Page 24 of The Bright Side of Christmas
I probably could have offered to trade a kiss for the nutcracker, and I was heavily contemplating it, knowing that she was about to offer it. But then I really took a look at her and saw just how damn tired she was, and decided to change my demands. I waited all night in my office to see if she would take me up on my offer, ready to return the nutcracker to its rightful place first thing in the morning, but when I saw the light in herkitchen go off and then the one in her office go on, I knew her stubborn ass wasn’t biting.
Despite my new offer, she stayed up late, the light not flicking off until one a.m. on the dot, as if she was trying to prove a point. Her car was out of her drive before I even woke up, and there were no new decorations on my lawn this morning. Even though I would deny it if asked, I felt the loss of that deep in my chest.
Tonight, she seems to be stringing little white balls on a string, making some kind of garland, and honestly, she looks like she could pass out from exhaustion right then and there.
I thought offering to give her back her nutcracker if she went to bed on time would do the trick, but it would end this little game of ours, something I don’t want to do just yet.
Scanning my desk, I spot the sign I made a few days ago, reach for it, and then knock on the window. Her head lifts, and she gives me a small, tired smile, lifting her project and shrugging as if to sayI can’t yet.I shake my head in disappointment, then sit back, crossing my arms on my chest. It’s twelve thirty, and while I don’t have anything pressing in the morning, I now know she has to endure a classroom full of little kids.
I don’t know what’s spawned this new urge to make sure she takes care of herself, but I’m not looking at it too closely. It’s probably some new fucked-up version of procrastination. Perhaps if I help her solve her problems, my own will magically resolve themselves.
But when I watch her prick herself with the needle, wince in pain, and then look at her finger forlornly before a heavy, defeated sigh lifts her chest, something in me snaps.
I stand, then make my way down the stairs and out my back door. Before a single brain cell pipes up to tell me what a terrible idea this is, I’m moving across the yard and up her deck and opening her back door, which, I absentmindedly note, isn’tlocked despite it being after midnight and her being a woman who lives alone. When I enter, I realize the layout is the same as my house but mirrored, so I storm up the stairs and toward the room she’s in with ease.
“Oh my god, what the fuck?” Wren shouts, standing from her chair as I enter the office. A bowl of popcorn sits on the desk, nearly empty, and long popcorn garlands that could be from some idyllic movie trail along the floor.
I cross my arms on my chest and stare down at her.
“Go to bed,” I say, staring at her. She looked tired through the window, but now that she’s closer, she looks utterly exhausted. I think I can even make out a tear track or two on her cheeks, which pinches something in my chest.
She’s fuckingdrained,and it seems she’s doing this to herself. She buries that exhaustion, though, in exchange for looking annoyed.
“You can’t be in here! You can’t just break into my house! That’s illegal!”
“You’re one to speak.”
She doesn’t have a cute retort for that one, so she asks me a different question. “How did you even get in here?”
“The door was unlocked, which is a conversation for another day. But for now, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
She lifts an eyebrow at me, crossing her arms on her chest and glaring at me. A tired glare, but a glare all the same. I thought this was her signature, but the more I learn about the woman, the more I realize this might be something she saves just for me, some kind of personality trait only I pull out of her.
I want to see more of it.
“What?”
“Go. To. Bed. You’re exhausted, Wren. You’re going to hurt yourself or get really sick. This isn’t important enough to risk your health.”
“You’re being dramatic, Adam.”
“I’m not. Even your friend said you were doing too much.”
“And what neither of you seems to understand is that all of these things need to get done before the Christmas festival. It needs to be the best year yet!” There’s panic in her words, and I try to soften my tone in response.
“Are you the only one with hands?” I ask.
“What?”
“Are you the only one with hands, Wren? Because I can’t seem to find any reason why you’re the only person who can do all of this.” Her jaw goes tight, but I continue. “Hallie said you’re taking on other people’s jobs. I’ve watched you offer to do favors for people in this neighborhood over and over again, but who is helping you?”
“I don’t need any help,” she says so quickly, I don’t think even she’s buying it. But I can tell that’s not the fight to pick, not right now. Right now, I have to get her to bed.
“You can’t do all of the things you want to do to help everyone if you’re too tired to function, Wren.”
“And you can’t tell me what to do,Adam. I’m an adult.” I stare at her for long moments as she looks at me with that admittedly cute, indignant look on her face. She’s not going to take care of herself or prioritize herself, it seems.
“Fine,” I say.
