Page 54 of Hooked

Sia.

She didn’t have to do this. She doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t want her thinking I’m another person she has to balance the sheets with.

“Sia, you read too much into these gestures. Into making them and receiving them. Sometimes there isn’t a deeper meaning than someone just wanting to be nice. It’s not a validation of you as person.”

My words come rocketing back to me. I’d called her a hypocrite, but I’m one too. I’ve assigned meaning to her gestures that might also not be there. She’d accused me of making assumptions about her and about myself.

And I had.

I grab the ice tray from the fridge, close the door, and drop a bunch of the cubes into a plastic bag. I wrap the bag in a dish towel and look out the window. Danny’s house is lit up. I wonder how Sia feels. If she’s able to enjoy her time with family given how I behaved.

She’s equal parts soft and strong. I owe her an apology. I just need to be brave enough to be vulnerable, like she is.

But not tonight.

She deserves the time with her family now—the reunion she’s been waiting for. Which I spoiled, at least partially, with my fearful outburst.

I’ll talk to her tomorrow if I can live through the shame tonight. If I can live through the memories of lonely Christmas Eves past that are battering through the defenses that Sia helped bring down.

With my face swollen, I find it too difficult to read, so I flip on the TV.It’s a Wonderful Lifeis on again.

This time I sit through the whole thing. George Bailey had wanted to be erased to escape his fear and pain, and so had I. I’d erased myself through isolation. George Bailey realized living was better, and I’ve finally just realized the same.

19

Sia

It’s Christmas. With my family.

It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

I miss Drew, still, but it feels less raw now.

I throw on clothes and head downstairs. I’d cleaned myself up enough to participate in the cookie baking last night, and the kitchen is bustling again this morning.

It’s packed with my cousins. They’re grabbing pots and pans, yelling over the loud banging, arguing about who makes the best bacon, the best toast. Whether cutting toast into squares or triangles is better. The chaos is punctuated by an occasional rebuke from my uncle Murphy.

But I recognize the affection in his voice.

Though it’s tinged with something else. Sorrow? Regret?

He sees me standing at the bottom of the stairs and eases up from his chair. His sons part around him, moving like they share the same central nervous system. What’s it like to be so in sync with other people?

Murphy beckons me to follow, so I do. We go into the lounge and he tells me to sit.

“Happy birthday, love,” he says. His voice is gritty from years of smoking, and he coughs as he lowers onto the couch next to me. “Kieran tells me you’ve had a bit of a hard time?”

“Oh no,” I say. He’s dying of cancer. I can’t let him take on the burden of my feelings. “I’m fine.”

“We’re family, aren’t we, Sia?”

I nod emphatically.

“Then don’t stand on ceremony, honey. We’re not your fancy party guests.”

I flinch and hug myself, suddenly cold.

He clicks his tongue at me. “You’ve always been sensitive. Since you were a wee little thing. Not that you got much bigger.” He smiles, lost in memories for a moment. “I’m not scolding you, darlin’. Just saying that you don’t work for us. You can ask for what you need.”

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