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I have to stick to those decisions and make the most of what I have.
And that decision is final.
It’s Christmas Day, another zero-day in the house. But Trevor and I—we’re trying, and that’s all he asked for. Tomorrow, he takes off to Colorado to spend the rest of the holidays with Amy. Krystal will still be here during the day, and I have the crisis team on speed dial should I need them. Peter will be in town, but he’ll only be stopping by every now and then to check in on me.
I walk around the kitchen doing my best to create a Christmas dinner worthy of Trevor’s hopes to make the day special. Mom sits at the kitchen table, a whiteboard in front of her. She’s practicing writing with her left hand all the words that remind her of Christmas. It brings her neither happiness nor misery.
“Pick one,” Trevor orders, walking into the room with two different rolls of wrapping paper. “Purple’s her favorite color, but it’s not as festive as the red.”
I smile. “I’d go purple. For sure.”
“Tape?” he asks.
“Do we have tape?”
“Dammit.” He rummages through all the kitchen drawers before exiting. Mom writes wrapping paper on the board.
“That’s a good one!” I encourage.
She doesn’t react.
“Would electrical tape be okay?” Trevor calls out.
“No!”
Mom writes down family.
My heart bursts. “I like that one,” I tell her.
“Mmm,” she responds.
Trevor walks back into the room, a stack of papers held in his grasp. His eyes skim one and then another. And my heart stops the second I realize what he’s reading. Shoulders tense, I grind out, “What the hell are you doing?”
The muscles in his jaw tick.
I race over to him, try to grab them out of his grasp, but he holds them above his head.
“When in the hell were you going to tell me?!”
“Give them back,” I grunt, trying to reach for them.
“No!”
“Why the fuck are you going through my stuff?”
“Stop cussing,” Mom mumbles.
He grabs my shoulder and pushes me back, slamming the papers on the kitchen table, making Mom jerk in her seat. She looks up at him, her eyes clearer.
He keeps me at an arm’s length, literally, and I try to push him away, but he’s too strong. “Texas A&M, University of Florida, UNC. These are all early acceptance letters, Ava!”
“What?” Mom whispers, getting to her feet.
“Trevor, why would you do this?”
“Do what?” he shouts, the loudness of his voice making me cower. “Care about your goddamn future?”
“You said I just had to apply. You didn’t say I had to accept!”
