Glass - 02

  him, even though the girls are squealing.

  Ooooo! Cooties! Gross! Oooooo!

  And we can’t help but laugh around

  our kiss. And suddenly everything

  is right. Everything forgiven. Every

  minute apart and alone, forgotten.

  We Spend Christmas Eve

  Like a normal family—eating

  and drinking and laughing together

  like we’re a mom, dad, and uncle, plus a couple

  of kids, instead of a father with two children

  missing their mom and trying not

  to resent their “nanny,” who has stolen

  their uncle’s affection. Not that Trey

  doesn’t play with them. He gets down

  on the floor, helps them build a puzzle.

  I watch, thinking what a great dad

  he’ll make one day. I wonder if he could

  ever become Hunter’s dad. [Stop it. Wishful

  thinking will get you exactly nowhere.]

  Brad builds a fire and lights the Christmas

  tree, and if I were six again, I’d be chirping

  “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” right along

  with Devon and LaTreya. Finally, Brad

  tells the girls they have to go to bed.

  Santa won’t come if you’re awake, you know,

  he says. Come on. I’ll tuck you in.

  The girls run ahead, and he turns to Trey

  and me. Hang on. I’ll break out the new stuff.

  When he leaves the room, Trey pulls me into

  his lap. God I’ve missed you. I can’t wait

  to give you your present. He kisses me, hotter

  this time, and beneath me, through his denim

  and mine, I can feel the promise

  of his Christmas gift soon to come.

  Brad Is Generous

  With his personal stash.

  [He can afford to be. Have

  you ever seen so much uncut

  meth in one place at one time?]

  Once we’re sure the girls

  are asleep, we help him play

  Santa, filling the empty

  space beneath the tree.

  Gifts spill across the floor.

  I wanted to make it up to

  them for their mother not

  being here, he explains.

  We share yet another

  bowl, then Trey says,

  It’s after one. We should

  probably call it a night.

  He pulls me to my feet,

  and as we start upstairs,

  I turn to say good night.

  Brad’s looking at us

  in an odd way. He smiles

  and waves, but not before

  I can interpret the look

  on his face—envy.

  We tiptoe upstairs, past

  the pink bedroom where two

  little girls dream of eight

  tiny reindeer. My first Christmas

  away from home. My first

  Christmas in my new home.

  My first Christmas with Trey,

  and I pray it isn’t my last.

  Especially as He Gently Peels

  My clothes from my body, picks

  me up, carries me naked to the bed,

  like we’re on our honeymoon.

  As he takes off his own clothes,

  I tell him, “I think your cousin

  is just a wee bit jealous.”

  Can’t blame him a bit.

  If the situation was reversed,

  I’d be jealous too. Jealous

  that he could do this….

  [Can you believe he can do that?]

  And this….

  [OMG. No one can do that!]

  But Trey can. And he does.

  And I learn something new.

  Something dark. Perverse,

  even. But the monster [and me!]

  embrace it, beg him for more.

  Oh, you like that, do

  you, you nasty little girl?

  If Brad were here, doing this

  to you, I might have to kill him.

  Either that, or ask him to share.

  I wonder if they’ve ever

  done that—shared a girl.

  For about half a second

  I consider asking.

  Better not. Odds are good

  I won’t like the answer.

  Before It’s Possibly Possible

  The eastern window silvers,

  the earliest hints of sun crisp

  upon an awesome white landscape.

  A white Christmas, something

  all northern Nevadans hold

  their collective breath over.

  It’s the same question every

  year—will we or won’t we

  celebrate a white Christmas?

  This year we will, and despite

  the fact that it’s just beyond

  dawn, the celebration downstairs

  has already begun. Devon:

  Santa was here! Santa was

  here! He ate up all the cookies.

  LaTreya, more pragmatic:

  Holy cow. Look at the presents!

  How can we ever open them all?

  Trey pulls me into his arms

  for one last kiss. Santa was here.

  Guess we’d better get up.

  We made love, off and on, most

  of the night, but he has not said

  the words I’ve waited to hear.

  Should I say them now? I’m

  almost afraid to, like if I do it will

  make him vanish into thin air.

  I Have To

  Have to tell him

  how I feel, how

  much I miss him

  when he’s not

  here. So I snug

  my face against

  the pulse in his

  neck. “I love you.”

  I wait, barely

  able to breathe.

  He tightens

  his arms around

  me. I know, and

  I know how lucky

  that makes me.

  Come on. Let’s

  take a shower.

  He rolls out of

  bed, heads for

  the bathroom.

  I watch him go,

  wondering just

  what the fuck

  that meant to me.

  My First Reaction

  Is anger. I want to jump up, run

  into the bathroom behind him, demand

  a reciprocal declaration. [Don’t be stupid.

  Demands are the best way to lose someone.]

  Now hurt gulps at me. Even

  if he doesn’t love me, after all

  we just shared, the least he could

  do is lie. [You’d rather hear lies?]

  If he doesn’t love me, I’m mortified

  for giving myself in the ways I just

  did. Those things can only be justified

  by loving someone heart and soul.

  [Men are clods. Maybe he thinks

  what he said qualifies as “I love you.”]

  What did he say? That he’s lucky because

  I love him. Nope, not the same thing at all.

  Now I’m pissed again. I stomp into the

  bathroom, clear a spot on the steamed-

  up mirror, stare at the girl staring back

  at me, eyes harboring confusion.

  Trey throws back the shower curtain.

  Are you getting in here or what?

  He moves to the back, helps me climb

  in past his soapy body. Hot, soothing

  water falls all around me, and the herbal

  scent of shampoo fills my nostrils. Trey

  snakes my body with slick, lathered arms.

  Merry Christmas, Kristina. I love you, too.

  By the Time

  We reach the living room, ribbons and wrapping
br />   paper litter every square inch of floor, red and green

  and gold. Lookie, Trey, shouts Devon. Look at the million

  presents Santa Claus brung. There’s even some for you.

  Trey grins, reaches down and scoops her up.

  Santa brought a present for me? Where? Show me!

  We spend the next hour opening packages and watching

  the girls play with their “million” new toys. My own

  contributions to the pile are a Barbie for Devon and

  a unicorn for LaTreya, who insists dolls are dumb.

  For Brad, I made a pretty card. Inside is a “gift

  certificate” worth One Family Portrait by Kristina.

  He smiles and offers a thank-you kiss, and it’s more

  than just a friendly kiss. Trey can’t help but notice.

  Hang on there, cuz. Don’t be kissing my girl like that.

  Despite all the kissing Trey and I did last night,

  I have to admit some part of me really enjoyed Brad’s

  kiss. Maybe I’m turning into a pervert. [Join the club!]

  Now Brad hands me a present, small and cheerful

  in its shiny purple foil wrapper. Inside is a music box,

  handcrafted of cherrywood, intricately inlaid with gold

  leaf hearts. It plays “Für Elise,” my favorite Beethoven.

  My eyes lock with his, and what I find glittering

  there makes me slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you.

  It’s beautiful. How did you know I love this song?”

  Brad shrugs. It reminded me of you. He unhooks his eyes

  from mine, and his looking away draws a tinge of regret.

  Trey clears his throat. Don’t you want my present?

  “You mean there’s more?” I smile. “Of course I do.”

  He hands me a plain brown sack. Sorry. Didn’t have time

  to wrap it. Inside is a pipe—blown glass, milky blue swirls.

  Luckily, the girls are distracted by toys. I drop the pipe

  back in the bag. “Maybe we should break this in?”

  Trey looks at Brad. What time are we supposed to be at

  your mom’s for dinner? I probably shouldn’t smoke first.

  I glance back and forth between Trey and Brad. “You’re going

  somewhere for dinner?” [Well, duh. Isn’t that what families do?]

  Brad nods. Uh-huh. My mom always does Christmas dinner for

  the entire family. We’re supposed to get there around one.

  I look at Trey, waiting for an invitation to join them. But he

  just says, I hope she made pecan pie. I love that shit.

  I Keep Waiting

  But it’s almost noon, and still

  no invitation. We go upstairs

  so Trey can put on a button-up

  shirt. Finally, I get brave enough

  to ask, “So, can I come along?”

  He looks at me like I’m insane.

  No way. Sorry, Kristina, but

  that isn’t a good idea.

  “I don’t get it. You say you

  love me, but you won’t take

  me to Christmas dinner? Are

  you ashamed of me, or what?”

  Ashamed of his tweaker girlfriend?

  You don’t know our family.

  The only way I could bring a girl

  is if we were getting married.

  We’re not getting married.

  But I still don’t get it.

  “You’d be wel…” Okay, he

  wouldn’t be welcome at my

  home. But that’s different.

  See? He comes over, puts

  his arms around me. We

  won’t be gone that long.

  I push him away. “Don’t

  you understand? I gave

  up spending Christmas

  with my own family so

  I could be with you.”

  Uncertainty flashes in his

  eyes, but only for a second.

  I never asked you to.

  Twelve Thirty-Five

  And he leaves me

  alone in my room,

  simmering,

  one click of the burner away from

  a hard boil, in a big red pot of

  anger

  Okay, true he never asked

  me to snub my own family,

  never

  promised to spend this day

  with me. Never

  expected

  I might choose time with

  him over time with them, but

  to be

  honest, I never would have

  believed I could be

  rejected

  in such a way by someone

  who’s supposed to love me.

  So what

  does that say about the way

  I rejected those who love me?

  Do I

  call Mom, tell her I’m sorry,

  I couldn’t find a ride?

  Do

  I ask her to come get me, please

  come and get me right

  now,

  two hours until the big feast?

  She would. But she’d also be

  angry,

  and I really don’t want to spend

  Christmas day arguing. I’m

  mad

  at Trey and, for some stupid

  reason, at Brad, too. I’m

  mad

  at Mom for not being more

  insistent. Mostly, I’m

  mad

  at myself for being such an idiot.

  I guess I deserve to be lonely.

  I Do Call Home

  Find myself glad when Jake

  answers the phone. “It’s me.

  Merry Christmas. How’s it going?”

  Great! I got a new computer.

  Hey, Mom, it’s Kristina.

  No, no, I don’t want to talk

  to Mom. But it’s Leigh

  who comes to the phone.

  Where are you? Dinner’s

  starting to smell really good.

  Just hearing her voice comforts

  me.[You can still change your

  mind.] “Uh…I’m not coming….”

  What? But you have to. Do

  I have to come get you myself?

  [Just say yes.] “No. It’s just, uh…

  I’m not feeling well. I’ve been

  throwing up all morning.”

  Extremely long pause. Throwing

  up? Kristina, you’re not…

  Pregnant? No. Can’t be. Can I?

  [You’re not really throwing up.]

  “No, not that. Food poisoning.”

  Concern turns to concern. Do you

  need to go to the hospital?

  “No, I’ll be fine. I’m just weak

  and wouldn’t be good company.

  Tell Mom I’m sorry about dinner.”

  Heather and I will be here until

  Thursday. I hope we can see you.

  “I hope so too. I’ve got presents

  for you. I’ll call tomorrow,

  okay? Tell everyone I love them.”

  We love you, too. Christmas

  isn’t the same without you.

  I hang up the phone and half

  way through my miserable weep

  session I realize that once again

  I never even asked about Hunter.

  Do I miss him at all? Does he miss

  me? Does he even remember me?

  What Is Wrong with Me?

  Surely I don’t really want

  to spend Christmas alone.

  So why didn’t I let Leigh

  come and get me? Why?

  Instead I chose to sit here,

  stressing over Trey and his

  family. Stressing over why

  I don’t qualify to share their

  table. Is it really any girl

  that wouldn’t make the cut?
br />   Or is it just me? Exactly what

  is wrong with me? What?

  Well, I’m not entirely alone.

  I can share what’s left of

  this day with my Christmas

  presents. I wind the music

  box, open the lid. The sweet

  melody offers familiarity,

  and there’s solace in that.

  But there’s more solace in

  the pipe and what goes inside

  it. Getting tweaked alone is

  not what I’d have chosen.

  But it’s better than being

  alone and not getting tweaked.

  How long until they get back?

  How long will I sit here, staring

  out the window, listening to

  my favorite Beethoven, all by

  myself? How long will I hit

  my new milky blue pipe, all

  alone? How much can I do?