Page 44 of When in December

It was silent.

There was no holiday music blaring or a small woman’s shoes by the door so that mud wouldn’t be dragged in over the freshly stained living room floor, which I still couldn’t believe she had done by hand for the past week, turning it from faded to a rich darkness that, with the dark paint, made the entire space feel tight and cozy, but not in a bad way.

In a homey sort of way with the white snow reflecting outside the French doors that led onto the patio. I imagined one day, someone would enjoy using them to let out pets or watch their children run around in the backyard while hosting a party with their friends and family laughing together.

But notmine. That wasn’t even a thought I could ever have.

I kicked off my boots, noticing the empty spaces of the house now more than I had before—from missing furniture and mapped-out spaces for deliveries that never came. I hadn’trealized how much I must’ve pushed the little homemaker’s timeline back with all my so-called harmless scheming.

I shut the door to my room behind me out of habit from when Poppy would stay late even though she wasn’t here now. I shrugged off my clothes and reached for the pair of sweats I’d had on before.

She’d had a point. There was a stain on them, and they didn’t smell the best, which meant that I probably didn’t either, no matter if Barrett had been polite enough not to say anything.

Turning on the shower, I let the water run over the black granite like rain before I stepped inside. Everything was working now. More than that, the bathroom addition off the main bedroom was unrecognizable from what it once was. Even unfinished so far, the cabin was turning out nice.

More than nice.

And the entire place felt my style—even if I’d never realized I had one before. How well this Poppy Homemaker woman seemed to know me and this space without ever even meeting the people who lived inside of it almost made me angry. The place was … it could be perfect. I hadn’t wanted it. Most of all, I didn’t deserve it when I’d thought I was coming back home to a cold shack.

I ran my fingers through my hair, which was the longest it had ever been in my life, but didn’t bother to brush it or the shambles of the beard that was also growing to new lengths as I got back into my room. My bag and clothes were tossed all over the floor, and most of the clothes on the floor needed to be washed.

It would’ve helped if we—Ihad a washer.

I shuffled a heap of the stuff to worry about later into the closet, listening to the crunch of the cardboard box sitting in the back. Pausing, I knelt in front of the wide walk-in closet. Also a new addition. I slid out the cardboard box labeled with myname. Tearing open the flaps, I peered at the teetering stacks of books inside.

I grabbed one of the books off the top, turning the worn paperback over. Block font was stark on the cover, alongside wide eyes staring through a royal-blue background. I opened to the first page. I’d read this one before. Hell, I’d probably read the collection of war stories twice out of necessity for school or pure boredom. My old, tight handwriting was scrawled, almost undecipherable, in the margins. Words were underlined, and quotes detailing the Vietnam War were circled in blue ink.

Flopping back on my unmade bed, I fell back into the story I vaguely remembered. My eyes turned heavy after a while, the book balanced on my chest.

“Come on, Hayes. Let it loose. Best kiss.”

“Best kiss? You gotta be kidding me. Gonna get your diary out next, Vass? Read about your first crush?”

He shoved me. “Come on. You go first then, bud. Share all the gory details.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a drink for no other reason than I wanted to. “I was sixteen. Drunk off my ass and alone. My buddies let me disappear to where all the coats were, and I practically passed out. But then this girl showed up.”

“You sure she was real, Hayes?”

“Shut up. She was there, and she … listened. Then, fuck.” I remembered the strawberry lip gloss that had tasted like sugary candy. I remembered how her hair had been messy yet perfect to slip my hands into when her lips fit just right against mine. Of course, I’d passed out, and she hadn’t been there when I woke back up. Maybe it had been some kind of dream. Teenage girl mirage bred from cheap liquor. “That was it, best kiss I ever had.”

Everyone leered around me as the next question changed to something bigger and likely a lot more lewd, but Vassar smirked, leaning into me.

“Sounds like you found your true love, man,” he joked.

I shoved him again. His dog, Oz, barked at me.

But then, as I forced myself to stop thinking of Vassar, of everyone, for some reason, there was another figure breaking through my clouded mind. It was as if the homemaker were back in front of me. With stupid, kind eyes, she brought me baked goods to try so she knew what to get on the big day—Christmas, when the rest of my family would come to terrorize me as well. Her sweet voice easily turned fiery when I got under her skin as well as she was getting under mine. Her scent seemed to trail through the house more than the paint, light florals and sweet berries sticking around even after she left.

“Have a great life here then. I hope it’s worthwhile. Alone.”

I shifted in my bed, trying to get comfortable. My book slid off my chest and to the floor. I had no idea what I was going to do and I hated it. The unease prickled in my chest for the first time in an overwhelming realization.

All alone.

It was too much.

Not enough.

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