Page 99 of Beautifully Messy
“I’m not used to… I don’t know what you want. It’s not like you’ve been a ray of sunshine this year. You've been... different since New Year’s. What the hell happened?”
I stare wide-eyed at him. I didn’t know he was aware enough to notice my mood, to see past my contrite smiles and one-word answers.
This sudden interest is no surprise. The pattern is familiar by now. It’s not about me at all. It’s about James. Mason feels him in the room, in my pulse, in the way my eyes drift across the table. And so, he reaches for me, staking his claim. This is the closest he’s come to asking me to name what he suspects since that night on the deck last year.
“You mean besides you grabbing me? Treating me like property instead of your wife?”
“I’ve apologized for that night, Syd. Are you going to hold it over my head for the rest of our lives?”
“No, Mason.” I half-laugh. “I’m not.”
With that, I roll over. He exhales sharply. Within minutes, his breathing evens out into sleep.
And I lie beside him, staring at the wall, seeing James’s pleading eyes from across the dinner table. The way they seemed to be asking:Can we get the fuck out of here? Can we please stop this madness?
Thirty
Thehoursstretchon,each tick of the clock another chisel against my already fragile resolve.
By the time Christmas morning arrives, exhaustion has settled deep into my body. I hear Jules’s boys in the hallway, their eager whispers turning into impatient whines: “Is it time yet? Can we go down now?”
They may be almost eleven, but Christmas is still their favorite holiday. And it starts early.
I turn to Anna, curled against me, soft and warm in sleep. “Merry Christmas, Bug.” I kiss her temple and gently rouse her. She blinks up at me sleepily before breaking into a slow, sweet smile, her little arms wrapping around my neck.
Downstairs, the room is alive with the murmur of morning. Margaret and Vera huddle near the kitchen, sharing soft conversation over a plate of cinnamon rolls. Tom and Jules try to keep their twins from combusting with excitement. Gary and Darrell observe it all from the sidelines. James stands near the counter, coffee in hand, eyes distant as he stares toward the mountains.
“Good morning, Bug,” Margaret greets warmly, kissing Anna’s cheek. “Where’s Mason?”
“Sleeping.” I shrug, setting Anna down. “Said it wasn’t worth getting up since she won’t remember it.”
Margaret’s lips press into a thin line. She hasn’t said anything outright, hasn’t pried, but she sees the cracks. Though she doesn’t ask questions, her silent reproach is unmistakable, but she smiles and lets it go. Again.
Before she can ask something I can’t lie about, I gain some distance as James crosses the room with two mugs in hand.
“Merry Christmas,” he says, passing me one.
Curling my hands around the warm ceramic, I try to keep my face blank so no one sees how much this simple gesture undoes me.
He’s devastating this morning. A forest green sweater clings just enough to hint at the strength beneath. The color sharpens his eyes to something wild and vivid. His hair’s tousled from sleep. And those black sweatpants? Absolutely criminal.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hide my entirely inappropriate reaction. Especially here, in my in-laws’ living room. But his gaze drops, nostrils flaring as he takes me in.
Jules claps her hands. I stumble back.
“Alright, fam. Coffee’s poured, and presents were delivered. Let’s do this,” she announces.
Wrapping paper flies, laughter rings. Anna, unsure at first, quickly catches on. She might be two, but the moment she sees her cousins tearing into their gifts, she understands—then she owns it. She rips open her presents with unrestrained glee, shrieking in delight at every new treasure. She races over after each gift, pressing them eagerly into my hands, into James’s, demanding our full attention.
“Look, Momma! Look, Unca J!”
And we do. We marvel. We laugh. We admire each toy with exaggerated wonder, our delight matching hers beat for beat. For a little while, nothing exists outside of her joy. We lean into it, pretend it’s the three of us.
If the others notice, they don’t say a word.
Clutching a new book in her small hands, Anna walks straight to James, crawling up beside him. She hands him the book and leans back against his chest. He stills, looks from her to me, and takes a slow, deep breath, steadying himselfto absorb this little gift. He opens the book and begins to read, bringing to life the tale of a girl and her unicorn.
I tug the collar of my turtleneck up over my mouth, burying my face in the fabric as tears threaten to spill—the sheer perfection of this moment.
