Page 43 of The Casualty of Us
My mom passes around some hot chocolate that’s been waiting around an hour too long as we all lazily start to unwrap gifts. The fountain pen that I got my dad going over well before Ollie’s face turns bright red when he unwraps the wedding planner in his box. He shoots me a glare, but I just laugh, telling him that I’m sure he’ll find a use for it and avoiding my mom’s gaze because she definitely knows that something’s left my foundations a little rattled this morning.
I can see it in the careful way her eyes keep straying back to me.
And she knows, that I know, that she knows.
It’s this little thread of tension between us all the way through Christmas present unwrapping. But I still smile at Ollie affectionately after unwrapping some new fantasy books that I’ve been wanting to read. Still make the appropriate gushing noises over the black faux leather purse I’ve been eyeing for a few months that my mom got me. A few more gifts are passed out to us from our parents, and by the time there’s only the gift from me to my mother left to be opened…I can’t stop looking at it. That stupid black box.
Sitting perfectly innocent underneath the white and red decorations on our Christmas tree. Like it isn’t fucking tainted.
As if it isn’t casting a pall over the warmth of the fireplace and the coziness of my own living room.
“Ophelia?”
My mom’s bright voice finally pulls me away from it, and I look at her with a blink. “Mmm?”
“I said thank you, darling.” She eyes me carefully. “For the gift, it’s lovely.”
“Oh.” I look down to where the vintage Hermès scarf rests in her lap. “Oh, of course, Mama. I’m glad you like it.”
Everyone seems to pause then, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in their heads as our nice little morning grinds to a halt. The withheld breaths of everyone in the room as they look at the present we’ve all been eyeing for weeks underneath the tree. I run my eyes over them all before looking back at the present and deciding right then that he doesn’t get to ruin my fucking Christmas.
“Excuse me for a minute.”
I smile at everyone, standing up and walking right over to snatch up the present from under the tree none too carefully. Continuing purposefully for the door at the back of our living room that leads into the kitchen while Ollie mutters something that I don’t quite catch. I count out the seven more steps it takes for me to pass into our French-style kitchen and make it to the trash can. Already tossing the present in by the time my mom makes it to me and shutting the top forcefully on that piece of shit.
“Oh, darling,” she coos, walking over to stand beside me and stare down at the now closed lid too. “It seems such a shame to waste a gift.”
I calm myself with a deep breath before explaining. “It was necessary.”
“Hmm.” She hums under her breath. “Well, I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you,” I look up to find her gaze on my profile. “It’s been a morning.”
Her lips purse as she reaches out and pushes some hair behind my ear. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I scoff.
“Too bad.” She gives me a small smile, dropping her hand and walking around to the stove. “Come sit, I’ll make you some tea, and you’ll tell me who I have to blame for making you sad.”
I roll my eyes at her, knowing there’s no other option except to pull out one of the stools standing underneath the butcher block island and take a seat. Popping my head into my hand and watching as she hums some silly tune while moving around the kitchen gracefully. She fills the kettle and sets it back on the stove before grabbing a mug from the cupboard beside the fridge, going through the motions of making my favorite tea and letting me stew in the meantime.
It’s not until she slides the perfectly made cup across the counter to me and I just look at it like it’s about to bite me that she murmurs, “Oh, this is bad.”
The ache behind my eyes returns with a vengeance as I stare down at the tea, making me whisper, “I’m hurt, Mama.” A pitiful sound follows my words that I quickly try to swallow back down before gasping, “My heart hurts.”
“Oh, darling,” she sighs deeply, quickly making her way around the counter and wrapping her arms around me. “Who hurt your heart?”
A couple stray tears fall onto my cheeks, and I pull away from her to wipe them away. “It’s stupid.” I scoff at my own stupidity. “We weren’t even dating.”
“Who, Ophelia?”
Her steely blue eyes pin me down, and I eventually relent. “Ollie’s roommate.”
“The rock star’s son?” She lifts her brows at my surprised face. “Your brother is much more forthcoming than you with information, and it only took me two days to finagle him into a nice sit-down where he bemoaned about it all.”
“Freaking Ollie.” I roll my eyes, wiping at my cheeks again and finally taking a sip of the tea. “He never was any good at keeping secrets.”
“Hmm.” She nods in agreement. “Now what did this boy do?”
