“Of course,” Mrs. Benson says, before Jack or I can say anything. “He’ll take the couch.”
“Are you staying for the movie?” Uncle Remington asks.
It would be easy to say no, to leave with Jack and Mrs. Benson right now. Part of me does want to watch it, though. I don’t understand that part. I have no love for my uncle, like he has no love for me. Maybe it’s that I feel like Ishoulddo something with him, and this is effortless. We sit on opposite sides of the home theater and don’t talk, watching a movie we both love. I don’t know if he can ever make up for the damage he’s given me, raising me the way he has, but if he does try someday, we’ll need common ground to build from. One experience together we can say neither of us hated.
It's pathetic to even think that. He’ll never want to change, and honestly? I doubt I’ll ever want to try and bond with him. But it’s Christmas, so in this instance . . . I’ll listen to that nonsensical part of me that wants to continue the tradition.
“I’m staying. But it’s late,” I tell Mrs. Benson. “I can walk over after the movie. You should go home and go to bed.”
“I’m not having you walk over in the dead of the night,” she says.
“Then you should stay and watch it with us,” I say, the words flying from my lips as soon as I think them. Uncle Remington stiffens. Mrs. Benson’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Elliot—” Uncle Remington starts.
“I know you don’t care if we watch it together, but you waited for me, in caseIdid. So I could tell Mrs. Benson you were decent to me over the holiday.” A faint shock flits across his face that I know how he thinks. “I’d like to watch it on Christmas Eve, like we always do,” I say. “But I want them to stay, too. If they will.”
Jack is grinning like he’s proud of me, and I fashion my lips into a small smile in return.
Mrs. Benson is looking at Uncle Remington. “What do you think?”
His lip is slightly curled, but he sighs and nods. Maybe he realizes if he puts up with this, Mrs. Benson will think just marginally better of him. I doubt he cares what she thinks, but he knows she could confront him about his treatment of me at any time, and seeing him give me this—it might make her less inclined to randomly visit and berate him. I know she’s been curious about his behavior toward me since she met him at Thanksgiving. She’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt me.
“All right,” Uncle Remington says. “But don’t even think about kissing during the film.”
“We’re not animals,” Jack mutters.
Both Jack and Mrs. Benson have wide eyes when they step into our home theater. Itissomething, with several squashy chairs spread around the space and a massive TV mounted on the wall, and speakers around the room. It’s heavily sound-proofed, too.Uncle Remington sits on the far left once he gets the movie started. Mrs. Benson takes a seat in the middle. Jack and I take two seats on the right.
I lean back in my comfy chair and reach for Jack’s hand, and lose myself in the splendor of the film. Two hours later we all head to the kitchen—until I realize I need a few things. I run to my room to put some clothes and toiletries in a bag, snag my pillow, and race back to the kitchen.
Uncle Remington shakes my hand and says, “Enjoy your Christmas.” It almost sounds sincere.
“You too,” I tell him, and leave with Jack and Mrs. Benson.
“Well that was cozy,” Jack says as we get into the car.
“The movie? Absolutely? Best not to dwell on the rest,” Mrs. Benson says.
I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I hope you know how much I appreciate you, Mrs. Benson.”
She sucks in a sharp, quiet breath. I turn and look out the window, though I can’t see much outside. I don’t need her to respond, and I think maybe she can’t. Not in words. But when we get back to their house she wraps me in her arms for a long moment.
“Right,” she says when she lets go, wiping under her eye. “I’ll get you a few clean blankets for the couch, and we all better get some sleep. Nothing guarantees an early morning like a kid on Christmas.”
“It’s almost midnight,” Jack says.
He spreads a blanket over the couch and takes a ridiculously long time smoothing it and tucking it in. I’m about to ask what he’s doing when he checks his phone and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Eli.”
I breathe out a laugh. “You waited for it to be midnight, to say that?”
“I waited to say itfirst.” He touches my arm. “See you in a few hours.”
He goes down the hall and into his bedroom. I look at the milk and cookies on the end table, stand, and take a big bite of one of the cookies (which turns into eating one cookie and a big bite of a second) and drink a swig of the milk.
Then I settle onto my bed for the night.
SIXTEEN
