Page 90 of The Sun
The door shut, and I listened to the Christmas music playing on the radio while she disappeared into the bathroom to the side of the building.
“O Holy Night,” “Frosty the Snowman,” and “The Twelve Days of Christmas” had all played before Daisy emerged from the rundown restroom, eyes puffy and arms crossed over her chest.
She went straight to the pay phone on the corner. I watched in the rearview as she shook her head. I cringed when she banged her palm over the glass. I went to reach for the door handle, but then she slammed the phone back on the receiver, slipped out of the booth, and stormed back to the car.
“Asshole!” She pushed the heel of her hands against her eyes. “God. Ben’s an asshole.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, he’s really upset about football. You know.” Her voice grew louder, bordering on hysterical. “How a baby will screw with his ability to play goddamn college football! Then he asked how I knew it was his!”
I sat frozen, unsure what to do. I feared calling Ben a dick may enrage her even more, but I sure wasn’t going to suggest everything would be okay again. Because this was in no way okay. I couldn’t help myself. I mumbled dickwad under my breath.
“Super.” Daisy sucked in a breath. “Massive.” And another. “Dickwad.”
I leaned over the console and wrapped my arms around her, attempting to hold her while she sobbed. After about four seconds, she swatted me away, and there I sat, staring at the floorboard while “Grandma Got Ran Over by a Reindeer” hummed through her speakers, and a man dressed in a crummy Santa suit stumbled out of the gas station with a twelve pack of Milwaukee’s Best. I turned off the radio, figuring festive, upbeat music wouldn’t help anything at that moment.
Finally, I grabbed the tissues along with the Soft Batch, tearing both open and handing over a tissue followed by three cookies. “Here,” I said.
Daisy glanced down at the items, frowning. “This blows.” She took the cookies and left me with the tissues, and then we swapped places. I drove us back to my house where we pretended everything was the way it used to be when we were kids.
Before boys. Before sneaking around. When we all still had some hope.
30
Elias
Atlas made it halfway through the door before he dropped his end of the Christmas tree. “That shit is sharp!” He yanked a few green needles out of his shirt.
“Just pick the thing up, and stop being a sissy.”
Scowling, he showed me his middle finger, and then grabbed hold of the tree again. By the time we had toted it to the corner of the room, we were covered in pine needles and sap.
“Why are we even putting up a stupid tree?” Atlas grumbled.
I went to my hands and knees, then laid on my stomach so I could tighten the knobs on the old, rusted tree stand. “Because it’s Christmas.”
He leaned around the branches, glaring at me. “We’ve never had a tree in our life!”
“Well, shit’s changing.”
“It’s ’cause of Sunny.” Judah sang from the hallway.
“Whatever.” Atlas shook the tree to make sure it was secure, and pine needles showered down on my shoulders just as the doorbell rang.
Judah grumbled, “Bahumbug” when he opened the door.
“I always pegged you for a Scrooge, Judah.” I heard Sunny laugh.
“It smells like pine scented air freshener in here,” he said. “Thanks to you.”
“Everyone needs some holiday cheer.”
Judah guffawed. “Holiday beer’s more like it.”
I crawled out from underneath the tree, brushing the needles off my shoulders. Sunny directed her attention to me and pointed at Judah. “How is he related to you?”
“It’s questionable if he even is.”
