Page 9 of A Very Addicted Christmas

And I know why he’s asking me this.

I’m last to show.

It’s unlike me, and his concern only pricks my skin.

“He’s three-minutes late, not bed-ridden with scurvy,” Rose snaps at Ryke like he’s obtuse. My lips rise.

“I’m sorry I fucking asked, for fuck’s sake,” Ryke growls.

Rose is frustrated and not as biting, even as she retorts, “You’re supposed to say,if you were bed-ridden with scurvy, the world would rejoice.”

“Wrong fucking audience. You’re looking for my brother.”

“Present,” Lo says and lifts Lily’s hand. “And not in the mood…” He yawns and mumbles out something about annihilation. “…too early.”

“How are you, really?” Daisy asks, and without looking, I assume she’s asking me when Rose doesn’t respond.

I don’t turn around in my seat. As gently as I can, I just say, “Wonderful.” Trying my best to conceal irritation. These past few days have been trying.

Rose is sitting stiffly, and she leans her head to whisper to me, “How’s the essay going?”

I could lie and boast about how spectacular my words are, but I wish to be honest with my wife. “Terrible, darling.” My eyes flick to hers. “Yours?”

“Not better than you,” she whispers. “Unfortunately, it’s a fucking disaster.” Her voice is tight. Sleepless circles line her eyes, still puffy from crying. Her hair is piled into a high bun.

We haven’t slept much, and I’ve contemplated how long we’ll cage guilt. How long we’ll burden ourselves with a feeling I typically shed.

Guilt.

Remorse.

Hurt. Human emotions that usually struggle to latch onto me. Human emotions that always seem made for peoplelessthan me. Yet, Rose is the one who reminds me to feel and to understand the value in being like everyone else. And the power of her burning love still makes me feel like I’mmore. Even to this day.

But I can usually find awinsomewhere. We had sex tapes leak without our consent, and I turned that into a lucrative andthriving diamond business. Yet, there is little victory in failing as a parent.

I tried my best to prepare myself for this, knowing that even perfection has limits. Knowing that being a father has had more challenges than running a multi-billion-dollar company. But the part I played in the cabin at Camp Calloway—the hurt I caused my daughter—is a mistake that’s been hard to bear.

I can’t plague myself withwhat ifs.What if I’d spoken louder? What if I voiced more reason and less doubt? What if I’d taken her side more fully and vocally?

My daughter wouldn't be this hurt.

And it wouldn’t feel like there’s an unhealed wound, trying to blister inside of me, but I can’t rewind. There is no point in mourning the rigidity of time, and even contemplatingpointlessthings irritates the fuck out of me.

Rose swallows deeply, holding back a sharp emotion. It hurts seeing my wife like this. I take her hand in mine and squeeze it gently.We’re in this together, darling.

I shift a flyaway strand of hair that’d fallen from her bun. My lips brush her ear as I whisper, “Ensemble.”

She intakes a strong breath and then nods.

Winona clears her throat.

She’s thirteen now, but at any age, Winona has always seemed ready to burst—like her emotions could explode out of her at any second. From excitement to joy to anger or pain. I figured this is something she’d grow out of—an immaturity dedicated to rambunctious seven-year-olds. But the older she gets, the more she just reminds me of her parents.

She can’t keep still like Daisy.

Her fuse is cut short like Ryke.

And she is greatly beloved among the entire family, just like they are.

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