Page 9 of Winter Break Up

My brother and I don’t have many secrets. Being born so close together, we grew up like twins and have a similar bond. The one subject that has been off-limits, though, is his best friend. Both when we were dating and after it was over. But no one in my life has as much info on Mercer as my brother does, and I’m going a little nutty after my night of no sleep.

“I don’t know, Emmy. We don’t talk about you. It was one of the things we agreed upon after we started hanging out again.”

Charlie is way too bro-ish to use the term “repair our friendship,” but that’s what he and Mercer had done a while after our breakup. When we initially started dating, there was some tension between my brother and his best friend. But Mercer insisted on never keeping us a secret from Charlie, and I think my brother respected that his best friend never lied to him about our relationship. After a while, Charlie accepted that we were falling for each other and didn’t object. Well, he still taunted us mercilessly, but it seemed good-natured.

When I broke up with Mercer, Charlie was so angry at me. And at his best friend because he’d been put in a position where the relationship between all three of us was now awkward. It had taken the two boys a good amount of time to get back to how they typically acted around each other. But Charlie let it slip once, about a year ago, that they’d made the pact never to discuss me out of fear that it would harm their friendship again.

“Yeah, I know.” I hang my head a little. “I just want this Christmas to be perfect. It’s our last one at home as kids if you think about it. I just … I don’t want whatever friction there may be to get in the way of that.”

“Considering you’re the one who broke the dude’s heart, I think you’re safe there. Mercer isn’t like that, he probably doesn’t even hold a grudge anymore. Look at his life, Em. No offense, you probably did him a favor letting him be single in college.”

The thought makes my stomach sour until bile collects at the dip of my throat. But before I can ask my brother if he really means that or if he’s trying to get back at me for breaking his friend’s heart years ago, our father interrupts.

Dad hurries into the kitchen, his glasses askew and his hair, the same shade as my own, nearly falling into his eyes.

“Your mother is trying to get on the roof to secure the light-up reindeer. I need backup. She won’t listen to me.”

My brother rolls his eyes, but his chair makes a high-pitched sound as it scrapes across the floor with his haste. I quickly follow suit because my mother will definitely injure herself in her obsession with perfecting this holiday.

Charlie and I make it outside before she can step foot on the ladder, and he takes over, carrying one of the fake white wooden animals up to the second story of the house.

“Emily, help me untangle these candy canes so we can line the driveway,” Mom insists, and she already has Christmas music playing from the old radio Dad keeps in the garage.

It’s a chilly morning but not unbearable, not like the year she made us put these up on December first when it was already blizzarding in New Jersey. Not many people are even awake in our little suburban neighborhood, the builder-grade homes coming in four different styles that are scattered along the interwoven streets. We’ve lived here since before I was born, and I know I’ll sob when the day comes for my parents to sell it.

“You think we can get this all done by noon? I have a yoga class Jean signed us up for,” Mom asks.

“Yeah, we’ll get to most of it so long as Dad doesn’t take his usual mid-morning nap in the recliner. Plus, I’m going to meet Genny for lunch, she just got home from that study abroad program she was doing in Vienna.”

“Oh, how lovely. Tell her I say hi, and that her pictures online just looked gorgeous.” Mom swoons, a dreamy look in her eye.

While my mom is the definition of suburban and loves it that way, I think deep down she has a travel bug that’s never been snuffed out. I’ll have to make mention of that to Dad sometime and convince him to take her somewhere. The duties of a noble and attentive only daughter, you know?

“Will do.” I salute her.

Genny and I were best friends in high school, and while we’ve stayed in touch during college, it’s not the same. Not anyone’s fault, but we’ve drifted. It’ll be nice to get lunch with her to catch up and gossip about our high school peers, who I can’t chat about with anyone else.

She’s also one of the only friends I have who knew me when I was with Mercer. It might be just the thing, I need to bend her ear about my ex, who has only gotten more gorgeous with time. Genny will be able to talk me down from the anxiety attack I always seem on the verge of diving into now that I have to be around Mercer day in and day out.

But the thoughts are pushed to the back of my mind as my family works around the front yard together, recalling holidays past and singing off-key to the Christmas carols on the radio.

It might be early, and it might be cold, but this is the beauty of this season. And once next year rolls around, I’m not sure we’ll get days like this one. So, I’m going to cherish every second before life changes completely.

5

MERCER

Driving through Queenwood in my grandpa’s old GMC pickup is surreal.

Winding through the suburban streets past my former high school, the soccer complex I played in during youth league, the restaurant I worked my first job at, and everything in between, is like a blast from the past. Out the window is this town and world that made up so much of my life, yet it doesn’t feel familiar.

I’ve always felt I was bigger than Queenwood, but I could never voice exactly why. Don’t get me wrong, growing up among the fast-food chains, thick forests, manicured parks, and Friday night hangout spots was pretty idyllic. I partied in my youth just like every other bonehead teenage boy and ran around goofing off. My childhood was spent how every kids should be, and I’m thankful for that. But I knew, from a young age, that this town wasn’t mine to keep. I needed bigger, greater, a life that would send adrenaline rushing through my veins and energy lighting me up from head to toe.

The first time I played in front of that Miami college crowd, I got it. I knew what I was destined for. Sure, I played in big tournaments before that, had my name mentioned on a national soccer level, but there was something about that first college championship we played at the end of my freshman year. It was like all the pieces I’d been searching for just clicked into place. Not only am I obsessed with the game, couldn’t function if I couldn’t play it, but the rush of the crowd screaming above my head only adds to the passion I have for the sport.

That almost got taken from me in a millisecond. I rub at my knee as I drive. No, there isn’t pain there, but it’s almost like phantom twinges of the injury still come back to remind me I’m not infallible. That something can end the dream I’ve had in a mere moment.

I’d been cutting in for a kick when my body hit the ground so hard, the air was knocked out of my lungs. For a few minutes, I had no idea what happened. The shock and adrenaline masked the agony of both my MCL and ACL tearing. But then it came rushing at me, the shouts of a thousand people in the stadium, my teammates in my face, the refs asking if I was okay … it registered and then so did the torn ligaments in my knee.

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