Page 39 of Go Back to December

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“They do. Your mom told me she worries about you. “

“She had no right to say that.”

I lift a shoulder. “I’m your fake girlfriend. She was asking for help to put things right between you.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It could be. The holidays are a perfect time to start.”

When he doesn’t reply, it’s worse than some biting critique. I know in the marrow of my bones that this would be good for him and his entire family, but he’s made me feel small and foolish for suggesting it.

The loaded silence lingers until we pause at a red light. His posture shifts. He steals a glance in my direction, then scowls at the road. “The holidays are the worst time of year for me.”

He spits out the confession with forced, broken anger, like someone waterboarded it out of him, and gives me no other context. A call-out perches on my lips, until I take in his pale face, the exhaustion that hangs with the dark circles under his pretty eyes.

“It’s a shame you feel that way,” I say softly. “I’ve had a lot of shitty holidays, Baz. Despite the fact I had to act like a giant poser with your family, last night was one of the best Christmas Eves I’ve celebrated in a long time.”

As I turn onto his street, he heaves a heavy sigh at the window.

Baz’s building is a unicorn: an old brownstone mansion with underground parking and an elevator. I can’t imagine what it costs to live here. Or how he found this place. He must have bargained a good part of his soul for it.

When we reach his floor and the door to his apartment, voices echo from the other side. Baz throws me a wild glare before the door flings open and a woman brandishing a foul-smelling ball of white plastic rears up before us.

“Baz!”

“Annabel,” he mumbles around her kisses.

“Merry Christmas to you too, asshat. You look better than I expected.”

Baz stares with horror at whatever’s in her hand.

“Can I interest you in one of Oscar’s full diapers?” She grins before registering the fact I’m standing next to him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Annabel. You must be Mel!”

“Jesus, Annabel!” Baz gestures to his injured leg. “Can I please get into my fucking house?”

“Christ, you’re cranky. Get inside and eat something. Mamá brought everything.”

She smiles at me. “I was originally going to leave this in his bed, but I should probably stick it in the trash chute?”

Elevator, he mouths over Annabel’s head.

“By the elevator?” I offer.

“Perfect. Back in a minute.”

As she walks away, Baz glowers. “I thought you told them you would pick me up!”

“I did!”

“Then how did they get here?”

“They had your keys. They must have made a copy.”

He grunts and catapults himself on his crutches through the door.

A collective cheer greets Baz when he enters the apartment. I linger behind, trying to cover the fact that I’m taking it all in for the first time. Scuffed wood floors covered in dark carpets lead to an open space that combines his living room, kitchen, and dining area. It’s tidy but not sterile. Stray sneakers lie by the door. The clean scent of evergreens is everywhere. The more I breathe it in, the dizzier my head spins.