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I smile at his question, my mind instantly scanning for a few things that I will always remember, but only one of them stands out.
“When I was eight, I got the Barbie Dreamhouse and skiing Barbie. I put it on my list knowing it was expensive, but I still thought Santa was real. Looking back now I’m shocked my parents bought it. They rarely bought me anything expensive unless it was to do with skiing.”
“Could Barbie actually ski?” Alex asks.
“No way, she sucked at it. The commercials on TV showed her cruising the slopes like an Olympic skier and all I could get her to do was faceplant. Her damn ski boots were impossible to get on. My mom would get pissed at me every time I took them off and asked her to help me put them back on.”
“At least she had a swanky pad to go back to after hitting the slopes,” he jokes.
“Yeah, she did. It was amazing. I can still picture it to this day. It had an elevator. Why, I don’t know
since it was only two floors, but that bitch was living in style.”
We’re laughing as I reminisce about my Barbie Dreamhouse and all the things I used to do with it: fill the bathtub with colored water, put the cat on the roof, leave her bed unmade because I hated making beds.
“How about you? What was the best gift you ever got?” I now ask Alex, certain he has to be thinking about it too.
“Hands down the best gift I ever got was my Xbox. I wanted it so bad and my dad kept telling me I wasn’t going to get it because Santa has other kids to bring gifts to and like Barbie’s house, it was too expensive. But there it was under the tree on Christmas morning.”
“Do you think it was your mom or dad who bought it?”
“When I look back on it, knowing Santa isn’t real, I used to think it was my mom, but then something about that didn’t feel right. She didn’t know anything about game systems or games for it and I got every game I wanted despite not asking for them. It makes me think it was my dad.”
“It probably was your dad. He doesn’t always have to be the bad guy in your memories, Alex.”
“Yeah, I know. I guess I just want him to be because it makes it easier.”
“Makes it easier to what?” I ask.
“Makes it easier to act like he isn’t there. Like he isn’t trying to replace my mom with some random woman who probably doesn’t give a shit that he lost his wife.” I can hear the harshness in his voice, but behind it is all the pain Alex has held in.
“Your dad marrying someone else doesn’t change who your mom was to you or to your dad. She will always be important and I bet if you give this woman a chance, you’ll see that. She means a lot to your dad, so that might be his way of healing.”
We fall quiet, and Alex doesn’t acknowledge my words, but I hope he’s processing what I’ve said. He needs to find his own way to heal because for the last several years he’s been stuck in this world where he runs from his grief. Leaving Boston for college made that easy. He wasn’t surrounded by her memory. He’s just held on to what it felt like to lose her rather than holding on to what it felt like to have her.
“My mom was an amazing woman,” Alex eventually says, his eyes welling up with tears. I’m struggling to hold back my emotions, unable to even grasp what it must be like to lose a parent, especially at an age when you’re learning to be your own person. Even though I have a strained relationship with my parents, I still have them, they’re still alive. I wish I could find the right words to say to Alex to help heal his heart, but I know there aren’t any.
“I know she was, because she raised you.”
“Thanks, Laney. That really means a lot to me.”
21
ALEX
It’s been a couple of days since the bear incident and we did the whole Christmas thing. A couple of days since we basically gave in to everything we’ve both been trying to deny was happening between us too. A couple of days since sex and so much more was put back on the table. And fuck me if it hasn’t been fucking awesome.
“What are you smiling about?”
I look up and find Delaney watching me, a curious expression on her face even as she smiles back at me.
Grinning, I give her a wink as I stand by the stove, waiting for the pot of water to boil. “Nothin’,” I say with a shrug. “Just thinking about you.”
“What about me?” she asks, walking over with the box of pasta. When she checks on the pot, apparently finding the water boiling how it should be, she hands me the box with a nod as if to let me know I can add it now. She’s very particular about how we cook the pasta and even though I’m always the impatient one when it comes to waiting for the water to boil, I’ve got to admit, her way is definitely better.
I take out a couple of handfuls, trying to stick with our allotted daily amount even if that means I spend most days hungry. And while I’m certainly not as active as I normally am because obviously we can’t ski and there’s no gym, the extra cardio we’ve been getting in these past few days and nights, definitely mean I’m working up an appetite.
“Alex,” she prompts, elbowing me in the side as I hand her back the box of pasta.
