Page 39 of The Casualty of Us
My lips start to curl up at his nostalgic portrayal. “That sounds like her.”
“It is.” He nods, sappiness practically brimming. “I told her about both my five- and ten-year plans that day, and she just…laughed, telling me that man plans and God laughs.” Another shrug leaves him. “I just knew at that moment that there should be more people like her in the world. That she was special. And that somehow everything would be all right as long as I could have her by my side. That it was the kind of love I wanted.”
I look down as he finishes, picking up a stray piece of ribbon and running it through my fingers before peeking back up. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Of course, Princess.” He leans in with a smile, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Anytime.”
I watch as he stands up and walks to my door before pausing, looking back over his shoulder with his hand on the doorknob. “Fair warning though, your mother has been planning her inquisition over the stray present ever since you walked through the door.”
I roll my eyes with a quiet laugh. “Of course she has.”
“Best of luck, kiddo.” He grins back, quickly stepping through the door and exiting my room.
I blow out a breath and look around the room once more, something deep pulling tight and unsettled. That sense of offness stretching beyond the room and reaching right out to twist inside of me. It has me quickly scooting off the bed and walking over to where I left my phone on the seat underneath the bay window that overlooks the front of our house. I pick it up and immediately scroll through the group chat we all started at the beginning of the year to see if there’s anything new there. Finding nothing except everyone’s most recent messages that they’ve made it home before the chat devolves into Marleyand Holden’s play-by-play of the season of theVampire Diariesthey’re watching from their respective homes.
I scroll back up to the messages about making it home, seeing Marley’s picture of her house with the wordssend helpattached to it that came first. Quickly moving past it to the one of Hayes, dimples fully on display as he grins at us while floating in a pool. I stare at it for all of two seconds before pulling up a private message to him and quickly sending one before I can chicken out.
Hey, Dimples. You okay?
Lame. So lame, Ophelia. Out of all the words in your vocabulary, that’s the best you could piece together?
I stare at the phone for another minute or so before some bubbles start up that have my heart beating faster.
Fine. See you in the new year, Freckles.
My brows continue to fall the longer I stare at his message, everything about it adding to the offness instead of assuaging it like it was supposed to. I purse my lips and play around with a few replies, trying to figure out what to say back before quickly realizing there’s nothing to add. He essentially shut the door on that.
I still continue to stare at the phone, though, practically willing it to give me something that it remains stubbornly silent on.
Right up until a message from Ollie comes in.
Will you please hurry up? Mom won’t let me open the eggnog until you’re here and I’m dying.
I roll my eyes at his dramatics, snorting a laugh and finally turning away from the window to head back to the bed. Piling my presents for everyone high in my arms and heading downstairs. Never even thinking to look out my window.
Hayes
I lastedall of four days waiting around for my mom.
Any good vibes leftover from the time spent hanging out with my dad at his house before he left to do some Christmas special or another quickly evaporated the second my sentence kicked in. The empty concrete walls of Miranda’s place pressing down on me a little more with every second that passed and reminding me that I only have myself to blame for being stuck there. Pacing for hours in a jail of my own making.
I even tried to call her a few times again, reminding her in a voicemail on the last one that she’s the one that constructed this agreement. She’s the one who promised things would be different. That I never wanted to have to come back to that house in the first place. To be stuck again.
But after four days of no reply and Dad on the other side of the world in Germany, I decided to fuck ’em both. I’d screw off to somewhere else and they could see me next year if they cared enough to. It’s not like she couldn’t find out where I was by picking up the phone. So I hopped on a plane and headed to the only place I could think of at the time.
The only people I could think of at the time.
I stare up at the picturesque house from the curb, windows glowing warmly in the night and smoke billowing from itschimney. A Christmas wreath on the front door that’s lit up all merrily with a nutcracker standing beside it and lights trimming the roofline. The place is the complete opposite of both my parents’ modern monstrosities in LA, and it’s throwing me. Knowing I want the people inside but not able to take that next step.
Not knowing how to deal with…all of it.
How to manage what’s an actual family, I guess. A home. How to answer the questions that will come while handling the possible pity that my answers will spark.
How to explain why I even went back there in the first place.
How to explain that my failings constructed a jail of my own making.
I drop my eyes down to the Christmas tree peeking out of the lower left window and catch a glimpse of Ollie. A woman with blonde hair, who has to be his mom, comes into view a second later while reaching to pat his cheek affectionately, and the simple gesture throws me even more. My only memory of something like it comes from a random nanny or two during my younger years.
