Page 46 of The Two of Us

13

THEN (AGE 15)

Christmas is always the highlight of my year.

It’s the only time everyone everywhere agrees that you should put your responsibilities on the back burner and partake in all things cozy, warm, and joyful. I’m convinced even the Grinch loved Christmas and what he truly disliked was annoying people, and can you really blame him for that? Christmas this year feels cozier, warmer, and more joyful now that I’m Brandon Lang’s girlfriend.

There’s still ice skating, but now I get to do it holding someone’s hand. There are still snowball fights, but now I receive kisses on my nose after being attacked, and there’s just as much hot cocoa, but now it feels symbolic when I add the mini heart-shaped marshmallows to it. I’ve become consumed by it all.

When Brandon asked me to be his girlfriend after homecoming a year ago, I said yes without hesitation. I thought that’s just what you’re supposed to do. Boy asks out girl. Girl feels lucky. Girl says yes. And so, I’m Brandon’s girlfriend and I tell myself I’m happy. More than being his girlfriend, I’m happy to belong to someone. I like that someone besides Cat waits for me by my locker and searches for me in the lunchroom. It’s addictive—feeling seen. Feeling wanted.

On our one-year anniversary, I give Brandon a poster of his favorite comedian and he gives me a necklace with an infinity charm at its center and when I ask him what it means, he says, “that we’ll be together forever.” I don’t feel that kind of commitment to him yet, but I nod and clasp the necklace around my neck anyway. I’m seen and I’m wanted.

Brandon dated other girls before me, but he’s my first boyfriend. He assures me that while I’m new to the world of relationships, I’m the best girl he’s ever been with and his favorite kisser. I never know how to respond when he says that. I like kissing Brandon, though I don’t have much to compare it to. Every now and then when I lie in my bed and stare at the glowing green stars glued to my ceiling, I wonder why I don’t replay Brandon’s kisses at night like I do the kiss on the cheek I received years ago. But then I push the thought away before it riddles me with anxiety. I’m seen and I’m wanted.

Christmas break only began two days ago, but Speck Lake is in full holiday mode. Cat and Ambrose left for Florida to visit their extended family and I’m missing Cat more than ever. She spends every Christmas away, but this year feels different. We’re fifteen and the throes of high school have ushered us into a weird phase in our friendship. Cat made varsity cheer and I spend most of my time writing reviews for the film club. When my dad suggested I join a sport like Cat freshman year, I choked on the cereal I’d been eating.

The only downside is that we’re busy all the time. When I don’t have a deadline, Cat has a competition. When Cat doesn’t have a game, I have films to catch up on. We continue to eat lunch side by side, but it’s becoming apparent that our presence is highly sought out by our respective groups. Still, we cling to each other like white on rice.

With only three days left before Christmas, I invited Brandon to come over and build gingerbread houses with me. I bought the kit this morning and am becoming impatient, desperately wanting to attack the cookies and frosting with my mouth. I’ve just thrown on my favorite velour sweater—an early gift from my dad—when I hear the doorbell. Not wanting to endure the inevitable awkward conversation between my dad and Brandon so early in the day, I swing open my door and run downstairs. I pass my dad sitting in his armchair and he leans farther into it as if he had no intention of answering the door anyway. I’m still unable to pinpoint why he gives Brandon such a hard time.

I narrow my eyes and point a finger in warning. “Be nice.”

He sticks his tongue out at me like a defiant two-year-old.

I open the door and Brandon is already smiling with his hands in his pockets, looking more handsome than ever. He’s bundled in a mustard peacoat and his eyes hold a captivating sheen, no doubt due to the obtrusive wind outside.

“Hi.” He grins.

My heart doesn’t flutter erratically, but it does flutter. “Hi right back.” I lean over the doorframe for a quick kiss before my dad can object and Brandon caresses my cheek with his warm palm, playfully nipping at my ear before I can pull away.

“Is your dad home?”

“Yes, I’m home,” my dad’s voice booms from the living room. “Now, close the door. You’re letting all the warm air out.”

“That’s not how it works,” I mutter.

I take Brandon’s hand and lead him straight into the kitchen, not bothering to let him greet my dad. Deep down, we all know that’s everyone’s preference. The old wooden kitchenette table is covered in everything I bought this morning. I spent an hour neatly organizing the bottles of icing, placing the mini candied decorations into separate bowls and placing the gingerbread house pieces on each side of the table.

Brandon lays his coat over the chair, facing me, a tight smile marring his beautiful face. “You started without me?”

My hands clench instinctively and my nails bite into my palm. “I just took all the stuff out and organized it. I wanted it all to be ready for you.”

He tilts his head. “Gotcha. Just thought it would have been nice to do it together. I didn’t realize you wanted us to get through it so quickly.”

I gasp, my eyes widening like saucers. “That’s not it at all, I—”

“Hey.” He chuckles, touching my arm gently. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Now you won’t make the same mistake next time. No big deal.”

He leans forward and places a featherlight kiss on my forehead. “Let’s start.”

***

We sit back and appreciate our work. Brandon reaches across the table for a high five, and we laugh with pure satisfaction.

He gifts me the grin he knows I love. “Alright, babe. Dig in.”

I whoop and break off the door of my gingerbread house, mercilessly shoving it into my mouth with a groan. He laughs and shakes his head, nibbling on the mini marshmallows he strategically placed on his roof. My dad saunters in, heading straight for the coffee maker. He refills his mug and places it in the microwave before coming over to observe our work. Well, my work. He couldn’t have given a rat’s ass about Brandon’s gingerbread house.

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