Page 48 of The Other Side of Apart
Mei: Uhhhhh……no. I mean, yes! What?
Marcus: I’ll never trust again.
I’m a freaking Christmas elf.
I stand back, admiring the tree I just decorated. Yeah, it’s one of those small, grocery store trees that’s, like, two feet tall. It doesn’t have all the cool ornaments like my Clubhouse Christmas tree—weird sculptures Dad and I created from broken stuff. But I spent thirty minutes sorting through a bag of Skittles, picking out only the reds and greens, then gluing them to branches, like real mini-Christmas ornaments. The tree may be small and flimsy, but it’s our first, and it’s glorious. Just like the past three months have been. I didn’t think we’d still be in Indiana. I have a virtual meeting scheduled with the Stanford coaches in March, which will be in person if all goes as I want itto. Eight more months before I can pick up where I left off. Even though Nick hasn’t been locked up yet…
There’s been no sign of him, though. No sightings, encounters, no threats, so no reason to not plan on going back to Stanford. Maybe he got run over by a semi-truck or fell in a hole that dropped him in Hell. Got amnesia and forgot his obsession with Mei, which I still don’t get. I mean, I’m obsessed with her too, but not like that. Take a hint, loser, you’re not her type.
Until I know Nick’s in custody, we’ll just be a normal Peggy and Darius living this slice of a dream. If Nick’s wasting space on this planet somewhere, he’s gonna make a misstep and get picked up; it just has to be before August. Once that happens, I’ll tell Mei about Stanford. For now, I’m holding onto hope.
I check my watch. Twenty-eight more minutes until I need to pick up Mei from work. She didn’t wanna work today, but I’m kind of glad she did, so I had time to create the most magical Christmas Eve I could with basically nothing. Now I have just enough time to get the fort ready for some serious Christmas Eve movie-watching and other festivities.
Using the sheets off our bed, the three blankets we own, and a couple of extra bath towels, I construct a pretty decent fort that engulfs our living area. I’d be doing the same with Dad tonight if I were back in San Francisco. I’ve always been in charge of design while Dad was construction so there are usually a few secret tunnels, some extra rooms off the main fort, and an architecturally sound roofline. Mei and I don’t have enough sheets, blankets, or pillows for all that, so this one-room fort in a one-room apartment will have to do.
I unwind the dollar store lights I picked up yesterday and plug them in to make sure they work. The store only had green left so our fort might look more Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle than Christmas, but it’ll look pretty cool in the dark.
As I string lights across the fort ceiling, Dad slips a little deeper into my thoughts, and I wonder if he’s making the fort with Kenna tonight. If they’ll sleep in it like we always did, but then I’m grossed out thinking about what else they might do in the fort, and I slap the thought away. I don’t even know how to picture her, anyway. In my mind, she’s just a smear of anger across my last San Francisco memories.
Nope. Not thinking about that tonight. Only gonna think about Christmas Eve and the gift I got Mei that might be the best thing I’ll ever give her. I dipped into what’s left of Meemaw’s graduation money, and the smile on Mei’s face when she opens my most excellent gift is gonna be worth way more.
I make the comfiest floor bed I can manage with only a couple of blankets, throw our pillows inside along with the Oreos and iced mini gingerbread men cookies I bought and arranged on a plate. A couple candles in the corner, some tinsel around the door opening, and then I crawl out of the fort, survey the room to make sure everything is ready, and head out to pick up Mei and start our very first Christmas together.
I wake up at 10:30 AM to a dark, cozy fort and a cloudy Christmas morning. We haven’t slept in for a couple weeks because of work, and neither of us moves from where we’re wrapped around each other on our makeshift floor bed. Mei practically jumped me when she saw the tree and fort; she’s never had a Christmas tree. Or a fort, which almost collapsed last night when things got a little rowdy.
I smile, remembering the background noise of whatever Christmas movie was playing on TV while we were distracted with other things. I’d grabbed a Sharpie and written MM underMei’s tattoo. When she asked what I’d drawn, I told her, and she’d said someday, she’d make it permanent. Maybe I will too. If Santa were real, I’d ask for matching tattoos. And piles of presents, so when Mei opens her eyes, there’d be glittery stacks all over this place.
But I’m playing Santa this year and can’t wait another minute to finally—FINALLY—give Mei the gift I’ve been working on for two months.
“Wake up, Mrs. Claus,” I whisper in her ear, pulling her tight against my chest. My fingertips graze her warm, bare back and her leg slides up mine. She mumbles something incoherent, and I slip out from underneath her, tuck the blanket around her, and crawl out of the fort to get the gift I wrapped in a cereal box and a bunch of paper grocery bags. It’s much warmer in the fort so I hurry back inside, kneeling over her and kissing her neck until she squirms and smiles against my skin.
“I can’t wait another second,” I say into her neck. “I’m bursting with monumental secrets.”
“Secrets…?” Her eyes are still closed, but her smile widens.
I flop down beside her. “Big ones.”
She opens her eyes and props her head on her elbow, yanking the blanket over her bare chest, which normally I would passionately discourage, but I’m too excited about her gift. “Not the prettiest wrapping paper you’ll ever have, but what’s inside makes up for it.” My mouth stretches to its limits in a smile, and she glances from me to the box and begins carefully dissecting it.
“No,” I say, putting my hand over hers. “Rip it open. Like…just rip it. Go crazy on it.”
She smiles and sits up, pulling the box into her lap and tearing open the flaps. She pulls out the paper chef’s hat I had to scavenge for last week. Her eyes roam it, then land on mine, eyebrows raised.
“Do you know what it means?” I ask.
“Umm…you want me to make you Christmas breakfast?”
“Not even close.” I take the hat and put it on her head. “This hat means I signed you up for a 12-week culinary course. Starting January 4th.” I was hoping we’d be back in our studio apartment at Stanford by then, but…
Her eyes search my face, her hair sticking up in all directions, making the moment more dramatic. “Marcus, are you?—?”
“So serious, Mei.”
She presses her hand to her chest, tears welling.
I wrap my arms around her. Maybe she didn’t want this. Maybe I should’ve asked. But I’ve seen her scrolling through recipes on her phone, and she’s been experimenting in the kitchen on her days off, humming as she cooks. “You okay?”
She nods. “I’m so okay,” she sobs into my shoulder, sniffing and shaking as she cries. “I cannot believe you did this.” She surfaces, swiping her eyes and wiping her nose.
