Page 32 of Knot what I want for Christmas
I know what she means. I think I was on the verge of a heart attack myself. But I just murmur my agreement and avoid my best friend’s gaze, choosing to stare out the window instead.
When we arrive back at the house, the men are already carrying the tree up the steps and inside. Mrs. J has a pot filled with sand waiting for the tree, and the men position it down inside and spend the next few moments ensuring it’s not only secure but straight. Nash, in particular, seems to think it’s important that the tree looks its best.
Then we all stand back and admire it, shooing Kenny away as he attempts to nibble on a branch.
“Right,” Mrs. J says. “Now that’s done, you kids can get busy decorating it.”
“Aren’t you helping too?” I ask.
“Oh no,” she says. “We’re making the snacks.”
And with that, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson disappear off to the kitchen.
“I really hope,” Annie says with an eye roll, “that making snacks isn’t a euphemism for something else.”
“Please do not be disgusting,” her brother says.
“What?” Annie says innocently. “I think it’s nice that our parents still have a sex life.”
Clay glares at his little sister, grabbing a load of tinsel from the box on the floor and walking right round to the other side of the tree.
I pick out some pretty baubles from the box, letting Dolly steal a plastic ball-shaped one from my hands and take it away for a chew, and begin to hang them on the lower branches of the tree. Decorating the tree like this was a tradition that me and my mom had too. We’d put on our pajamas and a load of Christmas music, crack open some store-bought mulled wine and a box of cookies, and decorate the tree while dancing around, singing as well.
It was one of my favorite moments of Christmas. Just me and my mom, having fun. And as lovely as it is to be here with Annie and her family in this beautiful place, as welcome as they’ve made me feel, I can’t help the ache that starts to develop in my chest.
I guess it was inevitable that the sadness would hit me at some point. I just didn’t expect it to come on so quickly. Or so violently.
I hang the last bauble in my hand and then go tap my best friend on her shoulder.
“I’m just going up to my room for a bit,” I tell her.
“Are you okay?” Annie says. “Has the hangover returned?”
“No,” I say. “It’s not that. It’s just…” I trail off.
But I don’t need to say the words. My best friend knows me well enough.
“I just need a moment or two to myself.”
“Absolutely.” Annie wraps me in a hug. “I understand. But if you want company or you want to talk or you just want to–”
“It’s fine, Annie,” I tell her. “I just need a moment or two by myself.”
I walk out of the giant family living room, passing the kitchen where I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Jackson laughing loudly, creep up the stairs, and into the bedroom that’s mine for the next few days. I shut the door behind me and slump down onto the bed, snuggling under the covers and pulling them right up to my chin.
I close my eyes. I know my mom wouldn’t want me to be sad. In fact, her last coherent words to me were to be happy, to enjoy my life. And I’m trying my best. I really am. But it’s so hard sometimes. Especially when I want to talk to her. Especially when I want to laugh with her. Especially when I just want to send her silly memes of hot men chopping down trees.
I close my eyes. What I hate most is it’s becoming harder and harder to remember her face. It was something that was always so familiar, and now, the more I try to reach for it in my mind, the more blurry and distorted it becomes.
“I miss you, Mom,” I whisper. “But I’m going to try. I’m going to try to be happy.”
I don’t know how long I lie in bed, but the room is dark when there’s a knock on the door. I expect it’s Annie, come to check up on me.
“Come in,” I say.
When the door opens, I’m surprised to find it’s not my best friend, but my best friend’s mom. She shuts the door behind her and tiptoes across the room, coming to sit on the bed as I sit up.
“You okay, honey?” she asks. “You doing all right?”
