Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
cole
The scent of onions sizzling in butter hits me as I step into the kitchen.
For weeks, I’ve stuck to the rigorous diet of protein and veggies my trainer created for me, and I haven’t snuck in so much as a chocolate bar in months.
The smell of real, indulgent holiday food? It’s enough to make me lightheaded.
My mom is in her element, moving around the room like a conductor leading an orchestra, mixing this and whisking that.
She stirs, sprinkles, and taste-tests with a precision only earned through decades of creating holiday meals.
It’s an achingly familiar sight; one that hits me in the chest with enough force to steal my breath.
“Hi, Ma,” I call out. My voice is barely audible over the whirr of the MixAid, so when she doesn’t so much as twitch in my direction, I try again. “Mom!”
Startling, she presses a hand over her heart. “Jeez, honey. Warn a woman, why don’t you?”
I could’ve walked in waving a red flag and blowing a foghorn and she still wouldn’t have noticed me. Not when she’s in the zone. My dad likes to joke that he’s nearly lost fingers interrupting her mid-baste.
I kiss her cheek in apology anyway. “Need any help?”
Her eyes widen as if I suggested she add mayonnaise and grape jelly to her stuffing recipe. “Thanks, honey, but absolutely not.”
The last time she let me help in the kitchen was back in elementary school, when Nathan and I volunteered to make cookies for a bake sale.
I accidentally dumped a little flour on him, which led to a food fight that somehow ended in us sacrificing our allowance money to cover the cost of new cabinet faces.
They had to be replaced because the two of us managed to stain them with egg yolk and food coloring.
“Noted.” I fight a smirk. “I think—”
Twin squeals echo through the house, cutting me off, followed by the unmistakable sound of tiny feet thundering down the hallway. Before I can call out a hello, my nieces barrel into me, shouting, “Uncle Coley! Uncle Coley!”
“Hey, peanuts.” I scoop up Violet, holding her in my left arm so she doesn’t latch on to my right shoulder, which is still sore from a brutal hit into the boards a few days ago.
Lily’s going through a stage where she’s too big to be picked up “like a baby,” so she quickly hugs my waist and grins up at me.
She’s missing her front tooth, which earned her five dollars and earned me a five-hour story about how magical the Tooth Fairy is.
I only hold their attention for another minute before they race off in search of Darby.
Emily and her husband, Zach, appear moments later, arms full of steaming platters.
I’m surprised my mom let Emily bring anything, but I hold my tongue.
If I question her, I’m liable to get a smaller piece of pecan pie for dessert.
As we gather for dinner a short while later, a pang of sadness runs through me. It’s times like this—when my family’s circled around the table—that Nathan’s absence hurts the most.
Often, the comfort of home makes me feel closer to my brother.
There’s the familiarity of the perfume we bought for Mom for Mother’s Day back in middle school—the scent she still wears to this day.
The smell of stale cigars in my dad’s office and the memory of when we stole a few to smoke during high school, only for Nathan to have an asthma attack.
The dent in the front door from when he threw a skate at it after we’d lost a game, and the rundown treehouse in the backyard where the two of us spent hours planning our futures as the next Wayne Gretzky and Bobby Orr.
Everywhere I look, there are reminders of him.
As comforting as they can be, they can also bring a pain I never experienced before we lost him.
And sometimes they’re accompanied by a guilt that blankets me completely.
Because while I get to keep making memories in this home, with our family, all he’ll ever be is a memory.
“Uncle Coley,” Lily chirps, pulling me back. “Can I sit next to you?”
“Me, too.” Violet scrambles to occupy the seat on my other side. “I’m sitting next to you, too.”
Clearing my throat, I smile at them and help them settle into their seats.
My mom refills everyone’s drink, even topping off Violet’s and Lily’s cups with more grape juice.
“Mom,” Emily sighs, rubbing her forehead. “No juice during dinner.”
“Bah, let me spoil my grandkids.” My mom dismisses her with a flick of her hand, then homes in on me. “It’s not like anyone else is giving me more to spoil.”
Here we go again.
“Darby doesn’t seem to be catching heat for her lack of offspring,” I argue, sinking into my chair.
“At least I’m actively dating.” My sister shoots me a smirk.
One brow arched, I snort at her. “Oh? Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
My dad groans and buries his head in his hands. “No fighting. Be thankful that you have one another.”
That shuts us up instantly and sends my heart sinking into my stomach. For all the jabs and bickering, he’s right. I may want to strangle Darby half the time, and Emily might try to micromanage my life like she’s got a clipboard and whistle, but I’d be lost without them.
Darby and I mumble out apologies, and my dad’s frown softens.
While we fill our plates with turkey, glazed carrots, cranberry sauce, and green bean casserole, my mom steers the conversation in a different direction.
Violet chats about her ballet class, Darby shows me pictures of the DIY renovations she’s done at her condo, and Lily repeatedly tells me that she can do a “super cool” cartwheel, thanks to gymnastics.
By the time dessert appears, everyone’s in a cornbread coma, including me. The second helpings may have been a mistake, since I have a game tomorrow, but it’s impossible to turn down my mom’s candied yams.
Violet rests her face in her tiny palms, fighting to stay awake. Neither of the girls napped today, too energized about dinner, and the combination of excitement and carbs is clearly taking its toll.
Tugging on one of Violet’s pigtails, I ask, “Want to open the present I got you before bed?”
Her tired eyes pop open, and on my other side, Lily perks up, her hands clasped in front of her. “Presents!”
“You can open it once you’re in pajamas and your teeth are brushed,” Emily says. The warning look she gives her daughter is so similar to our mom’s that it makes me chuckle. “Deal?”
“Deal!” they shout in unison as they clamber out of their chairs.
Once they’ve bolted upstairs, I head into the bedroom I once shared with my brother and dig into my suitcase. The gift—Grimm’s Fairy Tales, wrapped with care by Maya—is still tucked safely inside.
At the thought of her, a mixture of discomfort and longing flows through me.
I should’ve texted her back, but I considered how to respond for so long that when I finally decided what to say, too much time had passed for it to not be awkward.
I’m not the best texter, anyway, so I figure I’ll swing by the Book Nook, apologize for more or less ghosting her, and ask for another chance.
I’ve probably put far too much thought into the plan. It’s not like I’m asking for her hand in marriage. I can practically hear Nathan telling me to stop being a “bitch ass” and ask her out. My brother never let his career get in the way of his social life, that’s for sure.
Lily bursts into my room wearing pajamas covered in smiling butterflies. “Is that my present?”
With a nod, I tuck it under my arm. “Let’s go get your sister, and we can open it together.”
She latches on to my hand and leads me to the bedroom they’re staying in. Violet’s already tucked under the frilly floral comforter, so Lily climbs in beside her and pats the empty spot between them.
It takes effort, especially after the massive quantity of food I consumed at dinner, but I manage to wedge my tall frame between their tiny bodies.
I hold out the wrapped book while they tear the paper with unfiltered joy, each working on her own side. “It’s a book of fairy tales.”
“Ooh,” they murmur. Lily traces the gold-foiled flowers and vines etched onto the cover while Violet runs a reverent hand along the pages.
“Will you read one to us, Uncle Coley?” Lily asks, flipping the book open to a random page.
The Juniper Tree is written in a fancy cursive font at the top. Although I’ve never heard of the story, I agree. Lily snuggles into me as I begin. Quickly, though, it becomes clear to me that this is not the innocent fairy tale I thought it was.
“Why’d you stop?” Violet asks halfway through.
Maybe because the stepmom beheads the son and sticks his head in a box and then turns him into black pudding?
“Uh, sorry,” I cough out an excuse. “I lost my place.”
Instead of continuing to read, I bullshit my way through the rest of the story.
Instead of using an apple to trick and kill him, I tell the girls that the stepmother feeds him so many apples that he becomes as strong as a tree.
I truly don’t know what the fuck comes out of my mouth, but my nieces love it and soon demand another story.
I discover quickly that the original stories from Grimm’s Fairy Tales are indeed grim. Very grim. And so the pattern continues, and I create off-the-cuff stories in a way I didn’t know was possible.
I learn that Cinderella’s stepsisters get their eyes pecked out by birds and that the prince in Snow White is a necrophiliac corpse thief. Thankfully Lily and Violet are too interested in the hand-drawn images on the pages to question my versions.
“Uncle Coley?” Lily taps on my arm, motioning me to bend down.
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
Her lips tip up in a small smile. “I’m happy you’re home.”
Without Nathan, home will never truly feel like it once did, but I kiss my niece’s blond head anyway and say, “Me, too.”