terrible wrong, not at all made right by the fact that Senia and I aren’t actually a couple yet, or the sickening regret that kept me awake that night.
Fuck. I’m such an asshole.
“No. I’m not fucking anyone else.” From here on out.
Chris looks skeptical as we make our way past the pool toward the patio. “Then bare your fucking soul. Give her something that will only mean something to the two of you.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Senia and I arrive at Grandma’s house a little before noon on Christmas Day. Senia insists we need to arrive early so she can help Grandma cook. Since she had to lie to her family and say she was spending Christmas with Chris and Claire, I have to do as she says. Besides, it’s kind of cool to watch her and Grandma laughing as they chop onions while I imagine the beat of my baby’s heart as the background music.
When the food is simmering, Senia sends Grandma out of the kitchen to get some rest and calls me in to replace her. The sight of her in one of Grandma’s aprons is weird, but strangely sexy.
“Can you set the table? We need plates and silverware, and bowls for the pumpkin soup.”
“Pumpkin soup?” I say, coming up behind her as she stirs the soup on the stove. She pushes my left hand away, but I reach forward and slide my right hand over her abdomen. “You can’t stand in my grandmother’s kitchen, in that apron, barking orders at me, carrying my child, and not expect me to want to touch you. You can’t expect me to not feel like I have some … claim on you.”
She lets out a deep sigh as I press my chest against her back. “Tristan …” Her voice is breathy and full of longing. “Please don’t say stuff like that. It makes me want to either punch you or tear off your clothes. And I can’t tell which one I want to do more.”
I slide my hand down and she freezes, but I quickly pull my hand back. “I guess we’ll find out soon.”
Grandma Flo makes us give thanks before we eat, the way she always does before every Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner, and Senia seems to be a pro at it.
“Thank you for the food and for inviting me into your home.” She turns to Molly and they both smile. “Thank you for reminding me how much I never want to get drunk again. There are better ways to get wild. Trust me.” She winks at Molly and I shake my head. “Thank you, Mrs. Pollock, for giving me a place to celebrate Christmas – somewhere I can be myself.” Grandma smiles a crooked smile that seems to be masking whatever anguish, emotional or physical, she is feeling. “Tristan,” Senia begins as she turns to me. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
“What?” I prompt her, but she closes her mouth and eyes and doesn’t speak.
When she opens her eyes, I expect her to be crying. She seems to cry at the drop of a hat these days with all those hormones coursing through her. “Excuse me,” she whispers as she rises from her chair and heads for the front door.
I follow after her and she stands on the porch steps where I just finished clearing the snow an hour ago, waiting for something. “What’s wrong?” She shakes her head and I step down onto the step below her so we’re almost eye-level. “Talk to me.”
“I’ve just never spent Christmas without my family.”
“I’ll take you there. You don’t have to stay here.”
“No, I have my car. If I wanted to leave, I’d go. You know that.”
“Is that why you brought your car?” I ask. “I thought you brought it so you could stop by your parents’ house and say hi to your family.”
“That is why I brought it … I …”
“I don’t understand. If you want to be here, why are you upset?”
She steps sideways so our faces aren’t so close and a thick cloud of steam escapes her mouth as she lets out a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I just need a minute. I’ll come back inside soon.”
I wait a moment for her to
Fuck. I’m such an asshole.
“No. I’m not fucking anyone else.” From here on out.
Chris looks skeptical as we make our way past the pool toward the patio. “Then bare your fucking soul. Give her something that will only mean something to the two of you.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
Senia and I arrive at Grandma’s house a little before noon on Christmas Day. Senia insists we need to arrive early so she can help Grandma cook. Since she had to lie to her family and say she was spending Christmas with Chris and Claire, I have to do as she says. Besides, it’s kind of cool to watch her and Grandma laughing as they chop onions while I imagine the beat of my baby’s heart as the background music.
When the food is simmering, Senia sends Grandma out of the kitchen to get some rest and calls me in to replace her. The sight of her in one of Grandma’s aprons is weird, but strangely sexy.
“Can you set the table? We need plates and silverware, and bowls for the pumpkin soup.”
“Pumpkin soup?” I say, coming up behind her as she stirs the soup on the stove. She pushes my left hand away, but I reach forward and slide my right hand over her abdomen. “You can’t stand in my grandmother’s kitchen, in that apron, barking orders at me, carrying my child, and not expect me to want to touch you. You can’t expect me to not feel like I have some … claim on you.”
She lets out a deep sigh as I press my chest against her back. “Tristan …” Her voice is breathy and full of longing. “Please don’t say stuff like that. It makes me want to either punch you or tear off your clothes. And I can’t tell which one I want to do more.”
I slide my hand down and she freezes, but I quickly pull my hand back. “I guess we’ll find out soon.”
Grandma Flo makes us give thanks before we eat, the way she always does before every Christmas and Thanksgiving dinner, and Senia seems to be a pro at it.
“Thank you for the food and for inviting me into your home.” She turns to Molly and they both smile. “Thank you for reminding me how much I never want to get drunk again. There are better ways to get wild. Trust me.” She winks at Molly and I shake my head. “Thank you, Mrs. Pollock, for giving me a place to celebrate Christmas – somewhere I can be myself.” Grandma smiles a crooked smile that seems to be masking whatever anguish, emotional or physical, she is feeling. “Tristan,” Senia begins as she turns to me. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
“What?” I prompt her, but she closes her mouth and eyes and doesn’t speak.
When she opens her eyes, I expect her to be crying. She seems to cry at the drop of a hat these days with all those hormones coursing through her. “Excuse me,” she whispers as she rises from her chair and heads for the front door.
I follow after her and she stands on the porch steps where I just finished clearing the snow an hour ago, waiting for something. “What’s wrong?” She shakes her head and I step down onto the step below her so we’re almost eye-level. “Talk to me.”
“I’ve just never spent Christmas without my family.”
“I’ll take you there. You don’t have to stay here.”
“No, I have my car. If I wanted to leave, I’d go. You know that.”
“Is that why you brought your car?” I ask. “I thought you brought it so you could stop by your parents’ house and say hi to your family.”
“That is why I brought it … I …”
“I don’t understand. If you want to be here, why are you upset?”
She steps sideways so our faces aren’t so close and a thick cloud of steam escapes her mouth as she lets out a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I just need a minute. I’ll come back inside soon.”
I wait a moment for her to
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