Page 126 of My Merry Mistake
“My Christmas checklist,” he says.
“You actually made it?” I notice he’s crossed out “Get Raya a Christmas tree.”
“I said I was going to.”
I scan the list:
Get Raya a Christmas tree
Teach Raya to ice skate
Christmas Carnival
Luminary Walk
Ice Carving Contest
Watch The Polar Express
Tree lighting
Macy’s windows
Shop for nieces
Community Center donations
Go to the Christkindl Market
Drive around and look at Christmas lights
“This is ambitious,” I say.
“I love Christmas.” He looks at me. “Remember the first time we ate pizza together?”
I don’t have to think too hard to conjure the image of him leaving his Halloween party to make a frozen pizza because I said I wanted it.
Without responding, I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out two bottles of water. I hand one to him. “Sorry I don’t have a beer or anything.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t actually drink.”
“You don’t?” I sit down at the island, across from where he’s standing.
“Nah.” He hands me a plate. “Never really tried it. Even figured out how to win beer pong without ever taking a drink.”
I run back through my memory and realize I don’t have a single memory of him drinking. “I don’t really drink either,” I say. “For obvious reasons.”
He smirks at me. “Oh, I know,” he teases. “I was there.”
I wince. “Yeah.” I pick up a slice of pizza and take a bite. “I guess I never realized this about you.”
“I’m not super strict on it—it’s just not something I really enjoy.”
“Me neither.” I take another bite and watch him. “Can I ask why you don’t? Is it just the taste or . . .?”
“Actually, no, not the taste.” He pauses, then, like he’s made up his mind about something, he adds, “It’s because of my brother.”
I stop chewing and look at him, but his eyes are on the counter. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he looks up at me. He smiles, but it’s one of those smiles that masks another feeling. “He was killed by a drunk driver.”
