Winter Wishes

  “Come on, let’s take the dogs to the park,” he says to me, getting off the bed. “Unless Emily was raised outside of California before she was a stray, she’s probably never seen snow before. She’s going to lose her shite over this.”

  “I’m going to lose my shite,” I tell him, mimicking his accent. Though I’m reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers and that post-orgasm bliss is still fogging my mind, aside from never having had a white Christmas before, I’ve only seen snow a handful of times.

  I get dressed quickly, pulling on fleece joggers, fuzzy socks, and a thick sweater (or “jumper,” as Lachlan and everyone else in this country calls it). The dogs are going nuts. Lionel is running in circles around the drawing room, Emily is hiding under the coffee table and barking, and sweet, elderly Jo is sitting by the door, waiting for her leash, tail thumping against the floor.

  We slip the muzzles on Jo and Lionel—though I was only away from the UK for about three months or so, I had been hoping they’d relax their dangerous breed ban, but no such luck—then put on our coats and head down the stairs and outside.

  “Wow,” I say as we stand on the stoop surveying the winter wonderland. My breath freezes in the air and floats away, the morning sun shooting through low clouds and lighting the snow in columns of pale gold. I can’t think of a more beautiful place to be swathed in snowfall than Edinburgh. All the stone row houses look like they’re made of gingerbread. Most are trimmed with Christmas lights and wreaths, and through some windows you can see giant trees in the drawing rooms done up in shiny tinsel.

  “When I woke up this morning it was still coming down,” he says, squinting up at the sky. “I was hoping that by the time I got back from boxing it would still be falling.”

  “This is beautiful,” I tell him, and though I wish I could have seen the snow fall, I also know that Lachlan gets up at six in the morning and that’s out of the question for me. Sometimes he goes boxing, sometimes he just takes the dogs for a long walk. He’s doing phenomenally well in his effort to remain sober. Going to a psychiatrist, taking low dose anti-anxiety medication. Above all, extra exercise seems to keep his demons in check. As if playing rugby professionally wasn’t enough, now he has to keep himself nearly exhausted. Not that I’m complaining though—his body is looking better than ever, something I never thought possible, and it’s made him even more vigorous in the sack. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.

  He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. With the other he holds Emily’s leash while I hold Jo and Lionel, the muzzle twins. I guess they’re less scary when I hold them, the tiny Asian girl, versus Lachlan and his big, badass, tattooed self.

  Also there’s the fact that Emily is skittish around anyone except for him. Although at this moment, she’s especially freaked out, gingerly sniffing the snow, her eyes wide, hair standing on end.

  We carefully make our way down the steps and cross the street toward the park. I marvel at the way the snow shimmers in the light, the chill in the air that seems to drive out all the city smog. I lean into Lachlan’s solid mass, feeling absolutely cozy. Happy. Whatever uncertainty I had about coming here, no matter how brief it had been, seems to have been wiped clean.

  Still, there’s no ignoring the fact that I have yet to find a job, not to mention that next week I’ll be spending Christmas up north with his family at his grandfather’s house outside of Aberdeen. I’m trying not to let Lachlan know how much it’s freaking me out. I know I’ve already met his adopted parents, Jessica and Donald, but that was back before we split up, before my mother died, before our lives went to shit. I haven’t seen them since I’ve been back—Lachlan’s been pretty busy with rugby as it is—and I’m on edge about meeting his grandfather, George. From what I’ve heard, he’s a bit of a cantankerous grouch, and that’s coming from Lachlan who rarely says anything bad about anyone.

  While we check to see if the park is clear before we let the dogs off the leashes, Lionel and Jo fluffing up the snow while Emily still seems utterly bewildered, I ask him, “Do you think there will be snow up in Aberdeen?”

  He opens his mouth to say something. I’m guessing he wants to say “maybe.” But he just smiles, nodding once, and then says, “Yes, I do.” He pulls me close to him, wrapping his strong arms around my waist, and studies my face. “Are you worried?”

  “About the snow?”

  He squints at me. “About Christmas. About being around my family, staying there, when you haven’t been around them often.”

  How this man manages to read me so well, I don’t know.

  I rub my lips together, wishing I’d brought some ChapStick with me. “Yeah, a little. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about getting them all the right Christmas presents, to be honest.” I sigh and lean my head against his chest. “And then I start thinking about having enough money to buy them, then I start thinking about how badly I want this writing job, then I think about what happens if I don’t get it. What am I going to do with myself? And then I wish I could just…” I trail off, swallowing hard. “I wish I could talk to my mother about this, just for a second, you know?”

  He exhales heavily and kisses the top of my head. “Kayla, love,” he says gently. “I know none of this is going to be easy for you, and what you can give to me, I’ll happily take. But my family should be the least of your worries. Really. They don’t need anything for Christmas and you know they already love you.”

  “I’ve never met your grandpa,” I mumble into him. “You said he was grumpy.”

  “Aye,” he says with a bit of a laugh. “You know I don’t sugarcoat things. But if I can handle him, you can handle him. Besides, he’s gotten a bit better with age.”

  “I thought you said he’d gotten worse with age.”

  “I guess it depends on the Christmas,” he says, sounding unsure now. “To be honest with you, he’s never been all that accepting of me to begin with. Viewed me as the black sheep of the family. Even now, though I should be grateful that he considers me family at all.”

  I look up at him. He’s staring off into the distance, frowning, and I know he’s being pulled into a darker place. “Of course you’re family. He’s had, what, almost twenty years to get used to you. You’re a McGregor. You’re family.”

  He nods. “Aye,” he says absently. “But he’s always treated me different from the way he treats Brigs, which is to be expected. I just don’t know if he knows anything about, well, my current condition. Jessica and Donald may not have mentioned my…problem.”

  What he’s meaning to say is that he’s an alcoholic. I know admitting it is the supposed first step, but it still takes a lot for Lachlan to say it out loud sometimes. I don’t push it. He’s doing so well as it is, and he knows exactly what his problem is.

  But really, something like the holidays is just the kind of thing to fuck life all up. All this time I’ve been fretting about my own problems, but suddenly it’s clear that this isn’t any easier on him. I had no idea about Lachlan and his grandfather’s relationship.

  “Does he like to drink?” I ask him.

  “A bit much, in my opinion, for whatever that’s worth. I know when I go home or out with Brigs, they don’t drink in front of me. Which I appreciate. I don’t know how that will go down with George. He’s a stubborn shit. But I’ll deal with it.”

  I squeeze his arm, gazing up at him imploringly. “And I’ll help you deal.”

  He smiles softly at me, the snow lighting up his face. “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  We stand there for a few more minutes in that winter wonderland, watching Lionel frolic in the snow, Jo rolling around on her back making doggie snow angels, and Emily just staring at this cold new world, thoroughly unimpressed like a regular old Scrooge.

  Oh well, you can’t win them all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lachlan

  “So when are you going to ask her to marry you?”

  Brigs’ question is so out of the blue that it takes e
verything not to spit out my coffee. Instead, I choke on it.

  “What?” I manage to say, coughing into my arm, my eyes watering. “Bloody hell, Brigs.”

  He gives me a faint smile, his ice blue eyes looking positively devilish. He shrugs with one shoulder, observing me with amusement. “I think it’s a fair question.”

  I swallow the rest of my coffee and lean back in my chair, shaking my head. “Is that why you asked me out for coffee? Did your mom put you up to this?”

  His features slacken, unimpressed. “No. Not at all.” I know he wants to add that she’s my mother too, regardless if I’m adopted, but he lets it slide this time. “But I can’t help noticing that Kayla moved all the way to Scotland for you. This isn’t some casual fling.”

  “This never was casual,” I say, giving him a measured look. “You know that.”

  He nods, knowing all too well what Kayla and I have been through already, and taps his fingers along the edge of the wooden table, looking out the window. The temperature has been cold enough so the dusting of snow from the other night hasn’t melted, and though the city streets have turned to mush, there’s something almost fairytale-like about Edinburgh at the moment. I make a note to take Kayla to Princes Street later to really soak up the atmosphere.

  Even though I meet with Brigs once every week or so, there was something in his voice when he called this morning which made me think he had something on his mind. And the way he’s fidgeting when he normally remains so calm only adds to my suspicion.

  “So why are we really here today?” I ask him carefully. “Not that I mind, I can just tell that something is on your mind and it isn’t me and Kayla.”

  Also, to be honest, I’m happy for a subject change. The way I feel about Kayla is so intense, and so personal, it’s almost overpowering at times. I still can’t believe that she’s here, that she came back to me. For me. For herself. The last thing I want to do is jinx it all by wondering about marriage.

  Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

  It’s been crossing it a lot, actually. In fact, every time I feel myself being pulled into the shadows, every time my hands shake because of the need to drink, to escape, I think about her. I think about just that. I think about the person I need to be for her, forever.

  The thought only calms me. It doesn’t scare me.

  But it could scare her. So I keep it to myself. And even though Brigs is one of the closest people to me, I don’t want to share that with him just yet.

  The drumming of his fingers stops. “Well,” he says slowly, “you’re right about that.” He clears his throat and gives me a hopeful look. “I’ve been offered a teaching position.”

  He says it so casually that I hesitate before saying, “Really?”

  “It’s in London. King’s College.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. Brigs lost his job here at the university when his wife and child died in a car accident a few years ago. He’d found a new position in the fall, but unfortunately due to budget cuts, they let him go after a month or so, which was total rubbish. But this, Kings College, is something he’s been wanting for a long time.

  “That’s brilliant,” I exclaim, leaning over and slapping him on the arm. I know I’m grinning like a fool, hoping he’ll finally give in and smile. Not that I’m one to talk, but getting a genuine smile out of Brigs these days isn’t an easy task. “In film?”

  He adjusts the scarf around his neck. “Yes. Professor of film studies. They want me for the undergraduate film theory curriculum.”

  “They want you? You mean, they have you.”

  “I haven’t accepted yet.”

  I frown. “Why not?”

  He looks away and shrugs. “It’s in London.”

  “And? You like London.”

  “I don’t,” he says quickly. “And you’re here.”

  “Brigs,” I say slowly. “I’m fine. Really. I appreciate the sentiment, but for God’s sake, this is something you’ve been waiting for. Working for. Anyway, you’re a train ride away from Edinburgh. Have you told Jessica and Donald?”

  He shakes his head and takes a tepid sip of his coffee. “No. I will. I just wanted to tell you first. I think I need some convincing.”

  I scratch at my beard. “Well, mate, I don’t know how to convince you. All I know is that this is exactly what you’ve wanted. What you’ve needed.”

  And that’s the truth. I don’t need to mention that getting out of Edinburgh will probably do him a world of good. The city has too many memories for him. Every time I feel sorry for myself and my own struggles—my addictions, my abandonment issues—I think about Brigs and how he lost absolutely everything. To see him bounce back from it is astounding. The fact that his future is finally opening up to him after all that is nothing short of a miracle.

  “Aye,” he says softly. “I do think I need this.”

  “So tell them that you accept.”

  He studies me for a moment. There’s a flash of something in his eyes, worry maybe, but I can’t tell if it’s for me or for himself.

  “When would you start?” I ask.

  “Not until next year. Autumn. But I would move there at the end of the semester, before summer. There’s a lot to do before classes start, and I’m not going into this opportunity unprepared.”

  “This is going to be really good for you, you know this. Professor McGregor again.”

  Finally a smile breaks across his face, wide and always disarming. “Yes, well I’ll miss Scotland, that’s for sure. But change…I’m ready for it. I dare think it’s ready for me.”

  Though we aren’t related by blood, we’re alike in so many ways. Like me, Brigs doesn’t like to dwell on things for too long, especially anything that requires you to dig deep. He brings up rugby, an easy subject for both of us to talk about.

  But as he goes on, making fun of some of my plays, because that’s what he does, I can’t help but drift back to what Kayla had said yesterday about Christmas. How hard it’s going to be on her. It won’t be any easier for Brigs. And with all the alcohol around the holidays, the stress, plus having to deal with George, who, if I’m being honest here, can be a racist, judgemental prick at times, it looks like it’s shaping up to be one hell of a Christmas.

  Just the thought of it all brings back the demons, slithering up through my veins like old friends. I order another coffee to combat it (caffeine has become my best friend in this battle), say goodbye to Brigs, and then head back to the flat and Kayla.

  “How was Brigs?” she asks me as I come in the door and kick off my boots. Lionel jumps up at me, tongue lolling out of his wide mouth, before running back to the couch to cuddle with Jo.

  I take off my beanie and jacket, hanging them up. “He’s great, actually.”

  I tell her the news about his job in London.

  “Oh my god,” she says, clapping her hands together and making a little squeeing sound that I find so bloody adorable. “That’s so exciting! He must be so happy! What’s he like when he’s happy?”

  I chuckle and head into the kitchen to put on the kettle. “Well, he’s a bit on the fence about it. I don’t know why, really. He says he’s not a fan of London, which is odd because he used to love going there.”

  “Maybe he’s just afraid of the change,” she says, leaning against the doorway, watching me. I glance at her while I fill the kettle. Her brows are knit together, thinking. “You know, in some ways it was really hard for me to come here. Not just in the whole moving countries thing, but…leaving San Francisco was like leaving her.” She swallows hard and I can practically see the grief washing over her. “I felt like the city was my last tie to her. But…it was time. I had to move on. I couldn’t stay there.” She looks up at me, tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t stand another minute without you.”

  Jesus. There she goes, my beautiful world, breaking my heart into pieces.

  I put the kettle down and stride over to her, scooping her up into my arms. She’s so fragile l
ately, like the finest crystal.

  “Hey,” I whisper into her hair, holding her tight. “I’ve got you.”

  She whimpers into me, breathing hard. “I just wish it would end. I feel so torn up inside. All the time. Every minute. I love you so much, Lachlan, I really do. And it makes me so fucking happy. But then I remember what I’ve lost, how much I miss my mother, and I just don’t know how to feel anymore. My heart has schizophrenia.”

  “I think that’s normal,” I tell her gently. “And I wish it could just get easier right away, but these things take time. You’re going to feel great and then you’re going to backslide. But no matter what, I don’t want you to feel guilty for your happiness. That’s all your mother ever wanted for you. You need to own that.”

  She sighs. “I know. I know.”

  “Tell you what,” I say, pulling back and tipping her chin up with my fingers. Even with tears streaming down her face, she’s unbearably beautiful. “Tonight I’m going to take you to the Christmas fair on Princes Street. We’re going to eat a load of rubbish and go on all the rides until we’re sick. Sound good?”

  Finally I see that smile. “That sounds both amazing and terrible. I’m down.”

  “Good,” I say, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks and clearing away the tears. I kiss her softly on her lips until she relaxes into me.

  I know I’ve made her feel safe again, if only for a short while.

  ***

  The Edinburgh Christmas market is one of the most beautiful holiday markets in the world. Kayla and I had been by a few times during the day, but we were usually on our way to and from somewhere. At night it’s a completely different experience.

  Picture this: the long straight line of Princes Street completely lit up in white, gold, green, and red. The towering shops with their twinkling and elaborate Christmas displays are on one side, while the Princes Street Gardens on the other are filled with market stalls, glittering rides such as the Christmas tree slide, the double carousel, the Star Flyer, the Big Wheel, and even Santa’s train. People are everywhere, bundled up, laughing—kids are running around, and it all smells of caramel corn, mulled wine, and pine needles. Christmas songs and carollers in all directions bring in the surround sound.