Page 11 of Seeds of Christmas
We play and trash talk. It’s loud, stupid, uncomplicated—exactly what I need.
You’re wasting your life, little bro. Video games are fun, but not real. Stop spending so much time playing.
When Jake finally cheers at a victory screen, I laugh along, half because it’s funny, half because it’s easier than crying if I admit how much I miss my brother’s voice joining in.
But under the laughter, there’s a question forming. One I’m not ready to answer yet, but can’t ignore anymore:
What do I actually want to do with my life?
I makeit exactly three blocks from the geology building before my phone rings.
Mom.
She’s calling me back because I tried her earlier. Why does pressing accept feel so hard?
I stare at the screen, watching it light up against the gray December sky, and seriously consider letting it go to voicemail. But that’ll just make things worse. Delayed disappointment is still disappointment.
I answer. “Hey, Mom.”
“Carter!” Her voice is bright, aggressively cheerful in that way that’s become standard since Dom died. Like if she sounds happy enough, we’ll all forget to be sad. “I was just finalizing Christmas plans. Your dad’s talking about getting tickets to that Nutcracker performance on the 23rd—you remember, the one he loved? I thought it might be nice to keep the tradition.”
My stomach clenches. “Actually, Mom, that’s kind of why I wanted to call.”
The brightness dims slightly. “Oh?”
I stop walking, lean against the cold brick of some academic building. Students stream past, bundled in coats, talking about finals and break plans and all the normal things normal people worry about.
“A research opportunity came up. Winter fieldwork, geothermal monitoring. It’s... it’s pretty important for my transcript. I wish I didn’t have to go.” The lie tastes like copper. “I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to make it home for Christmas.”
Silence. Long enough that I check to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“Oh.” Her voice is smaller now, the brightness completely gone. “That’s... when did this come up?”
“Yesterday. The professor just asked. It’s starts tomorrow, and?—”
“Christmas, though?” There’s something fragile in her voice that makes my chest tight. “We were really hoping... Your dad’s been looking forward to having you home. We thought it would be good for all of us to be together.”
The guilt sits heavy, familiar. I’ve gotten good at carrying it.
“I know. I’m really sorry. But this is the kind of thing that looks good for grad school applications, and?—”
“I mean. Of course. If it’s important for school, we understand.”
“Thanks, Mom. I really am sorry.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” The brightness is trying to creep back in. “We’ll miss you, but we’re proud of you for taking your education seriously. Maybe we can do something when you get back? New Year’s?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Stay warm out there. And text us, okay? Let us know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
“We love you, Carter.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and immediately feel like shit.
