Page 38 of Merrily Ever After
It’s nice and warm inside. Both in temperature and in vibes and I immediately relax, sitting at the back in the nearest empty seat as the organ starts playing ‘O Holy Night’.
“This is my favorite song,” I whisper to Tiernan, who has miraculously gone quiet. When I look down, I find him halfway to sleep, curled up against me. I suppose that’s one good thing about tantrums. Really wears them out.
“Hello there.”
I glance to my right to see a bleary-eyed, unshaven man sitting a little further down the pew. He’s wearing a crumpled suit and half a Santa costume.
“You all right, love?” he drawls, peering at my sling. “Who did that to you?”
“The 7A.”
“Bastard.”
I nod.
“Must have had a good day to be fast asleep like that,” he says, nodding at Tiernan.
“I wouldn’t know. I just found him over there.”
“Well, finders keepers. You sure you’re all right?”
I look back to the choir. Tiernan doesn’t stir. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” he says in that sage way drunk people seem to get. “Always hard this time of year.”
I nod, but this time, there’s a weird pressure in my chest that I don’t like. One that moves up my throat and behind my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying to focus on the music. On anything but myself.
“Do you think I’m stubborn?” I ask.
“I don’t even know your name, pet. We met ten seconds ago.”
“Right.” The choir keeps singing, but all the thoughts I’ve been trying to push to the back of my mind, all the worries that I pretend not to feel, they all come rushing out of me. I’m too exhausted to stop them. “People think I’m stubborn,” I say, staring bleakly ahead. “And I think they might be right. I think they think something’s wrong with me and that’s what’s made me so …” I frown, trying to make sense of it. “They still look at me like I’m lacking something. Like I need something else, and I don’t. And that makes me want to push them away. To prove that I can do it by myself. But I can’t. Not anymore.” I glance down at Tiernan. “All I want to do every day is give him the best life possible, but I’m running myself into the ground trying.”
“You look like you’re doing just fine to me.”
“But I won’t always. And it’s only going to get harder. And I’m scared I won’t be able to ask for help when I need it. And I know I’m not alone and I know I’m surrounded by family and friends who love me, but there must be something wrong with me if the only person I can tell this to is a drunk guy in a Santa costume.”
The man glances down at himself like he forgot he was even wearing it. “Not too surprising,” he says with a shrug. “It’s much easier talking to strangers than to the people who know us.”
“You think?”
“Sure, look at where we are. Why do you think people go to confession?”
“Catholic guilt and fear of eternal damnation.”
“There’s that too,” he agrees. “But some people also just want to talk. Same way others ask for help. But there’s no use crying over something that hasn’t happened yet. Not at Christmas. As far as I can see, you’ve got a healthy child and a good life. You can’t ask for much more these days.”
“I guess not,” I mumble.
“You’ve had a bad day,” he tells me. “But you could have a good one tomorrow. You’ll be okay.”
“Thanks.” I mean it. It’s the first time anyone’s said that to me in a long time. “Have you got somewhere to stay tonight?”
“Ah, I’ll be just fine. Made it this far along. But here.” He delves a hand into his pocket and draws out a small purple bauble. “For your tree.”
“I don’t have a tree.”
“For him then,” he says, handing it to me. “I stole it from one of those branch things by the altar.”
