him, even though the girls are squealing.
Ooooo! Cooties! Gross! Oooooo!
And we can’t help but laugh around
our kiss. And suddenly everything
is right. Everything forgiven. Every
minute apart and alone, forgotten.
We Spend Christmas Eve
Like a normal family—eating
and drinking and laughing together
like we’re a mom, dad, and uncle, plus a couple
of kids, instead of a father with two children
missing their mom and trying not
to resent their “nanny,” who has stolen
their uncle’s affection. Not that Trey
doesn’t play with them. He gets down
on the floor, helps them build a puzzle.
I watch, thinking what a great dad
he’ll make one day. I wonder if he could
ever become Hunter’s dad. [Stop it. Wishful
thinking will get you exactly nowhere.]
Brad builds a fire and lights the Christmas
tree, and if I were six again, I’d be chirping
“We Wish You a Merry Christmas” right along
with Devon and LaTreya. Finally, Brad
tells the girls they have to go to bed.
Santa won’t come if you’re awake, you know,
he says. Come on. I’ll tuck you in.
The girls run ahead, and he turns to Trey
and me. Hang on. I’ll break out the new stuff.
When he leaves the room, Trey pulls me into
his lap. God I’ve missed you. I can’t wait
to give you your present. He kisses me, hotter
this time, and beneath me, through his denim
and mine, I can feel the promise
of his Christmas gift soon to come.
Brad Is Generous
With his personal stash.
[He can afford to be. Have
you ever seen so much uncut
meth in one place at one time?]
Once we’re sure the girls
are asleep, we help him play
Santa, filling the empty
space beneath the tree.
Gifts spill across the floor.
I wanted to make it up to
them for their mother not
being here, he explains.
We share yet another
bowl, then Trey says,
It’s after one. We should
probably call it a night.
He pulls me to my feet,
and as we start upstairs,
I turn to say good night.
Brad’s looking at us
in an odd way. He smiles
and waves, but not before
I can interpret the look
on his face—envy.
We tiptoe upstairs, past
the pink bedroom where two
little girls dream of eight
tiny reindeer. My first Christmas
away from home. My first
Christmas in my new home.
My first Christmas with Trey,
and I pray it isn’t my last.
Especially as He Gently Peels
My clothes from my body, picks
me up, carries me naked to the bed,
like we’re on our honeymoon.
As he takes off his own clothes,
I tell him, “I think your cousin
is just a wee bit jealous.”
Can’t blame him a bit.
If the situation was reversed,
I’d be jealous too. Jealous
that he could do this….
[Can you believe he can do that?]
And this….
[OMG. No one can do that!]
But Trey can. And he does.
And I learn something new.
Something dark. Perverse,
even. But the monster [and me!]
embrace it, beg him for more.
Oh, you like that, do
you, you nasty little girl?
If Brad were here, doing this
to you, I might have to kill him.
Either that, or ask him to share.
I wonder if they’ve ever
done that—shared a girl.
For about half a second
I consider asking.
Better not. Odds are good
I won’t like the answer.
Before It’s Possibly Possible
The eastern window silvers,
the earliest hints of sun crisp
upon an awesome white landscape.
A white Christmas, something
all northern Nevadans hold
their collective breath over.
It’s the same question every
year—will we or won’t we
celebrate a white Christmas?
This year we will, and despite
the fact that it’s just beyond
dawn, the celebration downstairs
has already begun. Devon:
Santa was here! Santa was
here! He ate up all the cookies.
LaTreya, more pragmatic:
Holy cow. Look at the presents!
How can we ever open them all?
Trey pulls me into his arms
for one last kiss. Santa was here.
Guess we’d better get up.
We made love, off and on, most
of the night, but he has not said
the words I’ve waited to hear.
Should I say them now? I’m
almost afraid to, like if I do it will
make him vanish into thin air.
I Have To
Have to tell him
how I feel, how
much I miss him
when he’s not
here. So I snug
my face against
the pulse in his
neck. “I love you.”
I wait, barely
able to breathe.
He tightens
his arms around
me. I know, and
I know how lucky
that makes me.
Come on. Let’s
take a shower.
He rolls out of
bed, heads for
the bathroom.
I watch him go,
wondering just
what the fuck
that meant to me.
My First Reaction
Is anger. I want to jump up, run
into the bathroom behind him, demand
a reciprocal declaration. [Don’t be stupid.
Demands are the best way to lose someone.]
Now hurt gulps at me. Even
if he doesn’t love me, after all
we just shared, the least he could
do is lie. [You’d rather hear lies?]
If he doesn’t love me, I’m mortified
for giving myself in the ways I just
did. Those things can only be justified
by loving someone heart and soul.
[Men are clods. Maybe he thinks
what he said qualifies as “I love you.”]
What did he say? That he’s lucky because
I love him. Nope, not the same thing at all.
Now I’m pissed again. I stomp into the
bathroom, clear a spot on the steamed-
up mirror, stare at the girl staring back
at me, eyes harboring confusion.
Trey throws back the shower curtain.
Are you getting in here or what?
He moves to the back, helps me climb
in past his soapy body. Hot, soothing
water falls all around me, and the herbal
scent of shampoo fills my nostrils. Trey
snakes my body with slick, lathered arms.
Merry Christmas, Kristina. I love you, too.
By the Time
We reach the living room, ribbons and wrapping
paper litter every square inch of floor, red and green
and gold. Lookie, Trey, shouts Devon. Look at the million
presents Santa Claus brung. There’s even some for you.
Trey grins, reaches down and scoops her up.
Santa brought a present for me? Where? Show me!
We spend the next hour opening packages and watching
the girls play with their “million” new toys. My own
contributions to the pile are a Barbie for Devon and
a unicorn for LaTreya, who insists dolls are dumb.
For Brad, I made a pretty card. Inside is a “gift
certificate” worth One Family Portrait by Kristina.
He smiles and offers a thank-you kiss, and it’s more
than just a friendly kiss. Trey can’t help but notice.
Hang on there, cuz. Don’t be kissing my girl like that.
Despite all the kissing Trey and I did last night,
I have to admit some part of me really enjoyed Brad’s
kiss. Maybe I’m turning into a pervert. [Join the club!]
Now Brad hands me a present, small and cheerful
in its shiny purple foil wrapper. Inside is a music box,
handcrafted of cherrywood, intricately inlaid with gold
leaf hearts. It plays “Für Elise,” my favorite Beethoven.
My eyes lock with his, and what I find glittering
there makes me slightly uncomfortable. “Thank you.
It’s beautiful. How did you know I love this song?”
Brad shrugs. It reminded me of you. He unhooks his eyes
from mine, and his looking away draws a tinge of regret.
Trey clears his throat. Don’t you want my present?
“You mean there’s more?” I smile. “Of course I do.”
He hands me a plain brown sack. Sorry. Didn’t have time
to wrap it. Inside is a pipe—blown glass, milky blue swirls.
Luckily, the girls are distracted by toys. I drop the pipe
back in the bag. “Maybe we should break this in?”
Trey looks at Brad. What time are we supposed to be at
your mom’s for dinner? I probably shouldn’t smoke first.
I glance back and forth between Trey and Brad. “You’re going
somewhere for dinner?” [Well, duh. Isn’t that what families do?]
Brad nods. Uh-huh. My mom always does Christmas dinner for
the entire family. We’re supposed to get there around one.
I look at Trey, waiting for an invitation to join them. But he
just says, I hope she made pecan pie. I love that shit.
I Keep Waiting
But it’s almost noon, and still
no invitation. We go upstairs
so Trey can put on a button-up
shirt. Finally, I get brave enough
to ask, “So, can I come along?”
He looks at me like I’m insane.
No way. Sorry, Kristina, but
that isn’t a good idea.
“I don’t get it. You say you
love me, but you won’t take
me to Christmas dinner? Are
you ashamed of me, or what?”
Ashamed of his tweaker girlfriend?
You don’t know our family.
The only way I could bring a girl
is if we were getting married.
We’re not getting married.
But I still don’t get it.
“You’d be wel…” Okay, he
wouldn’t be welcome at my
home. But that’s different.
See? He comes over, puts
his arms around me. We
won’t be gone that long.
I push him away. “Don’t
you understand? I gave
up spending Christmas
with my own family so
I could be with you.”
Uncertainty flashes in his
eyes, but only for a second.
I never asked you to.
Twelve Thirty-Five
And he leaves me
alone in my room,
simmering,
one click of the burner away from
a hard boil, in a big red pot of
anger
Okay, true he never asked
me to snub my own family,
never
promised to spend this day
with me. Never
expected
I might choose time with
him over time with them, but
to be
honest, I never would have
believed I could be
rejected
in such a way by someone
who’s supposed to love me.
So what
does that say about the way
I rejected those who love me?
Do I
call Mom, tell her I’m sorry,
I couldn’t find a ride?
Do
come and get me right
now,
two hours until the big feast?
She would. But she’d also be
angry,
and I really don’t want to spend
Christmas day arguing. I’m
mad
at Trey and, for some stupid
reason, at Brad, too. I’m
mad
at Mom for not being more
insistent. Mostly, I’m
mad
at myself for being such an idiot.
I guess I deserve to be lonely.
I Do Call Home
Find myself glad when Jake
answers the phone. “It’s me.
Merry Christmas. How’s it going?”
Great! I got a new computer.
Hey, Mom, it’s Kristina.
No, no, I don’t want to talk
to Mom. But it’s Leigh
who comes to the phone.
Where are you? Dinner’s
starting to smell really good.
Just hearing her voice comforts
me.[You can still change your
mind.] “Uh…I’m not coming….”
What? But you have to. Do
I have to come get you myself?
[Just say yes.] “No. It’s just, uh…
I’m not feeling well. I’ve been
throwing up all morning.”
Extremely long pause. Throwing
up? Kristina, you’re not…
Pregnant? No. Can’t be. Can I?
[You’re not really throwing up.]
“No, not that. Food poisoning.”
Concern turns to concern. Do you
need to go to the hospital?
“No, I’ll be fine. I’m just weak
and wouldn’t be good company.
Tell Mom I’m sorry about dinner.”
Heather and I will be here until
Thursday. I hope we can see you.
“I hope so too. I’ve got presents
for you. I’ll call tomorrow,
okay? Tell everyone I love them.”
We love you, too. Christmas
isn’t the same without you.
I hang up the phone and half
way through my miserable weep
session I realize that once again
I never even asked about Hunter.
Do I miss him at all? Does he miss
me? Does he even remember me?
What Is Wrong with Me?
Surely I don’t really want
to spend Christmas alone.
So why didn’t I let Leigh
come and get me? Why?
Instead I chose to sit here,
stressing over Trey and his
family. Stressing over why
I don’t qualify to share their
table. Is it really any girl
that wouldn’t make the cut?
Or is it just me? Exactly what
is wrong with me? What?
Well, I’m not entirely alone.
I can share what’s left of
this day with my Christmas
presents. I wind the music
box, open the lid. The sweet
melody offers familiarity,
and there’s solace in that.
But there’s more solace in
the pipe and what goes inside
it. Getting tweaked alone is
not what I’d have chosen.
But it’s better than being
alone and not getting tweaked.
How long until they get back?
How long will I sit here, staring
out the window, listening to
my favorite Beethoven, all by
myself? How long will I hit
my new milky blue pipe, all
alone? How much can I do?