Page 72 of Booked for the Holidays
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
Her boots appear by my side and she drops to the ledge, left leg pressing against my right.
“Lunch was delicious. Thank you again for inviting me.”
“Thanks for coming. Hopefully it beats sitting at home alone.”
“By a long shot.”
“I should offer you an apology.”
Bridget shifts, turning her hips to look at me. “For what?”
“I didn’t tell you about my mom.”
Her brows furrow and she frowns. “What is there to tell me?”
I sigh. “The holidays aren’t my favorite time of year. I… I really dislike them, actually. That's why I was pissed about the contest and didn’t want to enter. Five years ago, my family and I were coming back from a party on Christmas Eve. It’s the same party we go to every year at a friend’s house. The same route we’ve driven hundreds of times. We were three minutes away from pulling back into the driveway.”
I stare out onto the street, focusing on the pavement. Her hand laces through mine, rubbing the top of my palm in soothing, comforting circles. Across the street, I see a Christmas tree twinkling in the window of the Millers’ living room.
Even though Iwantto share with her, it doesn’t make it any easier. I still hear the sound of metal on metal. I still see the bright lights and the street lamp glowing above. I still feel the pain across my chest from time to time, where the airbag deployed, bruising my upper body.
“It was a Friday. I remember it being chilly. My dad joked about the backseat not having heated seats. I was driving. I pulled up to the stop sign. I waited. I checked both ways. When I began to accelerate, right when we were in the middle of the intersection, someone came blazing through their stop sign and slammed into our car. They were going sixty five in a twenty.”
“Holy hell,” Bridget whispers. Her fingers dance over the scar on my thumb from a hammer accident ten years ago. Over the knuckles that have become weathered with years of age and work. Her path is a gentle, guided meditation.
“It was a college kid who hit us. He fled the scene and was tracked down a couple of miles away. He blew twice over the legal limit. It hurt like hell to hear the sentencing he received and the felony going on his record since he was so young. Life has consequences, though, and unfortunately for him, his mistake was a big one.”
“Were you injured?”
“I needed stitches. I have a gnarly scar on my chest from a piece of glass, but nothing too bad. Mac had a concussion. Dad broke his leg. But Mom bore the brunt of it. She was on the side in the backseat where the driver hit. It was… I’ve never heard someone scream like that before. It still haunts me, sometimes. I was disoriented and couldn’t get the door open. Dad was yelling at me to get out. Mac was crying. Everything was so loud.”
“Is that why…” Bridget pauses.
“You can ask.”
“You don’t like lots of people. Loud noises. Is it because of the accident?”
“Yeah. I get jittery, almost, around them. Large groups of people make me think someone’s going to come up and start talking about everything freely, like I owe them details of the story. Between Mac’s mom leaving and the accident, it’s been hard for me to find any joy during the holidays.”
“That’s all valid, you know. You don’t have to justify yourself to anyone,” Bridget says softly. Her head drops to my shoulder, hair tickling my neck. It’s a nice weight, a reminder she’s still there. She’s still listening. “Is your mom the reason why you’d spend your money on the avenue?”
“Yup.”
“It all makes sense. You’re a good man, Theo Gardner.”
“It was a spinal cord injury and she can’t walk. My dad helps her around everywhere. In and out of the wheelchair. He drives her places, takes her to physical therapy. There was no way they were going to be able to keep running the store after the accident, so it got handed down to me. I harbor a lot of guilt. I got emails from guys in the driver’s fraternity for years after. They said maybe it was my fault for not looking again before I drove through the intersection. They claimed there’s no way I could’ve missed a car flying at me. Maybe they’re right. Maybe if I hadn’t stopped to use the bathroom before we left the party, we would have made it home in one piece. Maybe if I hadn’t lingered at the stop sign for a second too long, answering Mac’s question, we would have missed being hit. I’ve played thisWhat If?game so many times.”
“Oh, Theo. Thinking about other possibilities doesn’t change the outcome. You’ll never be able to alter the past but youcanfocus on the here and now. You’re alive. Your parents are alive. Mac is alive and holy hell is she wonderful. Not one person inside this house holds you accountable. I’m not telling you to forget it happened. You have so much of your life left to live. And you deserve to be happy during it.”
“How do you do that?” I mumble. My cheek rests against her hair. “How do you always know the right thing to say? How do you know how to make me feel… so fucking good? Sometimes with you I think…”I think I’m on top of the goddamn world. I think I’m invincible.“Thank you, Bridget. For your kind words. For being here today. Just”–I pause and swallow over the lump lodged in my throat–“thank you.”
“Do you want me to head home?”
“Before we eat the pie you made?”
