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I fought a weird rush of guilt. Adam had gotten beaten up because of me, he’d lost it all because of me. He’d lost his home, his family, his girlfriend.
I had to shake it off. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t asked him to do this, and I didn’t owe him guilt or any other feeling because of it.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him again that we were over and that I didn’t love him. It remained true, but he was so shaken up right now. I didn’t want to twist the knife or kick him while he was down.
“No one should be beaten up for who they love,” Dad said firmly.
Mom grabbed her wine glass and drained it. Her hand was shaking and the horrified expression on her face told me her old trauma had resurfaced. And there were no pills in the house anymore to help her face it. I reached out and took her hand. She squeezed my fingers.
“Tomorrow, I’ll talk with your father,” Dad said. “Give him a piece of my mind, and we’ll find a way to make this right.”
“No, Mr. Mandel. I don’t want him in my life.” Adam took another bite of corn, stood up from the table, and said, “I’ll be upstairs.”
Then he walked out, just as strangely as he’d walked in.
We sat, staring at each other over the remains of dinner, trying to process what had just happened. Trying to pluck the answer of what we should do now straight from the ether.
Trying. And failing.
***
Dad went upstairsand found Adam in my bedroom, on my bed, crying into my pillow. I stayed in the living room with Mom and Milky Way. The presents under the tree remained wrapped. The strings of lights glittered as the muffled sounds of Adam’s sobs and Dad’s voice drifted down the stairs.
I stroked Milky Way with one hand, and Mom held my other as we sat together on the sofa. She rested her head on my shoulder. I kissed her crown and tried to stop my whirling thoughts, but they just spun around wildly. A tornado in my mind.
When Dad came down and sat in the chair opposite us, he leaned back and stared up at the ceiling for a long time. “I told him he could stay tonight, but not in Peter’s room. In the guest room. He’s moved across the hall now. I think you should lock your door tonight, son. Just to be safe.”
I nodded, my throat thick, my heart rabbiting against my ribs.
“Tomorrow we’ll reassess the situation,” Dad went on. “I would have liked to call the police and an ambulance, but he refused again. He’s legally an adult. He doesn’t seem to have a concussion.” Dad clucked his tongue. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“His own father,” Mom murmured. “Hurt like that by his own father.”
“And not for the first time,” Dad murmured.
Mom looked at me. “Was this a regular thing, Peter?”
I shook my head. “Not as far as I know. I think it just happened once before. When his dad found out about another boyfriend of his, a guy he was seeing in Rome.”
“And the other kids? Are they safe?”
I swallowed. “I think so?” How could I know for sure? “They’re adults, too, though. And they all manage their father’s moods. Their mother does, too.” I sighed. “I don’t know.”
We sat and stared at the glowing tree, all three of us a wreck of worry.
The menorah mocked me from the top. The original had given light for eight days without any oil, but tonight it shed no light at all on what we should do or what to expect now.
“We’ll open the presents another night,” Mom said, rising. I held on to her hand as she stood. “I can’t say I don’t wish I had some Valium around. This has been quite the Christmas Eve.”
Dad rose too, ushering her back toward their bedroom. But he paused, glanced upstairs, and asked, “Do you want me to go up with you? Until you’re locked in your room?”
I shook my head, still patting Milky Way. Adam had frightened me over the last few months, but tonight I was certain he wouldn’t hurt me. Tonight, I thought if he asked for anything at all, it’d be to climb in my bed and cry in my arms.
There was no way that was going to happen.
Instead, I took the stairs on my tiptoes with Milky Way in my arms. I tried to miss the steps with telltale creaks until I was safely in my bedroom. I locked the door behind me. Paranoid, I checked under the bed, in the closet, and in the bathroom. Adam wasn’t hidden anywhere. He’d stayed in the guest room.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I’m not sure any of us could. But as dawn rolled around, pearly and pink, unconsciousness tugged me under. I got a few hours of rest, and then rose, jittery with worry over what was ahead.
