I’m aware that I’m a confusing mess of contradictions.
Lennox: Hi. How are you?
I only hesitate for a few seconds before I respond: I’m okay. How are you?
Lennox: Okay. My mom asked me to get in touch with you.
My heart sinks with both disappointment that he’s only getting in touch because Rachel asked him to, and worry that Rachel found out what we did together.
Lennox: She’d like you to come over on Christmas Eve.
When I don’t respond, he continues: I know you don’t want to see us, but it would mean a lot to her.
Me: I work that night.
Now there’s a pause on his end before he sends: What time do you get off?
Me: It might not be until 8 or 9.
The restaurant I’m working at closes at seven, but that’s just when they lock the door. Diners can still come in at one minute before seven, sit down and order. And based on my experiences over the couple of nights I’ve been working there, I can easily see that happening.
Lennox: That’s fine. We’ll be up until at least midnight.
He’s not leaving me any room for excuses, and I don’t want to disappoint Rachel, especially this first Christmas after my dad’s passed away. He was in the hospital over Thanksgiving, and died just afterward; I’m surprised she’s even ready to celebrate a holiday. But she was so happy when the four brothers and I were all together at her house for dinner.
Me: Okay. I’ll come.
Lennox: Good. We’ll see you then.
I can hear his voice in my head, and imagine the gentle tone he’d be using if we were talking in person. I remember what it felt like when he held me in his arms, and I let myself sink into that memory for a moment.
But then I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face.
Dwelling on what might have been, and what almost was, is no way to live. Especially when I need to see the Stone brothers — at least once in a while — and be their stepsister, not their lover.
26
We needed to stop
I drive into Whitman early on the 24th and brave the crowds of last-minute shoppers to buy a gift for my stepmother. I wonder if I should get gifts for the men too, but I can’t think of anything appropriate or affordable, so I decide to skip it.
When I’m waiting in the long checkout line with the Christmas cactus I selected for Rachel, I’m inspired with the brilliant idea to buy gift cards for each of the men, splitting between them the “bonus” money they put in my pay. But as I survey the gift card design options, a scene plays out in my head of me giving these to them, and it doesn’t end well. I don’t want to start a fight on Christmas Eve.
Work at the restaurant is much busier than I imagined it would be, but through some sort of holiday miracle, I manage to leave at 6:45, and with a nice pocket full of tips.
At home I shower quickly, put on the outfit I laid out yesterday, and take a little extra time with my hair and makeup since it’s a holiday. Also, I don’t want to look as miserable as I’ve been feeling all week.
At my dad’s — or rather, at Rachel’s house — there’s another vehicle outside that I don’t recognize. Though it’s not the car I saw here before, I assume it’s Michelle’s, and brace myself for potential dirty looks. Please, god, don’t let her have said anything to Rachel. Though I assume I wouldn’t even be invited over if Rachel found out what I’d been doing with her sons.
I take a deep breath, exhale, and knock on the door.
“Merry Christmas, Caroline.” Rachel wraps me in a hug before I can respond. Part of me relaxes at her embrace; the other part of me is wracked with guilt.
“Merry Christmas, Rachel,” I say as we separate.
“Come in. I’m so glad you could come over tonight.” She closes the door behind me. “How was work?”
“It was fine. I got off earlier than I expected.” I take off my shoes and hang my coat on the rack by the door.
“That’s good. We’ve just been watching movies. Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I ate at work.”
“How about some hot chocolate, then?”
“That sounds great.”
“Why don’t you go into the living room — the boys are in there — and I’ll bring your drink in.”
“Can I help you in the kitchen?” I ask, in no rush at all to face the Stone brothers.
“Don’t be silly, dear. You’ve probably been on your feet for hours.” She nods toward the living room. “Go relax.”
I could almost laugh out loud. Nothing about tonight is going to be relaxing.
After another deep breath, I pick up the gift bag I brought for Rachel and follow the sound of music into the living room, where White Christmas is playing on the TV. Barrett, Lincoln, and Lennox are sitting on the couch. Bronson, who was in a chair, stands when he sees me.