Page 22 of Holiday at Home
She locks the door, twisting the key a few more times than necessary. I watch with curiosity. The lock isn’t stuck so I don’t know what that’s about. I guide her down the stairs to the rental in the driveway and Violet lets out a low whistle.
“Sleek and expensive. A massive upgrade from Ol’ Terry.”
Ol’ Terry was the name we gave the rust eaten truck I drove in high school. It looked like shit but ran like a dream. I adored that thing.
“It’s what they had,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.
“I don’t know…” Violet shrugs, watching me carefully. “From what I gather, your big fancy New York life is working its way into your veins.”
“I’m still the same old Simon.” I open the passenger door for her, but instead of sitting down she stares like I’ve grown a second head.
“The Simon I remember knew how to dress for the weather.” She picks at the hem of my T-shirt. “I know Florida isn’t New York, but short sleeves? Really?”
“Just looking at you in that sweater makes me break a sweat.”
She huffs a strange little laugh then sits. I close the door and jog around the hood. When I turn on the car, a playlist filled with Christmas hits starts up and Violet looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Simon Holiday? First, you go off script and show up out of the blue to lecture me about my lack of decorations. Then, suddenly I’m coming over for dinner. We’ll skip over the T-shirt because you and I both know you’re being ridiculous, but now there’s actual Christmas music coming out of your speakers? You never listened to Christmas music.”
She’s right. I didn’t. It’s not that I hate the holidays. I love them just like everyone else. All the nostalgia and warmth. But it was nevermy thing.It was hers. And seeing her now, it breaks my heart. Something tells me she needs a reminder of who she used to be.
“People change.”
“So you’renotthe same old Simon.” She smirks, because she knows she got me and I poke the air like I’m pushing in a pin, our old way of saying a point has been made and received.
It’s not a long drive to my parents,’ but in the oddity of spending time with this woman I once loved with all my heart—this woman who was my whole damn life and isn’t anymore—every second stretches into infinity. I catalog her movements, the paleness of her features, the tightness in her eyes. And yet, it’s easy to be with her. Like the time, distance, and heartbreak that’s grown between us has no meaning. When I pull into Mom and Dad’s driveway, Violet’s eyes go wide at the number of cars.
“Did the Holidays multiply over the years?”
“Oh, they did. My cousins have been dutifully making babies. But it’s not just the Holidays. It’s the Houlihans too.”
Violet’s jaw drops. “You were right. There are so many people here, no one will notice me.”
“They’re gonna notice,” I say, killing the engine.
She twists in her seat, looking at me with wide eyes. “This was maybe a bad idea.”
I suck in my lips, flashing forward to how Nana Holiday will certainly embarrass me as soon as she sees Violet. “It’s gonna be fine.”
And byfineI mean I’d rather face my family’s scrutiny than think of Violet alone in that house. Besides, maybe I’ll find a time to talk about Holiday Jitters. Not saying I will. Just that a moment may arise.
“If it gets weird, don’t take it wrong if I leave.”
“I won’t hold it against you. Promise.”
We meet at the hood of the car, and I offer her my elbow. After a moment’s hesitation, Violet threads her arm through, and we head up the walk.
9
Violet
Simon’s parents’ place is decorated from the top of the house to the edge of the yard—lights twinkling, glittered snowflakes dangling. Santa’s reindeer are up on the roof, electric candles glow in the windows, and a giant wreath made of frosted pine branches welcomes people home.
We head up the steps to the porch and through the front door, and it’s like stepping out of one reality into a completely different dimension. My life has been quiet lately. The chaos of opening the bakery highlighted exactly how quiet, but even that doesn’t compare to what waits for me on the other side of the Holiday’s front door.
A kid zooms past, zipping down the hallway with a dog and two more kids hot on his heels. Every room is filled with laughter or conversation. Someone’s arguing further into the house. Christmas carols are playing, and the smell of dinner and cocoa and wine...
It all slams into me like I ran into a literal wall.
