20. Lilah
LILAH
Turned out that Eliza hadn’t needed to worry about not seeing her mom until Christmas.
A few days before Thanksgiving, she pulled Kelsey and Eliza out of school early and had them take the train up to NYC.
So the twins weren’t stuck here with me for the holiday, they were having dinner with their mom and new stepdad in the city.
Eliza said their five-star hotel room overlooked the Thanksgiving parade route and sent me a few pics.
Dad had a last-minute invite from a friend to eat at their place.
I’d told him to go and have a great time.
If he’d noticed my smile wobbled, he hadn’t said anything. And he hadn’t asked if I wanted to come along. But at least I wouldn’t be sitting across from him with stilted conversation and awkward silence like our last few Thanksgivings.
For someone with three kids, he’d never figured out how to actually be around us.
Did he ever think about not coming back at all?
My mom had kicked him out when she’d learned he’d been cheating with Kelsey and Eliza’s mom, and then he left them all before the twins were two.
Had to suck to be stuck with us all now.
Although I’d always done my best to be helpful and independent and never a burden.
I scrubbed arm over my face.
A sharp beep chirped from the kitchen.
Thanksgiving with Dad would’ve also meant I needed to get another pot pie, and would have been a harsh reminder of all the happy families crowded around tables piled high with food.
Paige had offered to bring me along on her family ski trip.
But I couldn’t expect her to pay for the whole ski trip and ski gear for me as well as my inevitable hospital stay after I broke every bone in my body trying to learn to ski.
Her week of stylist-coordinated ski wardrobe cost more than a semester’s tuition.
And Rye’s family was a lot all at once, especially over the holidays. I wasn’t up for the happy family bombardment right now.
Better that I stay home, study before finals, get more cleaning done without anyone in the way. Maybe finish some seams on my mom’s dress since I was out of beads. I could probably redo the design to make it work with the limited supplies I had.
My chicken pot pie bubbled around the edges.
Holidays hurt. They were continual reminders of how much my life had changed, because Mom had always made them special.
Thanksgiving started when we baked cookies on Wednesday night then decorating them Thursday morning.
Those and hot chocolate with mountains of tiny marshmallows were breakfast while we watched the parade.
By noon, the stuffing, green bean casserole, and macaroni and cheese Mom had made ahead of time were heating, and we swapped the turkey for a rotisserie chicken.
Deviled eggs were the snack of choice while we blitz-cleaned the whole house to prepare for Christmas decorating. After everything was cooked, we dressed up in dresses Mom had made, put on costume jewelry with huge rhinestones and sat down for our early dinner.
After eating, we’d dance around the room and sing Christmas carols while putting ornaments on the tree. Then, collapsed on the couch in our beautiful dresses, we’d finish the night off with a massive slice of fudge pie with vanilla bean ice cream and a cheesy movie.
Tugging off my cleaning gloves, I picked up the piping-hot pot pie by the edges of the tin and set it on a plate. No fuzzy tongue for me—I’d wait for this to cool down before eating the molten center. A warm meal, warm house, safe place. Whatever else happened, at least I had this.
A quick shower later, I walked over to my trunk, slid my schoolwork off and popped it open. Her smell wafted over me and the loneliness sunk in deeper. I avoided the beaded dress.
Instead, I picked up the bundle with the crimson fabric poking out and traced my fingers along the softness. Would she be proud of how close I’d come to our dream? Admissions decisions came out soon. I could follow in her footsteps down a path I’d blocked her from ever following.
I uncinched the satin bag and stared inside.
The smooth fabric glided over my fingers and the light caught the sheen.
Each pleat at the waistline made the skirt of the dress fuller and a little flared at the hem.
Simple, precise and beautiful. Wanting to feel a little closer to that time, I went into the bathroom and stripped down.
I unzipped the dress and slipped it on over my head. The soft lining didn’t stick or catch.
The tailoring was meticulous. It brought tears to my eyes to think I’d grown so much since the last time I held her hand.
Now the dress hugged me closely, like she used to.
How much longer until my memories grew hazy or faded?
I ran my hands over the fabric and sat at the kitchen table, at my place setting for one with a rolled paper napkin and glass of water.
I sunk my fork into the pot pie, which would hopefully not be lava-hot anymore, and shoveled a forkful into my mouth. Crunchy, icy meat and vegetables stabbed at my tongue. I spat out the food onto the plate and stared daggers of betrayal at the savory pastry.
The ticking of the kitchen clock boomed in my ears and my pulse throbbed inside my head. Even the silence of the empty house roared. Tears burned in my eyes. Suddenly, holding myself upright felt like too much of a task. I sagged back into my chair, trying to drag myself back from the brink.
An insistent knock called me from my full-body collapse.
There was only one person on the other side of it who’d knock right now, and I cringed at how stupid I’d look all dressed up to sit alone in my house. I squared my shoulders, wiped my eyes and tugged the door open.
I stared out into the night.
“Ohh, your dress is so pretty!”
I dropped my eyes to the girl on the porch. Zoe, Mason’s little sister.
“Hi?” Arms folded over my chest, I peered around looking for anyone else with her.
“Hi!” She waved in that overly enthusiastic kid way where their elbow moves just as much as their hand. She was dressed in a button-down shirt with a cute tie and a sweater over top and a plaid skirt. Her hair was done in two French braids.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” I glanced toward the house. Most of the lights were off.
“I’m here to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner,” she said, bouncing on her toes.
“Your parents sent you out here to ask me?”
“No,” she said, eyebrows pinched and her head tilted in confusion.
“I did, but Zoe ran ahead and beat me here.” Mason emerged from the shadows and climbed the two steps to stand beside her.
He wore a blue button-down shirt that highlighted his eyes under a black blazer, black pants and black shoes. He was caramel-drizzle-over-whipped-cream decadent.
“Zoe, doesn’t Lilah’s dress look pretty?” He wrapped an arm around his little sister’s shoulders.
“I know! I told her already.” She punched his side. “Where did you get your dress?”
I tried to stifle my laugh and let my arms fall to my sides. “I helped make it.”
“Lilah’s incredibly talented.” His eyes skimmed over me, devoured me.
Heat crept up my spine and I closed the door a little to hide myself.
“Ohh, you made it! Can you make me a dress? Mama Lena has them made all the time.”
“Maybe someday. I’m sure she probably knows better people to make you a dress.”
“But yours is so pretty.”
“Zoe, we’re here to ask Lilah about Thanksgiving.”
“Aren’t you having Thanksgiving with your family?”
“Our father’s not big into holidays. Bair has a game tomorrow, so he flew out with Alena for that. But Zoe wanted to stay with me.” He tugged on the end of one of her braids.
She batted his hand away and glared at him.
“So it’s just the two of you?”
“We’re headed to Galen’s house for a little Thanksgiving tradition we started freshman year. And I saw your lights on. I thought you might be on your own.”
“I’m not really up for a party.” My last hadn’t exactly gone well.
“It’s not a party. Just a small dinner with a few people who are stopping by after food with their families, or like us, who didn’t have family cooking.”
“I don’t want to show up uninvited.”
“You were invited. Right now, by me.”
“I—”
“Please, Lilah.” Zoe pressed her palms together. “Mason said if I convinced you to come—”
He cleared his throat behind her.
I crouched down, trying to smother my smile, and glanced at him before focusing on Zoe. “What’s he promising you?” I whispered.
Mason shuffled closer.
“He’s got to be my partner at my ballet recital.”
“Partner, huh?” I leaned in closer.
“It’s a daddy-daughter dance, but Dyadya will be away, so Madame Marche said Mason could do it,” she whispered back.
Zoe belonged to a world where a ballet school would never even consider how crappy a kid would feel about not having their dad for a daddy-daughter dance.
I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Does he have to wear tights?”
A peal of laughter escaped Zoe’s mouth and she slapped her hand over her face, eyes glittering with laughter. “No, but should I tell him he has to?”
“Only seems fair. You’ve been given a big job getting me to go to Thanksgiving.”
She jumped up and down. “You’re coming?”
“Do we have a deal?” I extended a hand toward Mason. Zoe looked over at me and held hers out too.
“Brutal negotiators.” He scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard about it. “Deal.” He shook Zoe’s hand in a big, exaggerated move that sent her into a laughing fit. Then he took mine.
“That means you’re coming,” he said, sounding a little dazed while his thumb traced along the back of my hand.
Zoe latched onto my waist and squeezed me. “Thank you, Lilah.”
I glanced at the clean, empty house and my frosty potpie. “I guess that means I’m coming.”
“I promise you won’t regret it,” he said in a way that plucked at that thread between us.
That remained to be seen. It slowly sank in what I’d agreed to. “Let me change.”
Mason stopped me, his fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Don’t. You look beautiful.”