Chapter 23
James
Christmas Eve will always be sacred to me.
When we were little, Nessa was quiet, timid, and tended to hide away during gatherings.
Getting her to dress up and be presentable and to behave ‘correctly’ is probably what gave our mom grey hairs so early.
I can still hear the screaming matches in my mind, tears flowing, accusations flying.
Now that it’s just the two of us, Nessa lights up on Christmas.
Each Christmas Eve I always make sure to be home to celebrate with her.
We put on themed pajamas, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts.
It’s the closest thing she gets to a family reunion, so I do everything I can to make it special for her.
This year, we have my signature apple cider recipe and Nessa has some kind of pasta bake in the oven.
I got her a notebook to log new restaurants she tries—she loves finding new spots in the city and writing about them in her food blog, ‘Beauty and the Feast,’ she even gets invitations to review, or gets paid to—and she got me some booktok book that’s supposed to be as good as Bridgerton, saying if I’m going to watch romance I may as well read it.
We’ll see about that.
When we’ve got dinner in our laps and drinks in our hands, we settle in to watch the Jim Carrey version of The Grinch, a family tradition.
When we were kids, we would watch this once we were able to sneak away from the grownups party, and now we make sure to watch it every year, maintaining our one good memory.
“Are you seeing the parentals this year?” Nessa asks off-handedly while the Who’s rave about how horrible the green man they ostracized and tormented is and are facing the consequences of their own actions.
“Yeah. You okay with that?” She never complains, even though I know it bothers her that they won’t invite her.
Every so often, she’ll tell me about how she’s texted one of them, but she almost never gets a reply.
And when she does… it’s not pretty. It kills me every time she tries, increasing the pressure to try and fix things between them, to try to find something, anything, to bridge the gap.
“Of course! They’re your parents too. Besides, I’m sure next year will be different.” Nessa’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, as if she can’t even convince herself that’s true.
“You know I would skip if you asked me to.”
“That would be on brand for you. I don’t know. I think, in my head, so long as they still have one of their kids, the door is open for me, you know?”
I do know. We’ve had this conversation roughly eighteen times.
I always say I’ll back her up, that I don’t want anything to do with them anyway, but she insists that one day they’ll fix things, that she’ll be welcomed back.
She wants them to love her as she is so badly, and I don’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t think they’re capable of it.
My parents always strived to make our grandparents proud, to do exactly as they said, including marrying each other when they were told it would be a good idea since they ran in the same circles.
I don’t think they’ve ever even loved each other, but ‘it looks good to have prominent families in the community uniting together’ apparently, and now they have two children, a massive estate, a deep, unrelenting distaste for each other, and sleep in separate wings thinking no one’s the wiser.
Being the youngest, rebellious child wasn’t a good enough image for my parents, and when they couldn’t rein her in and make her bend to their will, they kicked her out entirely. My sister, being as loving and open as she is, still believes she has a chance, that they’ll change their minds.
So I stick around, holding this burnt bridge together with my bare hands, praying it doesn’t rip me apart.
“Aww! Stella sent me a pic! Look!” Nessa turns the phone to me as the next song starts, showing a megawatt smile painted onto the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.
Stella’s hair is netted and she’s wearing an apron with her arm wrapped around an older, shorter woman.
Both of them look exhausted but happy, and the background is unfamiliar.
“Where is she?”
“She’s at the women’s shelter. She’s helping serve Christmas dinner I think.” Nessa pulls her phone back, taking away the view of my sunshine.
This woman spends her Christmas Eve helping out at a women’s shelter. Joyfully. I think back to all the times I’ve seen her take leftovers from the café or declined an invite with Nessa to help someone out. Stella has a heart of fucking gold. She cares so deeply about the people closest to her.
I’m one of those people now, I think, remembering her willingness to come with me tomorrow.
She’s giving up her Christmas day so that I don’t have to face my parents alone.
I’m humbled that this sweet, wonderful woman would extend that kindness to me, someone who has been surly, and bitter, and sharp with her.
It hasn’t once phased her though. She’s taken everything I’ve thrown her way in stride and thrown it right back at me with a giggle.
This is truly the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met. She seems more than her mere nineteen years. She carries a wisdom much older than her, and a heart much larger than her frame could hold.
Pride swells as I picture what she’s doing now. I whip out my phone.
James
Merry Christmas Eve.
I don’t even have time to put away my phone before she’s responded.
Sunshine
Thanks! I hope you and Nessa are having a great day :)
James
We are. Thank you.
I wait a beat before sending another one.
James
I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.
Sunshine
me too, stud ;)
I’m practically floating.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Nessa asks, craning her head over my shoulder to look at my phone. I quickly lock the screen.
“Butt out, would ya?” I shove her shoulder and turn my attention back to Whoville.
I try to focus on the movie, on our traditions, but my mind keeps wandering. It repeatedly finds its way to a petite, blonde goofball who is spending her Christmas Eve with women in need and their families. The more I learn about her, the harder I know it’s going to be when I have to let her go.