“My dad bought one of those projection screens,” I tell him. “Wait until you see the high def on it. The players look like they’re jumping off the screen.”
“Oh, yeah?” He smiles. “Bex will like that, too.”
“She can come,” I offer. “You can bring Taylor, too,” I say to Drake, laughing. “If she’ll even look at you after reading that post.”
Drake frowns.
Preston chuckles.
So, I dodged a bullet this time. But that’s this month, and only because I stopped partying as much with my friends at the Delta Sig house and buckled down on my classes.
Still, it’s nice not to be the center of attention this time.
Chapter Eleven
Sam
“Thanks, Mrs. C,” I say to Eden’s mom as she wraps her arms around me. “I really appreciate you taking me in for the holidays.”
Mrs. Caulfield is a blonde, like Eden, with the same green irises and high cheekbones. She oozes warmth, and as she releases me from her grip, I’m consumed by emotions, saddened by the fact my mom is no longer here with me. The holidays always remind me of her and make me miss her even more than I already do.
“It’s no trouble at all, Samantha.” Mrs. Caulfield smiles. “You’re welcome to stay with us anytime.”
Mr. Caulfield, a balding middle-aged man with big blue eyes and short, dark hair, lifts my suitcase from the floor. It’s old and beaten down like most of the things I own. “I’ll take this up to Eden’s room for you.”
I smile, wondering what it must be like to have a real dad, one who’s not drunk and dirty, barely able to function from one day to the next. “Thanks, Mr. Caulfield.”
Their house is a home, not just a place where they sleep. The scent of gingerbread wafts through the air. If I were home, cigarette smoke and stale beer would be penetrating the air as I tried to assemble a halfway decent dinner for my dad as he slept on the couch. That’s Christmas to me. Which is why I can’t stand the holidays. They serve as nothing more than a painful reminder of the past and what I will never have. I can’t recall the last time I had a Christmas like this one.
Last year, dear old Dad was passed out on the front steps wearing his boxers and a winter coat with holes in it. Real classy. He’s worse than the drunk Santa at the mall.
I had to drag him upstairs into the bathroom and made him soak in the tub until he sobered up enough to eat dinner with me. Unlike my father’s house, the Caulfield’s have decorations hanging from the massive tree in the corner. Garland twists all the way up the banister. Even snowflakes and mistletoe hang from various parts of the ceiling.
I miss having a normal Christmas. Over ten years have passed since my mother’s death. When I’m reminded of what I had, I want to curl into a ball and cry. But I won’t allow myself to fall apart. Someone has to be the parent. I’ve become so accustomed to what I’m stuck with and often forget what I could have. Which is why I decided to take Eden up on her offer this year.
I’ve never said yes until now. And while I’m thrilled to be here, I want to go back to school. Strickland University is home for me now. I just want to get back to the everyday grind and forget about the holidays.
Eden grabs my hand and leads me into the kitchen. “We have some taste testing to do.”
I look at the trays of cookies on the table. There’s iced gingerbread men, chocolate chip, sugar, and at least a dozen other decorated cookies.
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Taste testing?”
“Yeah.” She lifts two gingerbread men from the plate and hands one to me. “My mom makes me eat two of every cookie before she serves them to guests. But since you’re family, you can help me eat some of these before everyone comes over for dinner.”
I bite into the cookie and moan from the burst of cinnamon hitting my tongue. “Mmm… this is amazing.” I glance over at Mrs. Caulfield, the cookie raised in the air. “Good work, Mrs. C.”
She fixes her apron and smiles.
Eden’s family is supposed to be here in the next few hours. I’ve met them dozens of times. They’re the kind of family you see in Hallmark movies and think ‘they can’t be real.’ Her cousins are all perfect with their perfect children and perfect lives. Or at least that’s the front they put on for everyone. I’d rather be around people who pretend to be normal. It beats the alternative.
We spend the next twenty minutes shoving cookies into our mouths. My stomach growls from the pain by the time I lean back in the chair. Running my hand over my full belly, I can’t even look at the plates in front of us.