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“It’s perfect,” he finally says, taking it from my hand and adding it to the makeshift ornaments on the tree. “When did you have time to do this?” We’re hardly ever apart, so it was hard for me to keep it a secret.
“I would work on it when you’d nap or during the night when I would wake up. I’d even sometimes take it out to the outhouse with me, but it was so damn cold. That didn’t work out so well,” I joke, pretending to shiver.
He runs his fingers over the carving, smiling as he looks up at me, swiping his finger over my cheek to catch the tears that are still slipping through.
“Alex and Delaney,” he whispers, tracing the heart I carved next to our names. “We need to make sure we take this with us when we go. We can put it on the Christmas tree at our house. Perfectly carved skis to remind us of our little journey.”
He’s still so optimistic about our situation, almost like he needed something like this to happen to make him realize what he was missing in his life. Not that I’m saying he was missing me all along, but the realization that he needs someone is finally hitting him.
“Our house?” I question, laughing a little at his comment. “We don’t live together. It can go on your Christmas tree at yours and Max’s house. I made it for you.”
“I don’t want to live without you when we leave here,” Alex admits, a firmness to his words. He catches me off guard and it obviously shows on my face. “Don’t be scared, Laney. Nothing is going to change when we get home. I want you with me all the time. Being away from you feels like my worst nightmare.”
He reaches for me, pulling me against his chest, his comforting arms envelope me in their warmth as I try hard not to break down in tears. I don’t think I can be away from him either. The idea of sleeping alone almost scares me, the fear of nightmares and the trauma of the avalanche is constantly haunting me.
“I think that avalanche knocked a few things loose in your head,” I tease, my arms circling his waist as we stand together. I mask my fears with humor, but I’m also avoiding telling him what I really want to say. The words “I love you” are continually there on the tip of my tongue, begging me to say them, but I can’t. They stay trapped, afraid of what might come.
“You are cheeky. And no, nothing got knocked loose. Coming that close to death and the realization that I could have lost you made it clear that I can’t be without you.”
I take in a deep breath, Alex’s comforting scent all around me, soothing me and helping me settle down.
“Should we have some pine needle infused vodka and share a can of pears for our Christmas dessert? I suggest.
“I’m in,” Alex replies, taking my hand and walking me over to the mattress that has become our hang out place.
Alex grabs the bottle of vodka and I open the can of pears, joining him on the mattress with two forks, not bothering with a bowl. We have to boil water to wash dishes, so sometimes it’s just easier to eat things straight from the can.
I cross my legs and put the can between us, I jab my fork in and pull out a hunk of soggy pear, dripping with sugary juice. As soon as I pop it into my mouth, my taste buds go into overdrive. We’ve gotten so used to eating bland, tasteless noodles and rice and vegetables that this pear tastes like heaven.
“Oh my god,” I mutter, making Alex laugh. “It’s like nectar of the gods. I can’t remember the last time I ate canned pears, but they were not this good.”
“I hate to break it to you, but they aren’t that good. We’re just desperate,” he teases.
“No, trust me, they’re good. Like really fucking good. They’re probably rotten and have turned into some kind of fermented alcohol, but I don’t care.”
Alex then follows my lead, pushing his fork into the can and pulling out a pear. I watch as he puts it in his mouth, letting out a low moan the second the sweetness hits his tongue.
“Good, right?”
“It really is,” he admits. “I think the last time I ate canned fruit was in the school cafeteria. My mom was a total psycho when it came to what I ate. Fresh fruit only. I loved the canned shit.”
“What’s your favorite thing to eat at Christmas?” I now ask, spearing another pear, sucking the juice from it before I slip it in my mouth.
“Hmmm, right now I would say anything that isn’t what we have been eating here, but if I have to pick just one thing it would be these cheese potatoes my mom used to make. They were all creamy and covered in cheese and breadcrumbs.”
“Wait, like the little diced up potatoes and then they have cream of something soup all over them and butter and sour cream and cheese?” I ask, my mouth watering at the thought.
“Yeah, my mom would make them every holiday and I loved them and then the next day she would let me eat them for breakfast.” Alex is absolutely beaming as he talks about his mom and while I feel my heart break just a little at his loss, it also makes me light up with how much he seems to enjoy talking about her memory.
“Those are my favorite too!” I squeal. “My mom makes them and I’m sure she’s making them for Christmas. When we get home, I’m getting the recipe from her and I’m going to make them for you.”
“That would be amazing.”
We both take another pear, surprised at how many fit into this can. It has allowed us each to have at least half a pear. We fall silent, chewing and letting our thoughts wander.
“You can talk about your mom to me anytime you want,” I now say, reaching across to rest my hand on Alex’s thigh. “Your face lights up when you do. Her memory is important to you, so it’s important to me.”
“Thanks, Delaney.” He pushes up on his knees, leaning over, he kisses me sweetly. Everything about him makes my heart race. He has no idea how much he means to me, but I do need to tell him. Just as I’m about to open my mouth, he asks, “What was the best Christmas present you ever got?”
