Page 82 of Sleepless Nights and Hockey Fights

Mom lifts her head and frowns at me. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend like you don’t feel heartache. That’s the kind of crap your brothers do. You’ve always been different from them, Bobby. You feel things deeply.”

She puts her coffee cup down on the side table before grabbing my hands and holding them in hers. “I always doted on you more than the others. I know it put you in their crosshairs, but you needed more attention. You’ve got a beautiful, tender heart, Son. Don’t be afraid to follow it. If Molly is who you want, you need to go after her.”

My chest squeezes when I think about chasing Molly. I want to go after her, more than anything. But she’s a grown woman who’s made her decision. Defeat tastes bitter.

“I want to respect her wishes, Mom.”

Mom shakes her head. “From everything you’ve told me, Molly hasn’t made any kind of decision, except to be scared of you and what you have to offer. Or maybe you haven’t been clear about wanting forever with her. You do want forever, right?”

“Of course I do! I asked her to move in with me. She asked to take a break.” I pull my hands from hers and stand, needing to move my body or I might go insane. “I’m going to start making the pancakes. When are the boys coming over?”

Mom studies me for a long moment, but lets the topic of conversation go. “They’ll be here early for pancakes and bacon. They actually get up for free food.” She laughs, like it isn’t superannoying to have grown men coming over and raiding your kitchen at all hours. My mom is a goddamn saint.

She and I move around each other in the kitchen like we used to when I was younger. There’s a calming rhythm to being back home, surrounded by people who love you, even when you’re a giant pain in the ass. Dad gets up and sits at the kitchen dinette table with the newspaper and his coffee, occasionally chiming in with a comment. I take in the moment, filing it away as a good memory to pull out and relive when I think everything is crap in my life.

“Bobby the baconator!” Artie’s loud shout breaks the quiet morning. He and Will shove through the front door without knocking, dropping some gifts under the tree that look like a kindergartener wrapped them. “I smell breakfast!”

Richie stumbles out of his old bedroom, clad in only boxer shorts. His hair sticks out in every direction. “Why is everyone shouting?” he shouts.

Will and Artie tag team him with a bruising hug. Dad yells at them to quit roughhousing in the kitchen. They take the crazy into the living room, the volume only increasing when George arrives and professes he can’t stand to hear them bickering until he’s had some caffeine.

“Let’s eat, jackasses!” I call out when Mom and I have everything ready.

It’s like a goddamn stampede as the boys file in to load up their plates. I give them the stink eye, and Will remembers our conversations over the last few days.

“Hey, Mom. You go first. Everything looks delicious.”

Mom beams, patting Will on the cheek. He sticks his tongue out at me as Mom passes. I roll my eyes, but I’m pleased they remember some manners. We all get food and have a seat in the living room like we’ve done for as long as I can remember. At first, there’s just the sound of us gorging on food, but pretty soonsomeone starts rifling through the gifts and handing them out. We tear into them in utter chaos. We aren’t a house that slowly unwraps each gift and thanks the giver.

Except when Mom opens my gift. She gasps and everyone settles down to see what’s got her in a tizzy. She has one hand pressed to her mouth and tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh, Bobby,” she sobs.

Dad gives me a head nod like I’ve done something right. My brothers are all trying to get a look at what she holds on her lap.

“I found an exact replica of the vase we broke. The one your mother passed down to you. There were only fifty made in the whole world and only about ten left that are known. One of the owners was willing to sell.” I shrug like it isn’t a big deal when it took me months to track down an owner willing to sell. And it took an extraordinary amount of money to convince them to part with the vase.

“Damn, Bobby. You showing us up again?” Will snaps.

“Yeah. I thought our rule was fifty bucks or less for gifts,” Artie chimes in.

George, always the quiet one, just glares at me.

Richie tilts his head, watching Mom gaze at the vase lovingly. “I think it’s kind of nice. Like, really nice.”

“Thanks, Rich. Guys, it’s not a competition. I’m the one who ultimately broke the vase. Sure, you all played a part, but I’m taking responsibility. Mom should have her vase back.”

I’m taking responsibility for more than just the vase, a deeper meaning to my words that my brothers seem to understand. Will gives me a sullen head nod. He’s not happy, but he’s willing to move beyond what he considers a slight. And since he’s the oldest brother, the rest follow suit. Artie goes back to ripping open his gifts, George gets up for more coffee, and Richie tries on the new beanie he received while giving us all a few flexes of his nonexistent muscles. Jeez, the guy should really try manscaping.

“Put a fucking shirt on, Dick!” Artie yells.

Mom leans over and snuggles up to Dad. I put on the reindeer slippers I was given—complete with antlers made of rubber that look absolutely ridiculous. Rich gives me a knockoff Burberry scarf that feels like burlap, but I’ll wear it just to make him happy. It’ll go good with my red Gucci slides.

When all the gifts are open and the living room floor is a mess of wrapping paper and boxes, Will stands up. I stand up with him, the two of us approaching Mom and Dad like we planned.

“Mom. Dad. The boys and I have decided we need new family pictures. As our gift to you this Christmas, we’ve hired a photographer to come over tomorrow morning.” Will hands Mom an empty picture frame. It took the five of us two hours to agree on the frame at the department store yesterday. We won’t mention that fact.

“We’ll get the pictures printed out and you can put it on the fireplace mantle,” I add.

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