Chapter Nineteen Scarlett
Christmases with the Voss family are always special.
Something in the house changes when all the kids are home for the holidays.
My parents might act like they don’t miss Alex, but whenever he’s back they don’t leave his side.
They’re always hovering over him like he’s a kid again, ruffling his hair and asking him how work is going, like he isn’t in his early thirties.
I like having my big brother around too.
He keeps the others in order, so they don’t bug me as much.
And, not that it matters at all, but Alex always buys the best presents.
Even though we see him less, he still knows all of us inside out.
He knows exactly the right thing to get each of us, and it always amazes me how he manages to get us just what we need.
This year, he got me a new sketchbook and pencils, as well as a new travel-sized watercolor kit.
He looks like the family Santa Claus as he lugs a huge bag of more presents up the stairs as if we didn’t already open the bulk of his gifts this morning.
He’s even got a red hat on to match, the fluffy white pom-pom at the end bouncing against his back.
Despite the Santa hat and the red pajamas, he looks exactly like my dad when he was younger.
Tanned skin, dark curly hair cut short, a mustache that leads into a beard that he’s cleaned up for the holidays.
I stop at the bottom of the spiral staircase, almost sliding across the marble floor in my fluffy socks and the matching plaid pajama set that we’re all wearing. I wince as I watch Alex bang the bag of gifts against the stair rail with each step he takes.
“Do you need any help with that?” I ask, leaning against the bottom banister.
Alex huffs out a hearty laugh, turning to see me. “No, I’m good, sis.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods, and as I turn to walk away, he calls me again. “Actually, come up here, I wanna talk to you.”
“Okay . . .” I make my way up the stairs and by the time I get to the top he’s managed to place the bag on the landing, pushed up against one wall. I take a seat beside him on the top step, bumping my shoulder into his side. “What’s up?”
He bumps me back. “What’s up with you? You don’t text anymore.”
“I do text. I love texting. I text you all the time.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right, well you don’t text enough.
” I don’t argue with that. I know I could probably text him more, but with the time difference, he usually doesn’t respond until the next day anyway.
Sometimes I forget there was a time when my siblings and I were all under the same roof.
I miss that. Alex’s dimple pops out when he tilts his head toward me and bumps my shoulder again.
“You’ve been quiet since breakfast. That’s not like you.
” I shrug. “Any guys I need to beat up?”
I almost choke, clearing my throat as I look back at him. “No, no, absolutely not.”
“Then what’s up?”
I draw a pattern on my knee, following the lines on my pajamas. “Did the boys not tell you?” I ask, whispering in case my parents are nearby. All work-talk is strictly prohibited at Christmas. Alex’s eyebrows knit together, and I add in an even quieter voice, “The list.”
Realization dawns on him and he leans back slightly. “Ah. Right.”
“Do you realize how stupid it is? That all of us have to do it just to get a job at the company we’re born into.”
He chuckles deeply, shaking his head. “It’s tradition.”
“It’s ridiculous,” I mutter. “It’s been four months, and I’ve still got to find time to get myself on the front page of a newspaper.”
“What’s the rush? You know there’s no time limit on it, right?”
“I know, but I just . . . I really want this. I don’t want them to forget about me.”
“Forget about you? You’re their daughter, Scar,” Alex says softly, knocking his knee against mine.
“Well, it never stopped them before.”
Alex might not have been here to see the breakdown of my relationship with my parents, but I know he knows what happened. He could tell we were all distant with each other and never fully healed that crack in our relationship.
My parents were good at pretending I didn’t exist that year.
Good at making sure I knew that they were disappointed in me and that I had to learn my lesson.
It might’ve helped me produce some of my best work, but being disconnected from the people that raised me for that long caused irrevocable damage.
I’m still trying to get that time back. But with the list, things have started looking up.
I might finally get them to see me again.
“Come on,” Alex urges, “let me see the list.”
“You know that’s against the rules,” I seethe.
“Since when has that been a problem for you?” I open my mouth, ready to argue with him, try to tell him that I’ve changed, but the truth is, I haven’t. I’m always going to be a rule breaker at heart. He grins. “Quickly, so they don’t see.”
I pull out the sheet of paper I’ve had folded in the back of my phone case and hand it to Alex.
I wait anxiously as I watch him scan over it, flipping it around to find it empty on the back.
He reads the six bullet points for a solid three minutes and I start to get impatient. All he manages to muster is: “Huh.”
I look at the list and then back up at his puzzled expression. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I . . . It’s just different to what I expected. It’s been so long since I did mine.”
He looks at the list again intently. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just that you were right. This is ridiculous.”
I let out a short laugh. “I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.” Alex stands abruptly, shoving the list into his pocket with an annoyed breath and I stand too. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“To talk to Mom and Dad,” he says, taking the stairs two at a time.
My heart thrashes loudly in my chest as I follow after him. “A-About the list?”
“Yes. They’ve been making you run around and do all of this and—”
“What are you talking about?”
He stops at the bottom of the stairs, and I almost collide right into his back. I hold myself up against the railing while I take in his furious expression. The tips of his ears have gone red now, his eyebrows knitted together with fury as he shakes the list in his hand.
“Scarlett, the boys and I had to do some pretty annoying shit, but it wasn’t anything like this.” He points at the paper. “Get married? That’s fucking insane. You’re twenty!”
“That’s what I said. They did that one as a joke,” I whisper-shout, exasperated.
He turns and I chase after him. I’ve never seen him so angry before, and something about him being this upset on my behalf unsettles me a little.
I grip his arm, pulling him back. “Alex, it’s fine.
You said it yourself, it’s tradition. Everything else on there is manageable.
I’m going to complete it and then I’ll get the job. ”
“Like hell you are,” he mutters, tugging himself out of my grip.
And then he’s gone, pushing open the large doors that lead into the grand living room. I stand there, momentarily frozen, watching from a distance as the surprise dawns on my parents’ faces at Alex’s outburst.
What the hell is going on?
I knew the list was a little absurd, but this . . . this feels like it’s so much more than that.
I make my way into the living room just as Alex shoves the paper into my dad’s chest, causing him to stumble a little.
“What the hell is this?” he demands. Leo, Arthur and Junior stare at me from where they’re sitting on the couch, and I wish I could give them an answer.
Tell them that everything’s fine. But something is telling me that it isn’t.
My dad grips the list in his fist, glancing over at me. “You weren’t supposed to see this. This is only meant for Scarlett.”
Alex lets out an incredulous laugh as my mom stands by my dad’s side, a reassuring hand on his arm. “Do you want to tell her or should I?”
“Tell me what?” I ask, but my voice sounds weak.
Alex doesn’t wait for our parents to answer, and he spins to me. “They were never going to give you the job, Scarlett. They just wanted to prove a point to me.”
“Prove a point?” I ask, blinking back the confused, angry tears that are threatening to fall. “Respectfully, Alex, what does this have to do with you?”
Alex opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. He sinks onto the edge of the couch, his head in his hands. I can see his chest heaving from here, matching my own as I try to put the pieces together.
“What is he talking about, Mom?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer. Neither does my dad. They both stare at me, their eyes blank like they have no idea what I’m saying. “Is that true? Did you do this whole thing just to prove a point?”
My mom clears her throat and says the three words that I’ve heard so much over the last four years. “You’re not ready, tesoro.”
I can’t hide the anger that boils up in me. “Not ready? Are we seriously doing this again?”
Dad nods slowly, looking down at my mom, before his dark eyes meet mine. “Yes, it was a fake list. But how much of it have you really completed? Not a lot, I assume.”
My throat pinches. “I-I’ve been working really hard on it but I have classes and finals too . . . I can’t just drop everything and put all my time and energy into this.”
Alex gets to his feet again, standing in front of me like he doesn’t even want our parents to look at me. I feel sick. Everything inside me is all tangled together and pulled tight.
“All of this ‘when she’s ready’ stuff is bullshit and you know it,” Alex argues, raising his voice. “I told you both years ago to give her the job she wants, and this is what you do instead? I can’t fucking believe you two.”
My dad raises his voice too, and the sound gives me a headache. “Alex, that’s enough.”
“No, it’s not. She’s my sister. The only one I have. And I’m sick of you two continuing to punish her for a mistake she made when she was sixteen. Stop pretending to be blind to how much talent she has.”
Hearing Alex stick up for me like this is . . . a lot. I’ve always known he’s had my back, but this is different. He’s been rooting for me all this time, trying to convince my parents to trust me again, and they still haven’t listened.
He turns to me again, ignoring my parents completely.
“You were supposed to move to London with me. Did they ever tell you that, Scarlett? You were supposed to come with me and start an exchange program there and get a job working with me at Voss. But because of one mistake, they’ve been acting like you’re not ready, still stringing you along and dangling your dream in front of you to never give it to you.
One look at that list and I knew they were up to the same old shit. ”
I feel lightheaded. I shouldn’t be upright right now.
I could’ve gone to London? I could be working as a designer right now, living in a completely different country and doing something I love.
But I’m not. I’ve been stuck here as some kind of penance, pathetically trying to prove to my parents that I’m worth the effort.
Alex lets out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You know how unfair it is for you to do this to her.” Even though he’s talking to my parents, I feel his words everywhere, seeping into every wound that still hasn’t fully healed after all these years.
He pushes past me, and I don’t have it in me to tell him to stay. To thank him for this. For always having my back without me even realizing it.
“Is what he said true?” I ask into the quiet room. “I could’ve gone to London instead of NU?”
My dad takes a deep breath. “Scarlett, it’s not that simple and you know it. After everything that happened, do you know how it would look if we just handed you a job?”
“You wouldn’t have handed it to me. I would’ve worked for it. You know I would have.”
“We couldn’t risk it,” Mom adds. “We couldn’t risk something like that happening again.”
“How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?
” I ask, a sob tearing out from the back of my throat.
My entire body shakes with the weight of my sadness.
Hot tears stream down my face in an uncontrollable rhythm.
“I was a teenager. I’ve done everything I can to make it up to you. Are you ever going to forgive me?”
“We have forgiven you,” my dad says, his voice cool and dejected. “We just can’t trust you yet, Scarlett. You’re still young and immature, and we just don’t think you are ready for the responsibility.”
I knew what happened that day would bite me in the ass.
I knew I’d never truly be able to escape the one mistake I made.
No matter how many apologies I dish out or how many things I do to prove to my parents that I’m not that person anymore, that trust is gone completely.
And from the look in their eyes, I’m understanding that it might never come back.
“I’m going home,” I say when I catch my breath, wiping my face with my sleeve.
My mom steps into me, reaching out for my hands. “This is your home.”
“Not right now, it’s not.”
I don’t care that it’s Christmas Day or that I haven’t even spent more than two nights at home since the break, but I need to get out of here. I can’t spend another minute pretending that I’m okay with the way my parents have been treating me my entire life.
Junior tries to say something to me about staying, but I’m not listening, too busy trying to get my crying under control enough so I can get out the door. I don’t look back as I make my way to my car and drive back to the only place I can truly call home.