Glass (22 page)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

I ask her to come get me, please

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.

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?