. Didn’t realize we lost pieces of you too. I’m sorry for that.”
Vanessa is beside me before I can react, her arms surrounding me in a tight hug as years of guilt, grief and anger leave me in hard sobs.
And suddenly I understand why I asked Vanessa to come with me tonight. It wasn’t to share this piece of me. It was because I knew she would understand my pain better than anyone, and that she would be there to hold me when I could finally let it go and forgive myself.