Falling to Pieces (22 page)

Twenty Three

Most people’s
version of a Christmas morning starts with a tree and a visit from Santa. Mine started with a headache. The kind that said I hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep the night before, and it wasn’t from excitement. Most years I knew what to expect from the holidays. A big fat nothing. Christmas was just like every other day, passing unnoticed in our house, and that was fine with me. No pressure. But this year was different. This year I had no clue what to expect.

We still hadn’t bothered to decorate. Hadn’t even talked about it. No tree sat lit up and glowing in the living room. No holly hanging on the front door. No gifts wrapped in pretty paper and bows. But it
was
different. And if nothing else, I wanted mom to know that. I wanted to make this year special.

Presents weren’t exactly in our budget, and even if they had been, I hadn’t the slightest clue what to get for
her. I’d lived with the woman since the day I was born, and I didn’t know the first thing about her. What she liked, what she didn’t like, what she wanted, what she hated, what she dreamed of. Something I planned to remedy. But in the meantime, thanks to Mrs. Parks and her cookbooks, I did know how to put together a tasty breakfast.

Rooting through the cabinets, I pulled out the box of pancake mix I’d stashed the week before. My original plan to make them from scratch got booted when I saw how much the ingredients cost, but I did manage to squeeze sugar, vanilla extract, and chocolate chips into the weekly grocery budget, as well as a carton of eggs.

My ears were on high alert the entire time I measured and mixed, listening for any sign that Mom might be awake. I cracked the eggs into a separate pan as the pancakes heated on the stove and added salt, pepper, and a handful of grated cheese. By the time everything was ready to be served, I hadn’t heard one peep from her. Which left me with another problem.

Did I dare risk waking her? Or should I wait and let the food get cold? As I killed time setting out plates, silverware, and glasses of orange juice for each of us, I decided it was time to grow a backbone. As much as I hated the idea of starting this day off on a potential bad note,
Mom wasn’t the same person without the alcohol, and I’d never know exactly what kind of person she was underneath if I never gave her a chance to show me.

That’s what my head had to say about it. My heart had other plans. Like running for the hills at a galloping pace as I made my way down the hall toward her bedroom door.
Before the rest of me could follow its lead, I knocked and told myself it was too late to turn back now.

No answer. Not surprising since the volume of my heroic knock added up to all of a field mouse tapping on her door. With a tissue. Why did I do these things to myself? I was in holly jolly hell. I could literally
feel
the years slipping away from my life as I caused what I was certain was permanent damage to my poor heart.

Jeez, it was my mother in there, not so
me axe murderer. Telling myself to take a chill pill, I knocked again, only slightly louder this time.

Who was I kidding? I couldn’t
go through with this.

I’d made it three whole steps when a rusted creak announced my mother’s emergence. Too late to retreat, I stood frozen in the hallway with my back to her, bracing myself for whatever would come next.

“Jade?” She didn’t sound mad.

Calling on what little courage I had left, I slowly rotated. She didn’t look mad, either. Just confused. And why not? I’d essentially just ding-dong-
ditched her bedroom door.

“Oh.
I, uh, thought you were sleeping. I mean, I guess you were. Not that you look like you just rolled out of bed or anything. I just . . .” For the love of God, stop talking! “I didn’t, um, mean to wake you up. I, uh, made breakfast if you’re hungry.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I, um . . . I wanted to.”

“Oh
. Well . . . thank you. I’ll, uh, be out in a minute, I guess.”

“Right. Sure. Okay. I’ll just, uh, be in the kitchen.” I pointed down the hall like she didn’t
know where the kitchen was and fought the urge to mentally slap myself.

She nodded and I
backed away, wondering if we’d ever be able to have a conversation that didn’t consist of more ‘um’s and ‘uh’s than actual words.

***

“Wow.” At the sound of her voice, I cracked the back of my head on the cabinet I’d been digging through in search of the bottle of syrup I knew was in there somewhere, and ducked out to find Mom standing beside the table, examining the food. “This looks amazing.”

A sudden wave of shyness crashed over me and I could feel my cheeks heat. She’d complimented me. A sincere compliment. And I honestly didn’t know what to do with that. “Thanks.”

“If you’re looking for the syrup, I moved it into the cabinet over the fridge.”

Sure enough, there it was. Snatching the plastic bottle, somewhat creepily fashioned into the shape of a woman’s body, I joined
Mom at the table, where silence prevailed as we set to arranging our breakfast the way we each liked. Me with a geyser of syrup dumped over my pancakes and running into my eggs, and Mom with a small puddle in the corner of her plate. Chew—swallow—sip—repeat. Mom seemed to be doing them same and with every bite, my hopes that today would somehow bring a decline to the weirdness factor between us dissolved.

“Oh, I have something for you.” At long last, it was Mom who broke through the invisible barrier we’d both played a part in erecting.

Without another word, she left the table and rushed down the hall toward her room. When she returned, it was with a narrow white box in
hand.

“It isn’t much, but . . .” She slid the box across the table to me.

My fingers knotted in my lap, afraid to touch it, afraid to hope that this was really what it looked like.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

Slowly, I reached over the cracked table for the slightly dented cardboard. I’d inhaled nothing but oxygen, and yet it somehow seemed to coalesce into something much more solid in my throat as I peeled back the lid to reveal a brown, woolen hat.

“I noticed you didn’t have one and thought you probably should.”
Mom fidgeted with her fork, eyes fastened on the crumbling eggs she poked at.

“Yeah.” My heart pinched as I blinked back tears. I
wouldn’t have cared if it had been trash in that box, it was the first present I could remember my mother ever giving me—Christmas, birthday, or any other reason. I treasured it. “This is great, Mom. Thank you. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” She took another small bite and a sip of her juice. “When is Kiernan coming to get you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s Christmas. I’m not sure he’s coming at all today. He probably wants to spend it with his family.”

“You should call him.” She threw back the rest of her juice, getting to her feet to drop the dirty glass in the sink. “I’m sure Claire won’t mind having you there. I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while. Merry Christmas, Jade.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

My heart sank along with my eyes to the half-eaten plate of pancakes
and eggs still sitting on the table. Guess I wasn’t as good a cook as I thought. She grabbed a bottle of water on her way out and I knew it was so she wouldn’t have to leave her room again for a while.

Despite my mother’s instructions, I had no intention of calling Kiernan. Christmas was a family holiday and I wouldn’t intrude on that. Instead,
I dumped the extra food in a Tupperware for later and began cleaning up. Taking my time with the dishes, I scrubbed each by hand until they shined and then reorganized the cabinets for absolutely no reason at all. I was dangerously close to color coordinating the fridge when there was a knock at the door.

“Merry Christmas!” Kiernan was inside the apartment, wrapping me in his arms and pressing his lips to mine before I could even get over the shock of seeing him there.

“Kiernan! What are you doing here?”

He fell back far enough to see me, never removing his arms from
around my waist. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, and you should be spending it with your family.”

“I am.
We
are. Jade, you’re a part of our family. Did you really think we’d leave you out today?” I’m pretty sure my mouth fell open and Kiernan frowned at me. “Babe, you really need to have more faith in us.”

“No. That’s not it. I just—”

“I know.” He pressed his forehead to mine and I melted into him. “And you really need to have more faith in
you
.”

“Kiernan—”

“Where’s your mom?”

“What?”

“Your mom. Like you said, it’s a family holiday.”

“You want . . .” This couldn’t be right. It felt like my t
wo separate worlds colliding. “You want my mom to come to your house?”

“Yeah. My mom called her yesterday and set it all up.”

I had to open and close my mouth several times before any words would come out of it. “Yesterday? But my mom’s—”

“Oh good, Kiernan’s here.” Mom was standing in the hallway, fully dressed in the
nicest thing I’d ever seen her wear—a hunter green sweater and dark wash blue jeans—and she was . . . smiling? Clearly I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. “Surprise.”

With a weak lift of her arms, her smile faded, and I realized I was just standing there staring at her. “You’re really coming?”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“No. No, I want. I really want. I’m just . . . I have to get dressed.” It suddenly dawned on me that I was the only one in the apartment still rocking fuzzy pajamas.

Kiernan’s deep laugh followed me all the way down the hall and I knew my face had turned ten shades of red.

***

“Merry Christmas!” I was dragged into a warm, welcoming hug the instant I stepped inside the Parks’ house. The scent of gingerbread and sugar cookies assailed my nostrils with holiday cheer. Mrs. Parks released me to reach for my mother and gave her a hug, as well. The look on my mother’s face was priceless. “Come in. Come in.”

Kiernan too
k my coat and the nice new hat Mom had given me, and tucked them away in the closet before ushering the lot of us into the living room where Caulder was reclining on the sofa flipping through the pages of a book.

Stacks of clothes, movies, video games, and all sorts of other goodies sat opened in the corner. And beneath the tree . . . were more gifts wrapped in shiny red paper. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace and Christmas music played softly from the stereo on the mantle. It was like stepping into a greeting card.

“Sit down. I want to give you your presents.”

“Presents?” Hugging the messenger bag
where I’d managed to squirrel away the one—as in singular—gift I had for Kiernan, I eyed the stack of presents beneath the tree.

“We knew this was going to be a surprise for you, and we didn’t want you to feel bad, so we weren’t going to get you anything, but . . . it’s Christmas,” Mrs. Parks explained. “Forgive us?”

I laughed and glanced at my mom who was hovering anxiously in the corner near the door. She wasn’t enjoying this the way I was. If she had her choice, I had no doubt she’d be back in bed at home. But she was here. For me. And that was the greatest gift anyone could have ever given me.

“M
om, will you sit here with me?”

She looked startled by my request. “Oh. Sure.”

Anxiously scurrying across the room, I took pity on her and chose a seat near the corner so she could feel hidden again. I knew all too well what it felt like not to want to be the center of attention. Kiernan settled on my other side and handed me a large, squishy package.

I took it
and glanced around the room to find all eyes on me. “Are you all just going to sit around watching me?”

“Yes.”
Caulder smirked at me, sitting up to give his mother a place to sit. “So you’d better get to it, or it’s going to be a boring show.”

“Cal!” Mrs. Parks swatted her son’s arm and I took their momentary distraction to dig into my present.

Tearing open the paper a heavy purple and white coat fell out with gray fur around the hood. Kiernan’s arm snaked around my waist and he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “To keep you warm when I’m not around to do it.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that the way I took it, but my heart squeezed and I hugged the coat to my chest, reminding myself to breathe. I couldn’t break down in tears in the middle of the Parks
’ family Christmas.

The coat was set aside
, only to be replaced with another box, and another. In the end I’d opened nice, water-proof boots, as well as several sweaters and a new pair of jeans from Mrs. Parks. Kiernan passed over the last present and I tore right into it, having grown used to being the star of the show. Inside laid a beautiful hat and glove set that matched my coat perfectly. Beside me, mom fidgeted and I caught her frowning at what was in my lap. The set was nicer than what she’d been able to give me—obviously more expensive—but if she didn’t know that money meant diddly-squat to me, then she didn’t know me at all.