Helen smiles. But Caleb’s holiday pep sounds a little stiff and try-hard, even to me.
Look, I can tell I’m bringing down the vibes of the morning, but I’m sorry. I’m not going to keep playing pretend happy family when I know it’s all a farce.
Caleb tries to hand me the cinnamon roll, and my glare turns in his direction. My arm’s not moving to uncross from my chest, so he just places it on my tightly clenched thighs.
“Here,” he says in a whisper.
He takes a big bite of his and smiles toward his mom.
“Mmm. So good,” he says, with a mouthful of fresh-cooked pastry.
Itdoessmell good, but I just keep glaring at Dad, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. I can tell he’s about to call me out for my behavior, for my bad attitude, but before he can, Helen claps her hands.
“Shall we open presents?”
“Hell yeah,” Z says, rubbing his hands together.
My glare slices in his direction. I know he’s only this enthusiastic because he scoped out the presents last night when we were all up here playingDragon Ball Zon the big family gaming system. He got as excited as any eight-year-old when he saw his name on some of the presents.
Hell, I wish I could be too. You think I don’t want to sink into this fluffy, cinnamon roll of a morning? Fuck. It’s something out of every kid’s dream—Mom, Dad, big lit-up Christmas tree with presents stuffed underneath in glittery packages with actual bows tied around them.
The most I ever got was a squished Hostess cake Mom tossed my direction one time when she was actually sober enough to remember what day it was, back in 2009. It wasn’t exactly roasted chestnuts around a fire, if you get my drift.
But looking around, I know this is as fake as those deflated Santas on people’s lawns, a bubble just waiting to pop. I refuse to give in to the fantasy anymore, no matter how tempting—or delicious—that steaming cinnamon roll with sweet sugary frosting looks.
Caleb has just finished off his roll and is reaching for another when he glances at his mom.
“Aren’t you going to have one?”
She just waves a hand. “I snacked while I was cooking, and I want to save room for lunch.”
Caleb frowns at her, but she just pops up from the loveseat beside Silas.
“I’ll get the first present. Let’s see who it’s for.”
She adds a little singsong at the end of her sentence, like we’re all still little kids instead of seniors in high school—or, well, a senior dropout in Z’s case.
She’s been working on him, just like she worked on me, but in his case, to get his GED. There are little pamphlets all over the house for earning a GED in addition to community colleges now.
She’s got the subtlety of a backhoe.
“Harper, sweetheart,” Helen says, holding out a box wrapped like it belongs in a catalog shoot. “This one’s for you.”
I take it like it might be booby-trapped.
I’m still not used to people giving me things withoutexpecting something in return. No strings, no trade, no threats. The wrapping paper is thick and glossy. Not like the stuff I grew up with—when there evenwaswrapping paper.
Or, ya know,presents.
Inside the little velvet box is a silver charm bracelet. Delicate. Beautiful. There’s a tiny dangling book charm. A little house. A star. A paintbrush.
“I thought you could add to it,” Helen says. “As you figure out who you want to be. As you build new memories.”
I don’t say anything at first. Can’t.
Because shegetsit. Somehow. That I’m still in construction. Still learning how to be a girl who accepts kindness without checking for the knife.
“Helen, I...” My voice catches. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”