“Ready. Let me just get my coat,” I say, grabbing it from the hook beside the door. Eric helps me put it on and it takes every ounce of my self-restraint not to throw my arms around his neck and ask him to make me his untilnextChristmas.
“Will I wait up?” Mila asks, and I slip outside and close the door behind me before I can answer.
Eric laughs as he descends the stairs in front of me, opening the door to the street and gesturing for me to pass. He nods over at his car, parked across the road.
“It’s cold tonight.” I zip up my coat, shivering.
“They’re saying it might snow.”
He opens the door for me and I climb inside, watching as he sits himself next to me and turns on the engine.
“It’s best if we don’t stay too late.”
“Sure,” I say, slightly disappointed.
He hasn’t even touched me since he came to the door; something that doesn’t match the way we left things when we last saw each other.
“Sorry for calling you last-minute,” Eric says as we pull into the road.
“No problem.”
“She asked me whether you’d be coming too, and I just said yes without thinking, so…”
“It’s okay.”
“A few hours top, then you’ll be free of me.”
His words ring false to my ears; as false as this whole situation. But I keep that thought to myself.
“Christmas is going to be tough – especially with a family like mine,” he says then.
I smile politely.
I thought this Christmas would be different for both of us. But I’m starting to worry I’ve been imagining things. Maybe the signs weren’t there after all; and as for the facts… I’m starting to doubt those, too.
We sit in silence all the way to his grandmother’s house. It echoes with second thoughts, mistakes: the same mistake I’m making by letting this whole thing carry on, in spite of everything, for as long as he needs.
* * *
ERIC’S GRANDMOTHERHAS already done most of the work. The house is stunning, bright, classy, with old-fashioned decorations that feel nostalgic. They remind me of the past, of a life Evelyn lived alone in this house for so long, the rooms filled with sorrow and regret. I can feel it; there are some things you don’t have to be told. Emotion seeps through every item. From the forgotten ornament on the back of the living room tree to the lights hugging the outside of the house, flickering repetitively.
“Another string of lights wouldn’t be bad,” Evelyn says to Larry and Eric, who are still concentrated on the enormous tree in the reception room, where I’m assuming Christmas dinner will be held. I’m trying to sort through old ornaments with trembling fingers, nervous at the thought of breaking one. Eric’s grandmother is sitting in an armchair, a tumbler of what I assume is whiskey in her hand, overseeing everyone.
“How does your family usually celebrate, Sean? Do you have any traditions or decorations that have been passed down through generations…?”
“Granny…” Eric warns.
“It’s okay,” I say to him, before letting my gaze fall onto his grandmother, who’s confused by our brief exchange. “It’s just been my sister and I for a few years.”
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We’re fine. We’re grown-ups, both adults now.”
“Did you grow up alone?”
“Not really, but we definitely still needed our parents when they passed.”
“When was that?”
