I have a love-hate relationship with the holidays. Especially Christmas. I love the music, the movies, and the decorations. I love the sense of spirit, the coming together of friends and family. I love buying and wrapping gifts. What I hate is the stress and the greed and the rushing.
This year, I also particularly hate my older sister sitting on her fiancéâs lap next to the fireplace with her big-ass beacon of an engagement ring on her finger and a pile of presents next to her thatâs taller than I am. All presents from him, wrapped up in telltale paper clearly from upscale stores like Tiffany and Nordstrom.
Yes, Iâm a jealous, immature bitch for feeling this way, but thatâs just where I am in my life right nowâhating people who have what I want. And I donât mean material things. I mean having that special person involved in every part of your life.
I finger the beaded bracelet Blue gave me a few weeks ago, which I havenât taken off once and which has more value to me than any diamond tennis bracelet ever could. But heâs not here, and I wish he was.
As I sip my crystal glass of eggnog, I try to picture Blue here with me, sitting on the loveseat beside me and opening presents. I can easily imagine him laughing and joking with my family, even playing holiday songs on his guitar. Once upon a time, my grandfather played the banjo, and I can imagine him and Blue talking in great depth about music. My grandmother would touch his hair and tell him how unfair it is for a man to have such beautiful, wavy hair.
That illusion quickly fades, and in its place, I can see my father drilling Blue with questions about what he does for work, what his five-year plan is, and why heâs wasting time playing music when thatâs a dead-end dream for hippies. I can hear my sisters giggling about how good-looking he would be if he would cut his hair. I can understand why Blue wouldnât want to deal with any of that.
My mother approaches me where I sit in the dining room. âHoney, why are you hiding way over here? Come sit with the rest of us. Grandma canât even see you sitting this far away.â
âIâm not hiding, Mom. There wasnât any place to sit.â
âThereâs always room. Donât be so shy, sweetie. I thought your boyfriend was going to join us. Your father and I were looking forward to meeting him. Youâve practically moved in with him, and we havenât even met him yet.â
My fingers tighten around my glass. âI havenât moved in with him.â
âPiper, youâre hardly ever home anymore. That poor cat cries all night for you.â
My head snaps to face her. Iâm sure she must be exaggerating. âWhat? He does not.â
âYes, he does. We can hear him from up here. Iâve gone down to check on him, and heâs just sitting at the door, meowing. The poor thing misses you.â
God, now I feel terrible. I had no idea Archie missed me when I wasnât home. He usually ignores me or only comes near me when he wants food or to have his head petted for five minutes exactly. Not a moment less or longer or heâll bite or scratch me.
âMy boyfriend couldnât make it. Iâm going to go see him later, after we open the presents.â
âI donât think youâll be going anywhere tonight. Itâs snowing, and I donât want to be worrying about you driving around on Christmas Eve in ice and snow. Your grandmother will be worried sick, too.â
âMomââ
âI know youâre an adult, Piper, but thatâs no reason to be unsafe or cause your family to worry about you on a holiday. And what kind of man lets a woman drive around at all hours of the night anyway? Especially in the snow.â
I am not at all in the mood to go down this road with her tonight. Iâve heard it all many times in the past few weeks. âMom, can we not do this tonight?â
Her bright red lips part, then close to a thin smile. âYouâre right. Itâs Christmas. But promise me you wonât go out tonight. The roads are so bad that your grandparents are staying here. Havenât you looked outside?â
Iâve been too busy daydreaming to think about the weather. When I told Blue yesterday that Iâd be coming to see him tonight, I had no idea it was supposed to snow today. Dammit. My sucky driving sucks even worse in bad weather. Even if my mother wasnât trying to ground me like a teenager, I wouldnât be keen on driving across town tonight.
âOkay.â I give in. âIâll stay home. But tomorrow Iâm going to see him.â
âIf thatâs what you want to do. Iâd much prefer he come here for dinner, but Iâm not going to argue with you. Now come sit in the living room with the rest of the family.â
I try to enjoy the rest of the night and be happily joyous, but Iâm just not feeling it this year. I miss Blue and Acorn, and my heart aches to be with them. Iâm worried about Blue being alone, especially if itâs snowing and he canât walk anywhere to get what he needs or clear his mind.
Ever since the night at the diner, his dark mood has clung to him like a shroud. There have been a few fleeting moments when heâs laughed and smiled, but it seemed forced. Heâs been dark and cloudy, much like the storms he both loves and hates, and I wonder when the rainbow of light and color will return.