Page 39 of Knockout Queen

He lowers his voice even more. “I brought your phone so you can talk to your aunt and uncle. They’ve already tried to call you.”

I nod into his warm embrace. It would be easier if I could keep my phone on me, but since I’m still holding on tight to the last secret I’m keeping from Johnny, I can’t.

“Out of the way, big guy,” Oscar jibes.

Brawler gives me one last good hug before moving to the side. Oscar’s eyes are big and round. He’s holding the Santa ceramic cookie jar he bought me, only it’s mostly fixed now. Cracks jag their way across his fat belly and face, but Oscar must’ve super glued it back together. The smile he’s sending my way might take over his face. “You fixed it?”

“Open it...”

I pull Santa’s hat off and peer inside. Chocolate chip cookies fill the interior. Homemade, too. Or at least they look like homemade. “Where did you get these?”

“I bribed a neighbor lady.”

Avoiding the cookie jar altogether, I give Oscar a huge hug. “I can’t wait to try them.”

“Hope they’re better than my mom’s cookies,” Brawler jokes. “I almost cracked a tooth on them this morning.”

“Morning? What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon,” Oscar says. “We figured if we didn’t come over now, we’d never get to see you.”

“What did you tell the guys at the front?” Mag asks.

Oscar turns serious. Now that he’s slipped into gang mode, I notice the definite change in him from just two seconds ago. I never would’ve pegged Oscar as a holiday guy. He’s positively come alive though. He must be sentimental at heart. Down, way down, underneath all that sarcasm and playfulness. “We told them Johnny summoned us to discuss what happened while he was taken captive.”

“Good,” Mag says.

He and Johnny load up a plate with toast and push it to the edge of the bar. I move toward it, picking up a slice. Just last year, my aunt and uncle were eating a delicious meal around a pristinely decorated dining room table. We ate, then opened presents. It’s been that way since I came to live with them. It was nice, but definitely nothing like when I was a kid. My parents would wake up early just because I couldn’t stand to wait to open my presents. We’d open gifts first, then eat breakfast. The whole day was chill, relaxed, filled with love and excitement. My aunt and uncle did what they could, but they just weren’t my parents.

Sometimes when I think things like that, guilt swarms me. My aunt and uncle gave up a lot to take me in, and I’m so appreciative. But I can’t stop comparing. I can’t stop wishing I never had to be in their care at all.

Brawler rubs my back. He’s more subdued today, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thoughts as me. Christmas probably hasn’t been the same for him since he lost his brother and sister. Losing family members makes holidays difficult, like you’re always in juxtaposition between being happy and then guilty and then sad. It’s a never-ending cycle that takes what the true meaning of Christmas is supposed to be and throws it out the window along with any chance of finding joy in the day.

That’s why I didn’t realize Christmas was so close.

That’s why I’m not prepared.

But you know what? I’m looking forward to seeing what things could be like in my new life. Oscar bribing old ladies to make chocolate chip cookies for us, so he can put them in this gaudy Santa Claus. Maybe one day, we can forego the ceramic tree and get a real Christmas tree.

Whatever it is, we can learn and implement our traditions together like a true family.

I spot the presents again, and my stomach drops. “I didn’t think or have time or...” I shrug as all the excuses push to the surface. “I didn’t get you guys anything.”

“You’ve given us plenty,” Mag says.

“I told you just to get naked. Gift accomplished,” Johnny says in a rare instance where he shows his sense of humor. Maybe it’s the pain killers I saw him pop just a few moments ago, but maybe it’s that he’s finally beginning to see he can be comfortable here, like this.

“I didn’t get you anything big,” Brawler says.

“I only got you the cookies,” Oscar adds.

“And the Santa Claus,” I say.

“You bought that thing?” Johnny asks, turning his nose up at it. “It’s hideous.”

“Princess liked it, so Princess got it.”

Johnny gives me a cautious glance.

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