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RACHEL
Istareupat my apartment complex, my frown growing and my insides twisting with worry. Part of me wishes we simply stayed in that hotel room, snuggled up together, finishing our pizza and watching something dumb on the TV. But Mom would worry and Dad would have a million questions that I’m not ready to answer.
The door in the back opens, and I hear Hunter, Lucas, and Seth filing out of Alex’s car. My body remains still. I watch Lucas leading the way, watch Seth stretch his arms over his head and Hunter leaning against the door.
“You okay, Rachel?” Alex asks, his hand on mine making me turn to face him.
I force a smile and a nod. “Yeah,” I whisper.
His brow furrows and I see the question in his gaze: What’s wrong? But instead, he asks, “Want me to go up with you?”
I shake my head and unbuckle my belt, forcing my body to move so Seth doesn’t complain about me taking too long. “Nah. Wouldn’t want to keep your parents waiting.”
Alex shrugs. “They wouldn’t mind… much.”
I chuckle and push the car door open. “Have a good night, Alex.”
His hand grabs my wrist before I can move any further and I glance over my shoulder, finding him looking even more worried than before. “I’ll see you at the New Year party, right? My parents would love to finally meet you.”
“Of course,” I say with a nod. “We’ll definitely be there.”
Alex’s hand slides away, the worry dissipating in his gaze as he smiles genuinely back at me. “Good night, Rachel.”
I shut the car door and stride toward the apartment, finding Lucas holding it open for me. “Thank you,” I mumble to him while pushing a stray strand behind my ear. Hunter and Seth stand across from the elevator in the lobby.
The place isn’t as beautiful and immaculate as the hotel. The light twitches, the bulb needing to be replaced. The floor is smeared with dirt and grime with papers littering the corners. It’s definitely not the Hilton, but it is home. Usually, I feel more at ease in the place, but recently, I feel as if there’s been a black shadow, making the air tense.
“There isn’t much space,” says Lucas as we shove ourselves into the elevator. I have no clue if he’s talking about the elevator, or the apartment. Perhaps both? He’s telling the truth. There’s only two bedrooms and a small living room connected to the kitchen. Lucas has been sleeping on the sofa. Mom was just worrying this morning about where Hunter and Seth were going to go. After several hours of searching in our storage room down in the basement, we were able to find two old sleeping bags, dusty, but bearable.
However, sleeping arrangements isn’t what concerns me.
The elevator doors open and I bristle at the shouting wafting toward us. The walls in this place are thin. In the past, I could hear a flute being played, one of the high school boys blasting his metal music, and the Harringtons having sex above us. Now, as I step down the hall, staring at my apartment door, I can hear Dad’s booming voice and Mom’s shrill shouting. The words are muffled, but the voices are recognizable.
Maybe we should have stayed in the hotel. Maybe they wouldn’t have noticed.
I stop in front of the door, staring at it as I hear my parents’ words.
“You can’t be serious!” Mom shouts.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Dad shouts. “You broke your fucking vows, Sarah! Did you think I would roll over and not care?”
“You never cared before.”
My bottom lip trembles. I know I should grab the keys in my purse and enter, but I don’t want to. I’m tempted to turn around, run back to the elevator, and call for Alex to pick me up and save me from this dreadful place. My parents have had fights before, but never like this—never for the entire duration of my winter vacation, never during Christmas time when we’re supposed to be jolly and happy and pretend like everything is okay.
“Rachel.”
A hand rests on my shoulder and I turn, finding the owner—Lucas—gazing at me with worry and sorrow etched in his face. “If you want, we can go somewhere else. I can call—”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “Mom will only worry.”
“Are you sure?” Seth asks, frowning at the door.
I nod, my hand sliding into my purse and seizing my keys. With a trembling hand, I push the key into the lock and open the door. The familiar scent of cinnamon and apple wafts toward me. The small entryway immediately leads into the kitchen and living room, currently lit with candles. The shadows of the room play against my parents’ scowling faces. My mom’s eyes glimmer with unshed tears. The Christmas tree stands behind them, in a corner near the sofa. A blanket is neatly folded on one of the cushions with a pillow resting on top. The place is decorated with twinkling fairy lights. It looks romantic, beautiful even, yet my gaze lingers on the suitcase in my dad’s hands and the wedding ring on the counter.
“Tom, it’s Christmas,” says Mom, her shoulders slumping, looking defeated. “Must we do this now?”
“Yes,” Dad hisses, stepping toward her, his empty hand fisting. “I’m so tired of you constantly putting things off, refusing to talk about our troubles as if they’re a hindrance to you. I’ve put up with this bullshit for long enough.”
