AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Miranda’s married again,” I say.
“Got hitched in Vegas a little over a week ago,” Sawyer says. “Noelle and I found out last night, which incidentally, happens to be how we met.”
“Christ.” I scrub a hand down my face. I’m not exactly shocked by the news, after all the flighty shit Miranda’s pulled over the years. What confounds me is that my son would invite some girl he barely knows to spend Christmas with us, and that she’d agree to come.
Well, whatever their reasoning, this feels like a conversation I’d rather have with pants on.
“Help yourself to food,” I say to her, then turn to my son. “And quit tracking snow in the house.”
I run upstairs and throw on a pair of boxers, some sweatpants, and an old band tee shirt. Back in the kitchen, I grab myself a bowl of chile verde and join Sawyer and Noelle at the table.
“I'm thinking of switching my major from sociology to psych,” she says, continuing their conversation. “Focusing on one person's happiness seems a lot more attainable than trying to fix society as a whole. I took a digital marketing class last semester, which I really liked, but my dad would shit a brick if I switched to marketing.”
“Your dad got something against advertising?” Sawyer asks.
“He wants me to be a lawyer, like him."
She drags her spoon through her chili. I don’t know anything about this girl, but I’d bet the title to my truck that she’s not counting down the days till she can sit for the bar exam.
"Did you always want to be a chef?" she asks.
"Not always." Sawyer says. "I worked a lot of random jobs after high school. I was a roofer for one summer, then a farmhand. I did a quick stint in cellular sales, which was worse than shoveling actual shit.”
“And yet,” I grumble, “it was somehow still preferable to working here.”
“That oughta tell you something,” he says.
I ignore the pointed look Sawyer shoots my way.
“So,” I say to Noelle. “Why on earth would you agree to celebrate Christmas with people you barely know?”
She swallows the food in her mouth. “Sawyer promised me a real Vermont Christmas, complete with hot chocolate and glazed ham. I couldn’t turn it down.”
“You promised her glazed ham?” I ask. Sawyer shrugs, nods. We haven’t had a Christmas ham since my mother passed eight years ago. “What else did my son promise you?”
“Well,” Noelle says, “he mentioned something about a tree twice my height. But I don’t see a Christmas tree in here.”
“That’s because Sawyer was supposed to help me with that this afternoon.”
“Sorry,” my son says. “I had shit to deal with.”
We finish eating, during which time I learn Noelle is nineteen and a freshman at the University of Vermont. I notice Sawyer glancing at her periodically, and catch myself doing the same. I tell myself it’s because I’m not used to having guests in my kitchen, but that’s mostly bullshit. Noelle’s got a face that’s as beautiful as it is distinct. Heart-shaped, with full cheeks and lips, and green eyes that shine gold in the lamplight.
I remind myself that the only reason I’m drawn to her is because she’s young and lush and full of potential. At her age, I was juggling full-time work while raising a three-year-old. She’s got her whole life ahead of her, a smooth, freshly paved road stretching out for miles, as far as the eye can see.
After dinner, I load our bowls into the dishwasher and put Frida’s pot in the sink to soak. Sawyer fixes Noelle a hot chocolate and sets her up by the fireplace with a book.
When he says he has to run out to his car for something, I slip on my coat and slippers and follow him out.
“All right,” I tell him once we’re at his car. “No more bullshit. Why is she really here instead of staying with her own family?”
Sawyer crosses his arms. “Because her dad’s a dick and her mom lives in a hippie sex commune.”
“You don’t think Noelle would have more fun at a hippie sex commune?”
“Look,” he says, “I invited her because...it seemed like the right thing to do. If Mom hadn’t married her dad, Noelle would be having Christmas at home. I feel like I owe her.”
“You are not responsible for your mother’s choices, Sawyer.”
