“But you did a wonderful job. If we can push aside Sabin’s shitstorm, the truth is, you gave everyone else the best day imaginable. We’re pretty used to imperfection.”
I see perfection in things that are likely considered imperfections by others.My own thought from years ago rings loudly in my head.
“I think he’s lonely.” The lights on the tree grow blurry the longer I focus on them, so I wipe my eyes and shoot for clarity. “Estelle and James, Eric and Zach…”
“And then, there’s us. Clearly a sore spot for him.”
“Why is that? Why all of a sudden?”
Chris takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out. “I’m not sure. He’s not drinking, so that’s not it. You guys have a very close friendship, and maybe he thinks I’m in the way of that or that I resent it. I don’t want to hinder your relationship. I never have. I’m glad you have each other. You’re the closest friend he has, and I know that he’s very good to you—well, usually. You know that he has his moments when he erupts. He picked a hell of a night to do it.” Chris takes a long drink. “I can tell how much he hurt you tonight, and I wish that hadn’t happened. If it’s any consolation, he’s going to feel terrible about it when he calms down. He adores you, sometimes maybe a little too much.”
I don’t know what to say to this because perhaps I adore Sabin a little too much, too. While Sabin’s rant today did hurt, I’m more focused on it being an indication that he’s in pain of some sort, and that is intolerable to me. I can’t stand to know he’s hurting so much.
“Today started out so nicely,” I say dejectedly.
“It did.”
“And I didn’t overcook the rib roast or screw up the hollandaise sauce for the asparagus. Those were indicators that the day should have been a success.”
“Blythe, you gave us the best holiday anyone could. We’re not easy to take. I should have expected something like this, and I probably should have warned you. Listen, remember the year that I took them to Hawaii when we were still in college?”
“Of course. Sabin sent me thousands of pictures of him in terrible shirts and a few of you in swim trunks. You were all glistening in the ocean, and that made me drooly and crap.”
Chris laughs. “Well, what he didn’t send you were pictures from Christmas Eve when Eric flipped out about the food being terrible before overturning his plate and leaving the table. Or when Sabin interrupted a private luau and started a fight with some flame-thrower guy. Oh, and then he took a swing at me when I pulled him away before he could really get into a fight. If I remember correctly, he called me a ‘psychotic, narcissist punk’ and ‘the lamest superhero there ever was.’ I believe he said something about my not deserving a cape and certainly not a place with the Justice League. We all have our moments.”
“Great. So, explosions are considered a holiday tradition? That sort of sucks.”
“We might consider putting that tradition to rest, huh?” Chris tousles my hair and kisses my head. “It’s not all jumping off docks and fishing and lobsters with us. You took on a lot.”
“It’s worth it. You know that.”
He kisses me again. “I’m going to head to bed. There’s something on the dining room table for you from Annie. I thought you might want to be alone when you opened it.”
“Okay.” I try to smile, but I feel shitty, as though I’d failed everyone today by not preventing what happened. If I had paid better attention or done a better job or kept us busier…I don’t know. That’s stupid thinking, and I shouldn’t blame myself. “I love you, Christopher.”
“I love you, Blythe.” He slams back the rest of his drink and sends me a soft smile. “Merry Christmas. Go enjoy Annie’s present.”
I take a few minutes before I go to the table and find an envelope with my name on it. I slip out the card. The front shows a vintage-style Santa Claus in lovely soft colors, and inside, she’s handwritten a note.
Blythe,
Merry Christmas, my dear! I hope you are having a spectacular time in California, and I’m sure that the gang is keeping you on your toes.
I made you something this year. Don’t worry. It’s not a horrid crocheted tissue-box cover or anything. I’m hoping that you’ll like it and that it’ll bring you some…well, comfort and joy. Forgive the seasonal phrasing, but I do want those for you. And I know that your parents would, too.
Shall we plan for a spring visit? I miss my room at the Maine house, but I miss you even more.
All my love,
Annie
She’s slipped in a small piece of paper with a web address, which I find very curious, so I retrieve my laptop from the end table and type it in.
She’s put together a video compilation.
Oh God.
Music plays while images of me and James and my parents move before my eyes. I immediately burst into tears at seeing the videos and photographs. There are formal posed stills from my parents’ wedding, pictures of my mother pregnant with me, video of her talking to the camera and rubbing her stomach, followed by hospital pictures of a newborn me in a bassinet. Later, my mother is shown pregnant with James, and I see a video of me holding him for the first time.
