Chapter Twenty Six
She holds out her arm, smiling as she gestures to the booth in front of us. I thank her as I slide into my seat. My mother and Matt sandwich me on either side whilst Paul asks her for the wine menu.
My mothers hair is dyed a golden honey blonde streaked with even lighter highlights and folded up with a sharpened pencil.
She has a faded ring around her eyes remnant of the summer holiday she always seems to be on since Matt and I went off to University.
Seeing her on Christmas Eve is both a shock and a treat.
"You don't look a day older, Mum."
Matt's correct, she doesn't. If anything she looks younger; more carefree, a tad wilder, but not as if she's had bits nipped and tucked.
Her nails are neatly manicured. Her skin is bright and smooth like silk.
She's wearing a loose dress that probably costs more than the dinner we're about to have at this no-prices-on-the-menu restaurant.
"You're too flattering baby," she coos at him. "I've been getting grey hairs."
Of course she has. She's almost fifty, not that anybody can tell.
Paul takes a seat beside her and gently takes her hand, squeezing it as he picks up the menu. I pretend I remember my GCSE French as I read menu items like coq au vin andbourguignon.
They tell us about their time abroad, their upcoming holidays, the flat they've started renting out because keeping an empty house wasn't worth the hassle. Matt and I talk mostly about work. He updates Paul on the internship whilst I go through the campaign with mum.
"And how has it been, living with your sister again?" I hear Paul ask.
Both mum and I tune into their conversation. Matt, to my utter surprise, smiles.
"I can see neither of you is missing a clump of hair yet," our mother adds.
When I was seven and Matt nine, my aunt on my fathers side got me a tin of peanut butter cups and Matt a tin of chocolate biscuits for Easter as per my mothers instruction.
Matt, being nine and selfish, decided he didn't like chocolate buttons anymore and that my peanut butter cups were better.
We had a fight over them in the living room whilst my mother was on the phone to a friend; I chipped his tooth and he pulled out a clump of my hair.
We shared both. The problem was resolved more easily than the damage we'd already done to each other.
"Not yet," Matt laughs, likely reminiscing on the same story. "Although tomorrow if she gets more presents that I do we'll have to re-evaluate."
"The sofa is not a pull out bed."
Both Paul and my mother look confused.
"You said it was a pull out bed and it isn't."
"Oh, for goodness sake Madelaine, it's a roof over your head isn't it?"
"With Matt," I mutter, even though I'm smiling down at the table. His leg jerks against my own, an elbow jutting out, before he begins talking about how terrible I am at cooking.
When the food comes we're still laughing with each other about past memories. We're talking about the fact that Noah does exist and Paul is surprised that Matt isn't secretly dating him (he's not far off - someone in the family is secretly dating him, it just isn't Matt).
We pick at bits from each other plates, we squabble over who has eaten the most of our communal fries, we order expensive coffees as soon as our empty plates have been taken by the service staff. Paul orders Matt and I desserts.
I defend Matt when they pry about him needing to settle down and meet someone just as he does the same for me.
Paul settles the bill and offers to drive us home. They want to see if we've put up a Christmas tree (we haven't), they want to meet Noah (he isn't there) and Paul needs to pee but won't go in the public restroom.
We leave the restaurant as a bundle. Matt and I wearing matching scarves that they picked out of us in Italy somewhere. My fingers are cold even inside the gloves surrounding them. There's a certain bite in the air as we begin walking down the street where Paul has parked.
Two vaguely familiar figures are walking towards us in not nearly enough layers for the cold weather.
As they get closer I realise that they're Skye and Sara, dressed up in little clubbing dresses and stumbling around pot holes in the highest heels I've ever seen.
I hear Matt's intake of breath as he spots the two of them; Skye with her dark lipstick and spotty dress, Sara giggling behind her in a matching outfit.
"Hello, Matthew, hi..." Her words are sloppy, drawn out. She pushes past my mother to start grasping at him.
My eyes widen.
"Matthew?" Paul echoes.
"Hi, Maddie," Sara smiles, swaying side to side. "Are these the 'rents? The 'rents," she snorts, laughing. That's funny right?"
Beside me, Skye is clawing at Matt's scarf. She's whispering into his ear. She's putting her hands on his cheeks.
"These are Matt's friends from college," I immediately feel the need to explain, to distance myself from the embarrassment of knowing these sloppy drunk girls who are outside a nice restaurant in short animal print dresses.
A wave of nausea hits me as Sara trips over he own heel, catching herself of the nearby lamppost.
"Shall we meet you at the car, darling?" Our mother asks, ignoring my introduction completely.
I can hardly hear Matt's hissed words in Skye's ear but I know they aren't nice.
I know he's embarrassed too.
I begin walking them both to the car as I force a smile over to Sara. She barely registers us pass as she squints at her too-bright phone screen.
Mum and Paul have treated us like adults since we went to University.
They've not seen us stumble out of clubs or bring home wasted people in the middle of the night - we were never the type in high school.
Bubbly, studious, a close family unit. Always respectful to them both, even when Paul was first introduced to the two of us.
Matt and I put on a similar face when we're with them: we are the adults they expect us to be. We talk about work, we dress and act the part - we even share a house if needs be.
"They seem nice," Paul comments as we're walking.
Mum snorts, begins laughing. Paul laughs too. I smile at them both and shake my head, watching their conjoined hands swinging between them.
"Matt's girlfriend?" She asks.
"No," I shake my head. "Though I think she wants to be."
Mum nods. She's easy like that, always taking us at our word and letting us say more if we wish to. Still, I know Matt is going to be upset about Skye's drunken interruption.
He storms over to the car as we're all warming our hands over the heaters. Paul whistles low and turns down the stereo volume, laughing when mum shows him a picture on her phone.
I've never seen Matt grind his teeth. His jaw is locked and his eyes are dark. He slams the door when he gets into the backseat with me but apologises to Paul quietly straight after.
"A friend?" Mum asks.
Paul is already driving.
"Sort of." He sighs, holds out his hands to the heaters at the front of the car like I'm doing. "I'm sorry about them - I can't believe they were so rude."
"We've all been drunk at Christmas one time or another, Matthew." Paul snorts, "there are worse times to be falling over the streets."
Mum begins telling a story about a time her parents caught her drinking one night in a local park.
Sitting back in my own seat, I turn and raise my eyebrow at Matt.
Done with her, he mouths.
He shakes his head, still looking as annoyed as when he sat down beside me.
It's not brought up again but Matt seems on edge for the rest of the evening.
Even as we sit down to watch our traditional Christmas Eve film right before we go off to bed he's got a face on him.
Only when mum and Paul leave to drive back to their hotel does he let out his frustration, shouting about Skye's attitude and her need to have a claim over him in front of anyone she pleases - including his own mother.
"Did you tell her?"
"Tell her what?"
"That I'm not interested."
"Matt, that woman does not want to hear about you not being interested. There was literally nothing more I could do."
He stares at me. A grin spreads across his cheeks.
"That woman?" He echoes. I look at the time on my phone and then back to him. "You don't like her, do you?"
"I didn't say that."
His grin widens, "you didn't have to."
I'm still thinking about it when I go to bed. The past few days I've been sleeping in Noah's room while he's been away with his parents, and while I miss his presence, I certainly can't complain about having an actual bed to sleep in for a while.
Since Skye shut me down in our living room I guess I haven't really spent that much time with her, but not liking her seems a bit far fetched. I'd just rather stay out of her way while she attempts to seduce my brother. Does that mean I don't like her?
I guess I also think it's a bid sad in general. She won't listen to reason, from myself or Matt, and just continues to throw herself at him. But then again, Matt can't stop himself from sleeping with her either.
"Ugh," I twist in the bed, looking at the photo of young Noah and his parents on the nightstand.
Much better to think about him instead.
·─────?? ??─────·
Mum and Paul arrive early the next morning. Since they've started renting their place out Matt is the host of Christmas, but the host himself doesn't wake up until midday.
I help out in the kitchen all morning. I wonder who cooks dinner in Noah's family since, from what he tells me, they're all good cooks. I can certainly vouch for Noah's ability with food (and the ability to lick it off my chest).
Almost as if she senses it, "so what's Matt's housemate like?"
I'm glad I'm facing the potatoes and not her.
"He's nice - sweet. Very good."
Shit. Too much?
"He's a good cook," I continue, narrowly missing my own finger as I chop a potato in half. "His dad is a chef."
"Ooh, very fancy." She's putting a spoonful of sugar into a pot of soaking carrots. "I did wonder if we'd ever get to meet him."
"He's spending the holidays with his parents," I explain. "You'd like him though. He drives Matt and I to work everyday."
"Oh?"
"He's a mechanic."
She didn't ask. I should probably stop talking about him.
"It's a shame there are no pictures of him lying around."
My mother is right. It is a shame we don't keep pictures of Noah around the house. He'd brighten the place up - he'd certainly be something to look at around here.
She turns to me as I look back at her.
"Is he a good-looking boy?"
"He's twenty-four."
"Twenty-four is a boy's age to me, love." She grins, "is he?"
I feel the blush rising once more as I nod my head.
I turn back to my potato duties before she can pry or read into the look on my face. Matt is in the living room teaching Paul how to play a video game.
Dinner goes by smoothly. Matt, calmer today, apologises once more for their introduction to Skye and Sara's drunken antics.
We eat, we exchange gifts - Matt's gift to me is actual driving lessons as he doesn't think I'm improving with Noah, which is right, because my recent driving lessons with Noah have consisted of me sitting on his lap and pretending to learn how to drive until we both give in and take our clothes off.
We do wholesome things like bake cookies and get mildly drunk together. Paul falls asleep on our sofa.
I'm sat on a new rug, snipping the half ripped price tag off, when my phone vibrates with a message in my pocket.
Mum and Matt are mixing champagne with orange juice in the kitchen.
I tell them that I'm going to shower.
Instead I go and sit in his bed, pushing my feet under the covers to keep them warm. He answers on the second ring.
"Merry Christmas," I greet, lying back into the pillows like a lead in a bad romantic comedy.
"Opening a box of contraceptives in front of my mum wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs."
"Oh my God," I spurt. "I thought you would open them in private!"
"I didn't think you'd get me something related to us fucking. My bad, obviously."
I can feel the eye roll from here.
In my defense I did get him some other gifts too. I just thought he'd like to know that I've started taking the pill and thus we can stop awkwardly buying condoms at the pharmacy with the elderly gentleman who is starting to recognise us far too easily.
"How did it go?"
"How did it go? Telling my parents that I'm having sex with Matt's sister?" He laughs. His voice warms my chest even through the phone. "They'd like to meet you."
"They would?"
He hums. "Thank you for the gifts though. Do you want yours now?"
"My present?"
"Yeah. Go to the wardrobe and open up the drawer at the bottom."
I do as he says, practically shaking with anticipation. His books are stacked just as haphazardly as the first time I saw them and almost fall out towards me. I hold them in place as I shuffle the drawer open.
Oak wood stares back at me.
"It's empty?"
"Uh huh."
"You got me... nothing in a drawer. For Christmas?"
"That's your drawer."
"Noah Laurier, are you asking me to move into your bedroom with you?"
He laughs, loud and then quieter as if he's pulled the phone away from his mouth.
"I'm just saying you're always welcome to share my bed, Madelaine. Don't get ahead of yourself - I really don't think I'd get the family approval."
Family = Matt. We don't need to keep going over it, but that's what the implication is, as always.
"I got you a real gift too though. I'm going to stop by tomorrow and give it to you in person."
"I really, really hope it's your penis."
"Guess you'll have to wait and see won't you?" He doesn't give me chance to reply. "How was your Christmas?"
We talk for the better part of an hour about our time apart. Noah tells me more about his parents, about how they spend their Christmas. We try not to discuss Matt because ignoring his existence is how we've been getting around that obstacle lately.
As if we're still in school we list off the presents we each got and talk about where we'll wear specific clothes and when is best to play the Disney version of monopoly (the answer is the next game night, where I will most certainly be playing Sully from Monsters Inc).
I hear Noah's mum tell him they're making a pot of tea and watching a Christmas special I don't catch the name of.
"I'm just on the phone to Maddie," he says.
I don't hear his mum's reply but I do hear him laugh at whatever it is. I wait a minute or two before he speaks again, done with the conversation away from the phone.
"Sorry angel, I've got to go soon."
Angel. I get that from him rarely. Angel, I've got to do this. Angel, I need you to spread your legs a little wider for me. The effect is similar every time the word comes out of his mouth.
"Okay."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay."
"Okay." He repeats.
I whisper, "alright."
There's a pause between us that isn't usually there.
Noah says, "I miss you."
I turn my head into the pillow that still smells like him.
"I miss you too."
A small click signifies the end of the call.