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Ava folds her arms. “No, but paranoid much? It looks like I was right.”
“Think whatever you want,” I sputter, momentarily beyond words. “I’ll meet you at Starbucks in fifteen minutes.”
I don’t say another thing, abandoning them in the evening wear section, desperate to be on my own. I hate that Ava struck a nerve, and more importantly, sniffed the so-called trail I’ve been trying to hide. To make matters worse, I continue to lie to Mom and sense she also caught on to my behavior. Am I that obvious? The only one who seems to be treating me normally is Dad.
Trying to shop for my annoying sister proves even more difficult. I have no clue what to buy her, especially after our argument, so I end up settling for a new hair straightener since she complained about hers this morning.
By the time we get home, the air between us somewhat clears. We both help Mom with preparing our traditional Christmas dinner and some finishing touches on the house. During the holiday season, our house looks like a picture-perfect image from a magazine. Everything is purposely placed and aesthetically pleasing from the oversized freshly-cut tree inside the living room to the twinkling lights that flicker outside the house.
We all sit down for dinner, then follow by dressing in our matching PJs Mom insists we wear to continue the Edwards’ tradition. There are no complaints from us girls, just Dad, as usual.
After dinner, we settle in the den with the fire on, a cup of hot chocolate warming our hands while watching a Christmas movie. I can’t help but watch my parents, the way they smile in each other’s embrace to the silly jabs they taunt each other with. Even Dad is relaxed, often kissing Mom’s forehead.
It makes me feel all the more alone. Even if my relationship with Will is made public, I can’t seem to envision him here, beside me, without my dad’s resentment. I pull out my phone, wanting to text Will, but end up putting it away. No good will come of me saying anything right now, given the questions clouding my thoughts might lead to an argument. The last thing either one of us need on Christmas Eve.
On Christmas morning, I wake to the sounds of my younger sisters running through the hallway. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I see a text from Will.
Will: Merry Christmas, gorgeous.
I grin at his text, almost as if I can hear his voice say those very words. Before my departure, we decided to ditch the Christmas presents since neither one of us are interested in material items. But that isn’t without Will suggesting our present to each other should involve acts in the bedroom.
I had no idea sex could be so liberating, and how, with the right person, there are no limits. My fingers type profusely, knowing that I don’t have long before one of my sisters barges in and demands we open presents.
Me: Merry Christmas, handsome. I hope you behaved and Santa delivered.
Will: He will deliver, again, when you are back and naked in my bed.
Me: I was just thinking the same thing. Four more days, but who is counting?
Will: Me… I am counting.
“Millie, get up!” Alexandra shouts behind the door.
Letting out a groan, I drag my tired ass out of my room and down the stairs. No surprises that my parents went all out with presents scattered around the Christmas tree and stockings full to the brim. Opening presents takes a solid hour with lots of oohs and ahs and a ton of jumping up and down.
I thank my parents and sisters for all the gifts—clothes, jewelry, to name a few. After the younger girls abandon the living room with their presents, I help Dad clean up while Mom prepares breakfast.
“How does it feel to be back home?” Dad asks, picking up the wrapping paper and throwing it in the trash bag in his hand. “California is very different to the East Coast.”
“It’s warmer,” I say, touching an ornament on the tree. “It’s nice.”
“You’ve changed,” he adds, his eyes fixated on me. “You’ve matured in the few months you’ve been gone.”
“I guess college forces you to make better decisions. Plus, I’m nineteen now.”
“You’re a woma
n.”
“Dad, you’re not going to get sentimental on me, are you?”
“Hear me out.” He places the bag down, taking a seat on the armchair. “You worked incredibly hard to get into Yale. You’re choosing a challenging career, one that will challenge you for the rest of your life. And you’ve managed to make these decisions despite being raised in a wealthy family. I’m proud of you.”
I drop my chin to my chest, trying not to choke up at his admission. “Thanks, Dad. It means a lot to me that you would say this.”
“I was saying to Will the other day how proud I am of you. He agrees you’ve definitely got a strong head on your shoulders and are determined.”
“You talk about me to Will?” The second it comes out, I realize my tone is panicked. Scrambling to save myself, I continue, “I’m sure he has better things to discuss than some college kid.”
