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We walk inside, and the smell of the real Christmas tree, apple crisps, and baking bread hits my nose all at once, and my stomach growls. Along with the Christmas lights, stockings, and a beautifully decorated tree, the place envelopes me like a warm hug.
But then I see the baby poop brown and flowery couch—the place Eleanor and I used to watch movies together, and it guts me. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a deep breath before I look at Sawyer. “Your parents really are the most welcoming hosts. What happened to you?”
Flashing me a hurt look that I know is feigned, he says, “What? Just because I don’t decorate my apartment?”
“Decorate? Last year when I was there, you had no furniture. Or food. Just a lawn chair and blowup mattress that was surely forced to take on more than it could handle.”
“I have a real bed now. Memory foam, with loads of rockin’ memories.”
“Eww.”
We’re interrupted by Maryann, Eleanor and Sawyer’s mother, who comes into the living room and pulls me into a hug. “So good to see you, Dawson.” She holds me extra long, and I don’t mind, as I’ve needed it. Since Eleanor passed, I don’t get hugs from anyone. Eleanor was my family since I’m an only child, and my politician parents spend their life baby-kissing and attending charity events. Maryann pulls away. “How is everything going in Atlanta?”
“As well as can be expected,” I say, even though that’s not exactly true. Besides desperately missing my best friend and roommate, I’m struggling at my job. I used to love it, but it’s been difficult since a new partner took over. He’s known throughout Atlanta as “The Crusher,” and for good reason. He not only “crushes” in the courtroom but in the office too, snapping orders and demanding impossible tasks in unreasonable time frames.
And then there was my Binder date, who was already naming our children before I climbed out the window. “How are the Christmas decorations coming? They look amazing.” I’m careful not to ask how Christmas is going because I already know the answer to that—not well because how could it? How could anything be okay without Eleanor here? How will it ever be okay again?
Maryann bats a hand. “You know Steven. He almost bankrupts us with the electric bill every year.” She chuckles, but then her voice turns quiet. “Truth be told, we almost didn’t do it this season, but we agreed—we’ll do it for Eleanor.” Maryann glances up the stairs as if looking for her daughter. For a moment, the room fills with grief, but then she claps her hands together and perks up. “Steven loves it, though, so I just always pray he doesn’t fall off the roof.”
“That sounds like a job for Sawyer.” I flash Sawyer a toothy grin, and he shoots me a scowl. By unsaid agreement, we’ve joined forces to keep this hard time as light as possible for Maryann.
“That’s a good idea, Dawson.” Maryanne looks at Sawyer. “You should help your father with the lights.”
Sawyer’s mouth curves. “I’d love to help Dad with the lights, Mom. Thank youso much,Dawson, for offering me up.”
“Hey, it’s why I’m here, and I’ll be here. Through Christmas.”
Eleanor’s mom waves toward the kitchen. “Well, I hope you’re both hungry because we have a table of food, and we’re just about ready to eat. So, come on in and bring your appetite.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Quinn.”
ChapterThree
After dinner,Sawyer motions me into the pantry, away from Maryann and Steven. He's holding a white envelope and wearing a mischievous expression. “Eleanor's instructions said to wait for you before opening this one. I didn’t want to upset mom and dad, so I thought we could open it here.” We’re shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, when he pulls out the single sheet of paper with four lines. Together, we mouth the words.
Dawson and Sawyer,
It’s time to forage.
Go to the place
We keep our storage.
We look at each other for a second, an old spark of excitement flaring to life, then it’s on. Sawyer and I race to the attic, as whoever gets there first somehow wins, like we’re still teenagers. Or maybe grade schoolers? I don’t know, but Sawyer has the tendency to bring that out in me.
In the corner is a Christmas gift, wrapped to perfection in shiny paper and adorned with beautiful bows, as Eleanor wouldn’t have it any other way. However, there’s a thin layer of dust on it, something Eleanor couldn’t control. Sawyer and I slow down in synchrony, as if we need to savor this tiny connection to her. I go to it first and run my finger over the paper before brushing the dust away. I don’t want my heavenly best friend to cringe, in case she’s looking down.
“You don’t have to do that, Dawson.” Sawyer’s voice is soft. “Eleanor won’t get on you about it, I promise.”
I swallow hard. “Right.”
Sawyer looks down. “I still do it too.”
Wow. Did he just open up to me? This is new, and honestly, it isn’t the only thing different about Sawyer. Light creases line the corners of his eyes now, and those shiny emerald eyes are now shadowed with flecks of gold. Things that actually make him even more stunning, if that’s possible, because they make him more real. Perfectly imperfect.
What the heck? Get it together, Dawson.
Sawyer reaches under the bow and touches a piece of paper. “So. What is this?”
