Falling Harder (12 page)

The pained
expression that crosses his face is worse than any kind of rebuff or rejection.
It’s like he feels sorry for me or something. I blink away tears as they
threaten to spill down my flaming cheeks.

“Nadia,” Trace
says softly, “There’s nothing I want more in the world than to share that with
you. To be the one who gets to show you...everything.”

“But?” I prompt,
embarrassed by my eagerness.

“But I’m not
going to let you lose your virginity on a dirty couch in a drunk’s basement,
stoned out of your brilliant mind,” he tells me, “You deserve so much better
than that.”

“Why?” I scoff,
“What makes me so fucking special?”

“Nothing makes
you special. You just are, Nadia,” Trace tells me, “When it happens between us,
and it will...it’s going to be so much better than this. Trust me.”

“OK...” I say,
exhaustion rushing in to whisk me away. “I trust you, Trace.”

“I’m so glad you
do,” he tells me, kissing my forehead. “Now come here and rest, would you?
We’ve got school in a couple of hours.”

I snuggle
against Trace’s tall form and let dreams rush in around me. My nighttime
journeys are as addled by the pot as my waking world. Visions of explorers’
ships, and icebergs, and shattered glass, and looming figures all collide to
create kaleidoscopic visions of pain and passion. But all the while, Traces me close.
All the while, I know that I’m as safe as I’ve ever been in my life.

Thirteen

Trace

Merry Christmas

I’ve never been
a big fan of Christmas, personally. Even setting aside the whole Baby Jesus
thing, it’s not the sort of thing that appeals to me. Maybe I’d have a
different opinion if I’d grown up in a different home, with parents who got a
kick out of sleigh bells and cookie crumbs. In my house, any extra cash that
might have gone toward buying me a baseball mitt or something tended to go
straight into my parents’ veins.

A lot of years,
I wasn’t even with them for the yuletide festivities. Being a foster kid is
always rough, but it’s even rougher when you’re the only kid in your second
grade class who doesn’t have an answer to the “what did you get for Christmas
this year?” question.

But even with
sixteen shitty Christmases at my back, even with a crumbling foster home and a
psychotic drunk lording over me, I can’t help but feel a little excited about
the whole thing this year. It’s ridiculous, I know, and I’d never admit it to
anyone. But there’s something about having finally found Conway, and Garrick,
and especially Nadia, that makes me think there might be something to this
holiday thing. Maybe all that was missing for me all those years were people I
loved.

Conway almost
faints when I suggest that we all chip in for a Christmas tree. The idea hits
me on the way home from school, and slips right out of my mouth. We’ve just
finished the last half day of school before winter break, so now’s the time. I
don’t think I’ve ever seen Conway so excited about anything. Nadia’s never
celebrated a real holiday in her life, so she doesn’t get too worked up.
Garrick thinks that I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“How the hell
can you be thinking about home fucking decor at a time like this?” he asks me
incredulously from the passenger seat.

“Maybe it will
boost morale or something?” I suggest.

“I seriously
doubt it, man,” he says, “You’re just making the same mistake that the rest of
the country makes every year. People think that they can chase away their
problems with Christmas carols and eggnog, bury them under a mountain of
wrapping paper, and call it a day. Well, that’s not how it works, Trace. You
know how many people kill themselves during the holidays? It’s a bunch of
bullshit. You don’t even believe in god! What the hell do you want to do
Christmas for?”

“Stop being such
a buzz kill,” I say, rerouting to the shabby Christmas tree stand that
someone’s set up next to the gas station.

“I’m just
saying,” Garrick all but pouts, “It’s a stupid idea. And it’s not going to fix
anything.”

“What would you
rather do?” Conway asks from the backseat, “Sit around all through winter break
and trade notes about how miserable we are?”

“It would be
more honest,” Garrick says.

“What do you
think, Nadia?” I ask, “You’re awfully quiet back there.”

“I’ve haven't
had a Christmas tree in years,” she says, “Or a Christmas, for that matter.
Maybe it would be fun?”

“Majority
rules,” I say to Garrick.

“Ya’ll are a
bunch of sentimental morons,” he grumbles.

In retaliation,
I switch the radio from Biggie to some horrible, generic Christmas music
station. The tunes are saccharine and absurd, but we all get a laugh out of how
much they make Garrick want to puke. I pull up to the patch of scraggly
Christmas trees, and the four of us pile out onto the sidewalk. The miniature
forest is being overseen by a bearded, nearly-spherical man in his fifties. He
could pass for Santa himself, if Santa decided to ditch the red suit for a
ratty parka and Chicago Cubs beanie.

“Hi!” Conway
says cheerfully, stepping up to the man, “We’re here to buy a Christmas tree!”

“Oh goody,” he
replies flatly, “Which one do you want?”

“Oh god...I
don’t know,” Conway says, deliberating over handful of options.

“Just pick one
so we can get on with this,” Garrick says.

“Let her take
her time,” Nadia says.

“I want...this
one,” Conway declares proudly, pointing to the largest and least-patchy tree on
the block.

“Whatever,” says
the round man, “You want it on the hood, or what?”

Garrick and I
help him hoist the thing up onto my car and tie it down with twine. Conway’s
excitement is starting to infect the rest of us. Nadia’s grinning by the time
we set off for home, and even Garrick seems a little less sullen.

I turn up the radio
until our ears are ringing with all things merry and bright. It’s a ridiculous
exercise, but it’s doing the trick. Maybe this year, Christmas won’t be the
festering shit hole it usually turns out to be.

Paul isn’t home
when we get back with the tree, and all the better. It takes a little
maneuvering to get the thing into the basement, and my hands get covered in sap
and pointy needles. But after a couple of stubbed toes and a lot of cursing, we
lean the thing up against the basement wall and take a collective gander.

“What do we do
with it now?” Nadia asks.

Conway leaps up
onto the couch and pulls down a string of Christmas lights from the ceiling.
“We decorate it, of course!” she chirps.

There are very
few things I know for certain, in this world. But one thing that’s absolutely
sure is that there’s never been a junkier Christmas tree than the one we've
thrown together. The lights are jumbled and bunched, our ornaments are crushed
beer cans and scraps of newsprint, and there’s a hockey helmet where an angel
would otherwise be.

It’s a total
mess, but it’s our mess—and I can’t help but be a little proud of our effort.
We may be in the middle of crisis, but damn it if we aren’t nailing this whole
Christmas thing.

“So, what
happens next?” Garrick asks.

“Well,” Conway
says, “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We need to stock up. We need eggnog, and
candy canes, and presents, and—”

“How do you know
all this stuff?” Garrick says, “When have you ever even had a Christmas?”

“I haven’t
really,” Conway says, “I just watch a lot of made-for-TV movies.”

“Right,” Garrick
says, “Well, if we’re going to do this thing, I guess we might as well do it
right.”

“I can cook us a
nice dinner,” Nadia offers, “What the hell do people eat on Christmas?”

We trade glances
and shrug. None of us have much experience with tradition, or any for that
matter.

“You know what
sounds good?” I say, “Chinese food.” A chorus of agreement rises from the
group.

“We’re actually
going to do this?” Conway asks, “You guys promise?”

“Sure, kiddo,”
Garrick says. He may act all tough, but he’s got a soft spot for Conway a mile
wide.

We all buzz
around for the rest of the night, Christmas-ifying the joint. Part of me knows
that this is just a desperate attempt to forget about our cluster fuck of a
home life, but I try and ignore that part. I only have a few more months with
these guys until I’m set free from foster care forever, and I plan to enjoy
them come hell or high water.

I’m not going to
let that asshole Paul ruin what time I have left with my makeshift family. This
is the last chance I’ve got to do the Christmas thing with people I care about,
and I’m going to do it right for once. Besides, I think that we deserve at
least one night where we all get to be happy. One night...is that so much to
ask?

As I watch Nadia
arrange a bunch of action figures into a makeshift nativity scene, a thought
occurs to me: I should get her a Christmas present. Her first Christmas present
since she lost her parents. I imagine her eyes lighting up as I hand her a
gift-wrapped box with a big-ass shiny bow on time. Hell, it’s the least I can
do. She’s given me more in the few months I’ve known her than I could ever make
up for.

“I’ll go out on
a grocery run,” I say to the group, “Be back in a few.”

“Can I come?”
Nadia asks, following me toward the stairs.

“Nah, it’s OK,”
I tell her. “I’ll be back in a second and a half. Besides, that nativity scene
needs work.”

“Screw you,” she
grins, punching me lightly on the arm.

“I can pick up
some mistletoe on the way home too if you want,” I tease, resting a hand on her
hip. She cocks her head at me playfully, and my heart skips a beat or two.

“Mistletoe’s
just for kissing,” she replies, her voice so low that only I can hear her.

“True,” I say,
“Do you have something else in mind?”

“You know I do,
Trace,” she says in all seriousness, “I’m ready, you know.”

“I know,” I tell
her, “I just...Things have been so shitty here lately. I want you to be happy
when we...you know. I don’t want it to be another bad memory for you.”

“Look around,”
she says, smiling at our ridiculous tree, our little safe haven down here
underground. “We’re pretty great at making good memories, despite all odds.”

She’s right.
Somehow, even with everything that’s gone wrong these past few months, we’ve
managed to build something together that defies logic. I think back to all
those nights just sitting in the park, or splitting cheese fries at the diner,
or stealing a kiss in the basement when no one was around. We have made
memories together, amazing memories, even while the rest of our worlds were
absolute shit.

An insistent
throbbing starts up in the very core of me as I realize that we don’t have to
wait, if we don’t want to. I’m not pressuring her, I don’t have to protect her
from making her own decisions about what she does with her body. She wants me
as much as I want her...which is a hell of a lot.

I’ve been
waiting for this, hoping for it, since the first time we kissed—even if I never
admitted it to myself. With every other girl I’ve slept with, the very thought
of sex seemed vulgar, detached, insignificant. But the thought of me and
Nadia...it’s a whole other ballgame. It’s the real thing.

I lock eyes with
Nadia and take her hands in mine. “You’re positive?” I ask.

“Absolutely,”
she breathes. “I know it’s crazy to say this, with all the crap that’s happened
lately, but I haven’t been this happy in years, Trace. Not since my
parents...you know. Something terrible could happen tomorrow—we could get split
up, Paul could throw us out, who knows—but right now we’ve still got everything
we need. We’ve got each other, and Garrick, and Conway. We might as well enjoy
ourselves while we can, don’t you think? Don’t you think we deserve that?”

“I do,” I tell
her intently, “You’re right. I’m more than ready if you are.”

“Well, I’m not
talking about right this second,” she laughs, “You have tinsel to buy or
something. But...tonight? What do you say?”

I don’t say
anything. I simply close the space between our bodies and bring my lips to
hers. Across the room, Garrick makes elaborate puking sounds—my best friend,
ever the good old cock block.

“Get a room, you
two,” he says.

“Fuck off,” I
reply, sharing a private smile with Nadia. I turn away from her, tamping down
the excitement that’s coming to a boil inside of me.

Tonight. I can
wait until tonight. One thing’s for sure, though. I need to find one hell of a
present for Nadia. What the hell are you supposed to get a person as a
Christmas/let’s make love for the first time gift?

I’ll just have
to improvise, I guess.

~~~

I stride out to
my car, not even bothering to disguise the spring in my step. I don’t know what
I did to convince Nadia that I was worth a minute of her time, but Jesus am I
glad she gave me a shot. As I take off on my quest for the right gift, I can’t
help but let my imagination go a little haywire with thoughts of what might lie
in store for the two of us, someday.

Out of nowhere,
images of Nadia and I in the future start to scroll through my head like a
slideshow of what-if’s. I picture cheering at her college graduation,
presenting her with a huge bouquet of roses after she accepts her law degree
from some Ivy League university.

I imagine us
finding an apartment in some nice-ish corner of the city, painting the walls
whatever color we like, taking turns making dinner and washing the dishes. I
think of what it would be like to pick out an engagement ring for her, where
I’d propose, how gorgeous she would look in a white dress and veil.

These are not
the sort of things I ever dreamed would be a part of my life. I always assumed
that I’d bounce from one chick to another for the rest of my days, because who
would be crazy enough to fall in love with me? But somehow, I’ve hoodwinked
this incredible person into keeping me around. I’m not going to fuck this up.
I’m not going to run away from something just because it’s good. I’m going to
be the best man I possibly can for Nadia, whatever it takes.

I stop at a
dozen shops, searching for something to give Nadia for Christmas. What do you
give the least materialistic, most selfless person in the world? At a loss, I
swing into a tiny thrift shop and hurry inside, hoping that I’ll find something
here. I pick my way through racks of vintage clothes and kitschy doodads, but
nothing jumps out at me. Nothing seems right.