Page 60 of Holiday Love
“Mom, my room’s small, it’ll be—” Helen starts.
“Enough, Helen,” Linda cuts in, soft but firm. “Please. It’s late. The guest room’s full of boxes, and it’s not worth the trouble. Just—don’t make this a big deal.”
Phillip is at her side instantly, steadying her elbow as she wavers. “It’s getting late. We should all just go to bed,” he says, his sigh heavy with resignation.
Helen won’t look at me. She’s probably regretting everything now. The fake dating. The all-too-real kiss. “Okay. Love you guys.”
Her parents chorus their “I love you’s” as we head for the stairs. Earlier, when we were watching the movie, her mom had pointed out that Helen’s bedroom is on the same level as the media room.
No stopping under the mistletoe this time. Helen practically sprints past it.
“I’m going to go brush my teeth,” she says, still not looking at me. She points. “My bedroom is over there.”
I follow the directions to her room, which is eerily similar to the one in her condo. White walls, lavender bedspread, romance books neatly lined up on a shelf. The only difference is that in this room there’s an extra set of shelves full of trophies, ribbons, and medals.
Instantly curious, I go to inspect them. The bottom shelf is dedicated to ballet. Blue ribbons for top dancer, best solo performance, best pairs dance. I have an irrational flash of jealousy, picturing some guy with his hands on her waist, lifting her, spinning her around with grace that I’ll never possess.
The second and third shelf are for academic trophies. I take my time, reading each golden plaque carefully.Helen Chu, academic decathlon state champion. Helen Chu, mathlete finalist. Helen Chu, first place innovation fair.
I try to swallow, but there’s a lump in my throat.
I have trophies too, mostly participation trophies.
The top shelf has framed diplomas. College, graduated summa cum laude. Not sure what that means, but it sounds impressive. Medical school, graduated with highest honors. That one is more self-explanatory.
The differences between us seemed small back at her condo, but here in her childhood room they become glaringly obvious. She’s accomplished so much, and I’ve done…nothing. Nothing important anyway.
With a deep sigh, I grab the duffle bag that Linda thoughtfully brought down. Back at home, I sleep in my boxers, but I wisely packed flannel pajama bottoms for this trip. I get them out and, with a quick glance at the door to make sure Helen’s not there, I undress and change into the pants, leaving my shirt off. My bruises have mostly healed but are still tender enough that I can’t tolerate the feeling of a shirt while I sleep.
I’m pulling the drawstring of the pants tight when Helen walks back into the room. She skids to a stop, making a strangled sound in the back of her throat as her eyes move over my bare skin. I’m equally stunned because she’s changed into pajamas as well. This is different from the tank top and shorts she wears back at the condo. This time she’s in a nightgown so short it skims her mid-thigh. The thing is made of some light pink gauzy material that sways around her body like it wants to embrace her as much as I do.
Shit.
She’s never looked so sexy, so tempting, something I want to devour. But I did that earlier, with the kiss, and she’s barely talked to me since.
Hands to yourself, Teddy.
I run to the bathroom and brush my teeth, then I’m back. I climb into bed and haul my bad leg up, heaving a sigh when it finally hits the mattress. By the end of the day, it feels like I’ve been dragging a hundred pounds behind me, so getting horizontal and taking the weight off is pure relief. A few tugs pull the sheets up over my chest, and I’m finally settled. Without looking at her, I grab my phone and start scrolling.
Helen’s already in bed beside me, a romance novel in her hand. She stays on her back, spine straight, the book balanced loosely in one hand while the other smooths a page that doesn’t need smoothing. Her fingers linger there, like the motion’s more about keeping busy than fixing anything. Then she flips through pages too quick to actually be reading.
The silence between us stretches, thick and unyielding, until her eyes finally slide my way.
“What’re you looking at?” she asks, her voice scratchier than usual.
“Figuring out how to apply to the Coast Guard so your dad doesn’t think I’m a complete moron.” I don’t know why I care so much about impressing him. It’s futile, but that won’t stop me from trying.
“Sorry about him.” Sheets rustle as she rolls over to face me. Her book falls shut between us. “He’s always been a little overbearing, but it’s gotten worse since my mom got sick. Plus, he’s never been great with people. I warned you, remember? I told you about the waiter and the candle?”
Now that I’ve met the man, that story makeswaymore sense. “I remember.” I bring the phone up to my eyes, peering at the tiny screen.
Helen rises on her elbow and leans closer to look too. She smells minty, like toothpaste, and at the same time like the flowers that line her balcony back in Santa Monica. I’m not sure where the floral smell comes from. Her shampoo? Her body wash? Her skin? So many things about her remain a mystery. For a brief minute, I visualize sliding my nose and then my mouth over her smooth skin until I locate the source of that delicious scent.
“What’d you find out?” Her question snaps me out of my fantasy.
“Huh?” I blink, befuddled.
“About the Coast Guard?” She cocks her head, inquisitive. “Is that something you even want to do or something you made up for my dad? I’ve never heard you mention it before.”
