“You two are assholes,” I mumble. “I thought this was supposed to be a peaceful drive.” I rest my head on the back of the seat while my parents grin at each other as if they’ve been waiting for this moment to punish me.
“Love this one,” Mom says, turning up the radio. Relieved the rehash is over, I feel the sudden shift of energy next to me as Mom begins to sing. It’s only when I turn to see Eli swallow as if he’s in physical pain that I acknowledge him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he answers quickly. Too quickly. He runs his hands along his jeans as steel guitar screeches through the cabin of the SUV. The longer the music plays, the more uncomfortable he grows. Briefly, empathy overrules animosity as I speak up.
“Mom, I had one too many last night. Mind if we turn it down, or off, altogether?”
Annoyed, she glances back at me before obliging and clicking the radio off.
A second later, Eli sputters out a low, “thank you.”
Glancing over, I see sweat beading on his forehead. “Better?”
“I’m good.” Sensing his unease and embarrassment, I can’t help but to cover the hand he’s running along his thigh. Reaction instantaneous, he grips mine with a clammy palm like a lifeline, and my heart starts a steady gallop. It’s when I lift my eyes to his that my well-intended gesture backfires.
Bang.
It’s there, the same raw vulnerability I saw glimpses of when we were dating, which only made me fall for him harder. It’s the false security he blanketed me with after those rare moments that has me backtracking as I pull my hand out of his.
Instantly his eyes drop, and he remains quiet the rest of the ride to town.
Freezing, we all huddle around Dad at the edge of the square parking lot as he barks out rehearsed orders. “Gracie, you are with grandma and me. The rest of you spread out. Eli, if you want, you can pair up with Whitney since she’s familiar with the shops—”
“I’m good on my own,” he replies hastily, and I let out a sarcastic harrumph which he doesn’t miss. He just held my hand like it mattered to him—a moment of weakness on his part that appears already forgotten. Thatch curses at the stroller he’s trying to unravel, and Eli steps in, surprisingly opening it up with ease. Brenden loads up his own twin stroller with Wyatt and Conner as Erin helps.
“One hour and we meet for lunch,” Dad instructs.
Without glancing back, especially in Eli’s direction, I start my trek down Main Street on a mission to be my mother’s perfect mystery Rudolph. Checking my phone, I see a few bars and decide to use them to call Alyssa and fill her in on the last twenty-four hours. If anyone can fully appreciate this situation, it’s her. She answers on the second ring.
“About time, I’ve been texting you—”
“I just got all forty of them,” I interject, “the service at the cabin is shit, and Dad’s refusing to give up the Wi-Fi code. So, Merry Christmas in advance.”
“Gah, I miss Christmases with your family. I would trade places in a heartbeat. The in-laws are arriving any moment.”
After college, Alyssa’s life exploded. Not just career-wise, but personally. She ventured off to England for the summer—a graduation present from her parents—but never used the return ticket. Within a month, she found a job as a buyer for one of the biggest department stores in London, where she met her husband, who she now lives with, along with their two children, forty-five minutes outside of the city. We’ve managed to get together once every few years and surprisingly never lost touch.
Alyssa is the friend I can neglect without paying a penalty and vice versa. Space and time don’t matter. On this particular day though, I wish it was as simple as a short drive to get to her.
“So, how’s it going?”
“It’s not. I didn’t get the promotion.”
“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I think I’m past the first three stages of grief. Oh, and Brenden brought a friend from work to spend Christmas with us.”
“Oh yeah, is he—”
“Eli.”
“Eli?”
“Eli.”
A short pause.
“What?! And you led with the promotion?!”
“I wanted that promotion so much.”
“I know, babe, and I’m sorry, but Eli? What in the ever-loving hell was Brenden thinking?”
“I know, and he’s been all blasé about it, like I’m being childish.”