Page 81 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

I poke my head over the top of the open fridge door to look at my friend. “What doeshmmean?”

But Ramona only shakes her head. “Nothing. Hand me that celery.”

I straighten instead. “Ramona Nasiri, don’t you lie to me.”

“Fine,” she huffs and pushes her glasses up on her nose. “I was just thinking about the next guy you’ll likely date.”

“I just said I was never dating again.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not a realist. You’ll get back out there, and you’ll bag yourself a homely fifty-something investment banker with an impressive golf handicap, a membership at the yacht club, and an affinity for Cuban cigars. Either that or a librarian.”

I scowl at her and hand her the damn celery. “Shows how much you know. Golf is boring, I get seasick, and the smell of cigars makes me want to puke.”

“You’ll adapt. Or go for the librarian.”

We’re both silent for several beats. “Matty would hate those guys.”

“Well.” Ramona shrugs, infusing the single word with a whole lot of ambiguity while at the same time making me feel like she just won an argument. How does she do that? “Speaking of Matty. You never told me what happened the other day at school with the latest fight.”

“Oh my god.” I shake my head at the memory. “That child.”

“This sounds like it’s gonna be good. Was it more shoving, or did he actually punch someone this time?” she asks as she empties half the juice into a glass pitcher with candy canes on it.

“Neither. It turns out that Raiden kid hasn’t let up on his bullying at all, and Matty got together with a couple of his other victims and hatched a plan.” I cross my arms and lean against the closed refrigerator while Ramona mixes the drinks. “Apparently, Raiden has a habit of stealing choice items from other kids’ lunches, so they brought bottles of soda that day and made a big deal about it so he’d notice. Sure enough, Raiden came over and swiped Matty’s soda from his hand and started to drink it. But the boys had punched holes in the bottles, so when he upended it, it all spilled on his pants.”

Ramona slaps her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

“And because they’re twelve, all it took was one kid to yell, ‘Raiden just peed himself!” before the entire cafeteria was laughing.”

“Ha! You have a burgeoning genius on your hands, Molls.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do have to give him points for creativity.” I shrug. “I mean, the school’s hands were tied since Raiden is pretty sneaky about his bullying, so I guess I can’t be mad that the kids took things into their own hands—especially since it was nonviolent.”

In fact, the vice principal appeared to agree, although he didn’t say as much. He just told me he’d continue keeping an eye on Raiden and let me know what Raiden’s parents had to sayabout the incident after the break. I’m just hoping getting a taste of his own medicine is enough to settle Raiden down.

“Mom! I’m getting ready to open Dad’s present, so you gotta get in here!” Matty shouts from the living room.

“You got this covered?” I ask, and Ramona shoos me out of the kitchen to go hang with my patchwork family. The look on Matty’s face when he opens the guitar Blake bought him is almost enough to make me forget about what could have been a very different Christmas.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Bobby

“Merry Christmas, Bobby,” Mom whispers to me from the couch where she sits with a cup of steaming decaf coffee clutched to her chest. The Christmas tree before her is lit up in all kinds of colors and mismatched ornaments we either bought or made over the years.

Considering I didn’t see her there, I nearly jump out of my socks on the way to the kitchen. “Hey, Mom. Merry Christmas. What are you doing up so early?”

Mom shrugs and pats the cushion next to her. “I couldn’t sleep. I just kept thinking how lucky I am to be here another year after my little scare.” I change course and sit next to her. She puts her head on my shoulder. “And having you here again so soon is just an added bonus.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I’m glad someone around here is happy. I’ve spent hours talking with my brothers the last three days, talking with Ashley and my new psychologist through all my emotions, and even spent some quality time with Dad fixing the Christmas lights outfront that went on the fritz. There was zero shouting or back-of-the-head slapping. A goddamn Christmas miracle.

I just fucking miss Molly. And Matthew. And the life I thought we could have together.

“I wish your heart wasn’t hurting, my boy,” Mom whispers.

I kiss the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’ll move on somehow. Plenty of fish in the sea, right?”

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