Page 9 of A Different Kind Of December
“All right, all right. I get it,” I interrupt Harry’s input.
My kids all straighten and look at me with cautious smiles on their faces.
“Am I that bad? Would you all rather go to school?”
I get a chorus of no from everyone, and Cam pulls me into him.
“Right, well you can all stay home and pass me the decorations, if anyone touches anything, you’ll see first-hand what a meltdown of Georgia proportions is really all about.”
***
I end up burning some bacon for breakfast, we all pick at it, and then Cam and the boys go out to the garage and bring in the boxes of tree decorations while I take a shower.
When I get out, I check my phone. I have messages from Jimmie and Ash.
Just a heart from each of them.
No words. Just a simple heart that says so much...
They want me to know that they love me and are thinking of me. They want me to know that if I need them, they’ll come running.
With wine.
Vodka, too.
My girls get me. They’ve always gotten me.
I stand for a few long moments in my bedroom. I’m dripping wet, with just a towel wrapped around me, and take a moment to bask in the fact that I’m loved.
I’m not the easiest person to love or even like. I’m aware that I’m selfish, whiny, and self-absorbed. I’ve tried to be better as I’ve gotten older, but traits of thirteen-year-old me still make an appearance every now and then.
Despite this, Jimmie and Ash have always been there for me, loving me like only family can, and their simple text messages have my chest feeling tight, my throat closing up, my eyes and nose stinging, and my lips trembling.
I know that at some stage today I’ll get a call from my brother. Just the thought of someone else, someone that I love, feeling anywhere near the depth of loss and grief over Sean’s death that I do causes a physical ache that radiates from my chest and hurts every part of my body.
Marley calls me on this day every single year without fail. I never answer, but I want this year to be different.
I go back to my bathroom, clean my teeth and moisturise. I won’t bother with makeup until we’re going out later, by then, I’ll probably be in need of another shower.
Once I’m dressed, I sit on the edge of my bed and make the call that I should’ve been making every first of December. I’m not the only one that lost so much on that day.
“Little sister Georgia, what’s goin’ on? You all right?” There’s only a slight pause between each of his questions.
I can’t get my words out.
I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.
“Marls.” My brother’s name escapes on a shuddered breath.
“I know, Porge, I know.” I hear him draw in a long inhale and let it out slow and shaky.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”
“You at home?”
“Yeah, in bed with a bottle of his favourite bourbon. I was trying to get drunk enough to call ya.”
