Pushing Send (24 page)

“Yeah, Dad, you’ve been ‘getting better’ for years.” I am overwhelmed, knowing right now, if there is a Heaven, Mom is looking down, and I am making her unhappy. Regardless, it’s true.

He breaks again when someone needs him. I’m about to go back to that school where I am a villain and will be hated, tormented, and mocked. Then, at the end of that hellhole of a day, I have to go home with one of the best friends of the girl who died, which the entire town blames me for, and he won’t sober up enough to be there for me? Merry freaking Christmas.

“At least I’ll be closer to you, right? I can help make it look like you’re trying by cleaning up this place.”

“I’m gonna get better, Hads, I promise.”

“Okay. Can I go to my room?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stands. “Oh, and Hads, Merry Christmas.”

“A little early for that, but thanks.”

He smiles slightly, but it’s genuine, I suppose.

I walk in my room to find the bed. He finished my bed. Not only that, but a matching dresser.

“You like it?” I didn’t even realize my dad had followed me in.

I nod, fighting back tears.

“Sorry I couldn’t wrap it and put it under the tree, Hads.”

I move my head up and down. “Beautiful.”

“I promise I’m trying. Don’t give up on me, please.”

I hug him as I think of the smile my mom must be wearing. “I know, Dad, and I won’t.”

~*~

On Christmas Eve, I drag the artificial tree from the attic and put it together alone. Mom and I did that a lot. While I am contemplating whether to actually decorate it, there is a knock on the door. Since no one visits here, fear overtakes me as I walk to the front of the door.

I can’t open it. I just can’t. It could be anyone.

They knock louder, and I take in a deep breath, the first in a long time. Then I stand to the side and push the curtain open a little to peek out.

His head is hung down low and covered with a hat. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his eyes are closed. Then he peers up, and his eyes meet mine. He cocks his head to the side and takes in a deep breath.

I unlock the chain link and then open the door, just a little.

“Are you lost?” I ask, as my heart feels like it’s about to come out of my chest. I don’t know why he is here.

“You could say that.” He smiles vaguely. “It’s cold out here, Hads; can I come in?”

I nod and stand back, opening the door.

He stomps his feet off then walks in, even though there is no snow on them. “How are you?”

“How are
you
?” I ask back.

He gives a silent laugh. “No idea.”

I shut the door, then stand against the wall, crossing my arms in front of me.

“Good to be home?”

“Depends on the day?”

He looks around and sees the tree that’s not yet decorated. “Need help?”

I think about it for a moment because I’m not sure now what I was thinking by putting it up in the first place. Habit? The want to be closer to Mom? Or am I just trying to depress myself even further. Either way, I’m not doing it in a private anymore.

He kicks his boots off, then takes his gloves and coat off. He throws them on the back of the couch, then looks down to see my father sleeping.

“Tired?”

“Always,” I answer. “Look, you don’t have to be here. It’s Christmas Eve. You should be with—”

“Mom’s gone, Lana’s gone, and Sondra is about as lively as him”—he points to my dad—“and Dad… Well, he’s pissed at me, so maybe I could help you get through this tree decorating detail and pretend both of us don’t have pathetic Christmas plans filled with self-loathing moments, and we’re not feeling sorry for ourselves,” he says as he opens the box of decorations that I have been staring at for an hour because I am afraid to open them.

“I’ll take the silence as a yes, and just so you know, I am okay with a story about each of these homemade decorations. All the ones I used to use to decorate with my mom ended up in a drug-induced bonfire that Sondra started when she came across the ones Lana made for her while in grade school.” I must look horrified because he laughs. “We all have scars, Hadley, but tonight, on Christmas Eve, I’m hoping I can help you avoid any more.”

I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry, but he holds his hand up, then pulls out a pinecone. “Spill it. Make it good, and if you can’t, for God’s sake, make it up.”

He is pushing me, and although I don’t really like it, knowing he is in need of a friend right now and that he is here makes me almost smile, almost. “Mom and I spray-painted it in the freezing cold a few years ago when Dad brought home a tree that was much larger than normal. We needed to fill it up.”

“Perfect.” He smiles and takes another. “Now this one.”

“Fourth grade.” I roll my eyes when I see the picture of me with a Popsicle stick frame. “Orphan Annie hair. I hated it straight and begged for a perm.”

“As your friend, I would suggest you never try that again.” He laughs as he hangs it on the tree.

Friend? He still wants to be my friend? Okay…,
I think. “Lights first, smart ass.”

“You talking to me?”

I try not to smile, but it happens. “Yeah, I am.”

He stares at me. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Smiling, Hads, and this”—he holds up the ornament—“I’m keeping it.”

“No you’re not,” I laugh, then immediately cover my mouth.

“Oh, I think I have to now ‘cause now it’s attached to a Christmas miracle. It’s very”—he pauses and looks at the picture skeptically—“special?”

“Oh my god, you are not picking on me—”

“Sure am and I’m gonna keep doing it if I even think I’ll get a smile and a laugh out of it.” He smiles as he looks in the box of ornaments and grabs another homemade one with an equally horrific picture. “Make it good, Hads.” He chuckles.

And guess what? I laugh, too.

An hour later, the tree is lit up and decorated, and we stand in front of it, admiring our handy work.

“Are we done?” I ask.

“Not yet. I’m trying to figure out how I am gonna pick you up and put you on top of it.”

“What?”

“The angel goes on the top, Hadley Asher, and regardless”—he pauses—“of what disillusioned thoughts you have about yourself, you are pretty damn close to one.”

“Yeah, right.” I force a laugh.

As he turns and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips, I feel my whole body heat up from embarrassment. “You have been mine tonight. Thank you.”

“Well, I did have to clear my social calendar for you, but I guess it was worth it to get through what I know I couldn’t have done alone.” I look down and sigh. “Pax?”

“Yeah”?” His voice is different, his eyes soft and comforting.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna hug you.”

And he does, tightly, for a long time, and it feels so good.

He steps back. “I have something for you.”

“What?”

He pulls a little box out of his pocket.

“No, Pax…”

“I was going through pictures on my camera. I took one of Dad while he was grilling. Then I zoomed in and saw you and your mom in the background, both laughing. I don’t know what event it was at, but I wanted you to have this.” He opens the box, and inside is a little locket. “The picture’s inside.”

I hear Dad grumble.

“I’m gonna take off. My number hasn’t changed—”

“I can’t accept this. I have nothing for you.”

“You gave me more than you’ll ever know tonight. A smile, a laugh, and a Christmas Eve I will never forget.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and stands beside me, holding it out. “You smile for me, and I promise not to show anyone.”

“What?” I smile, and he snaps a selfie.

When he leaves, I look inside the locket and smile as I look at the picture of Mom and me in a very happy moment.

Dad rolls over, then is back to snoring.

The phone rings a moment later, and I almost don’t answer it, but something tugs at me.

“Hello?”

“Hadley?”

“Mrs. Keller?”

“Hey, I just wanted to see how you were and wish you a Merry Christmas. Is it weird? Am I—”

“No, Mrs. Keller, the only thing that’s weird is you seem, I don’t know, weirded out.”

“Well, it’s a weird situation. I am so happy you’re home.”

“No, not yet,” I say with annoyance in my voice.

“He’s working on it, Hadley.”

I gasp. “You keep in touch with my father?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, now it’s weird,” I say.

“He’s gonna get you back, Hadley. He is—” she begins.

“Now that we are breaking the rules, can you tell me how Seanna is?”

“She is doing great, finishing her time at a step down program. She spent four months living with the family who adopted her baby, breastfeeding.”

“Breastfeeding?”

“Yep, they got the judge to agree that it was best for her and the child.”

“Is she doing all right?”

“She asked the same about you,” she tells me, and I can tell there is a smile in her voice.

“She did?”

“Of course she did, Hadley. You helped change her life.”

“Did not,” I whisper.

“You sure did, Hadley.” She is quiet for a moment, and then I hear her clear her throat. “Your father has my home number. I want you to know I am still here in your corner whenever you need me, okay?”

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Hadley.”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Keller.”

~*~

Christmas morning, I make breakfast while Dad is still asleep. When he wakes sometime after eleven, he comes in and gives me a hug.

“I don’t know how you did it, Hads, the tree.” He points to the living room. “How is my girl stronger than me?”

“You’ll get better. You have to.”

Christmas is okay. Dad grills dinner, and JJ comes over. We have dinner together, even smile once in a while. I decided last night that is my gift to my mother. I would make a valiant effort today, and I am.

After dinner, we go into the living room, where there are two small boxes under the tree, one with each of our names on them, so we open them.

New phones.

I cringe inside.

“We all have the same plan, and I want you to call whenever you want.” Dad smiles. I know he’s proud of himself. “Hads, it’s not on fire, okay?”

“What?”

“The phone wasn’t the problem.
You
weren’t the problem. You still aren’t the problem. Use it. I trust you a hundred and ten percent.”

~*~

The day before New Year’s, I am taking down the tree. I don’t want Yolo to tear the thing down and ruin the old memories attached to them or the new ones from Christmas Eve.

Just as I put the last one in the storage bin, Dad walks in.

“You leave at six tonight. You’ll be fine, and you can come back whenever you want. You just have to sleep there and be there if anyone comes to check on you,” he tries to reassure me.

“I’m going to pack my bags, I guess.” I frown at him, my heart breaking just a little.

Before he can say anything else, I run to my room along the ever so familiar path. I open the wooden door, the floorboard creaking as I step onto the threshold board, the same as it always has. Then I walk the rest of the way in and collapse on my bed in the way I always used to. The bookshelf is covered in dust, as are the pictures, and my closet is full of clothes that most likely don’t fit me anymore.

I open the old, dusty closet doors and pull out my biggest duffel bag. I try on my old denim jacket, and I’m grateful when it still fits. I almost think about bringing it with me for comfort and to remember that night under the stars with Pax, the boy who seems to truly want to be my friend. Man, I should have wished that I could use that wish later on. That would have been the smart thing to do. Maybe. But then I remember what else happened that night.

I pull the jacket off as it suddenly feels like it’s sticking to my skin. I throw it across the room, and it flies away from me just like everything did for me in the aftermath of that fateful night that changed my life forever.

I pack the rest of my bag with clothes that look decent enough and some things that I don’t want to end up like the other things in this house. I throw
The Hunger Games
series into the bag along with my Bible, my Eeyore pillow pet, and the most recent family photo I can find where Mom is smiling. She was so beautiful when she smiled. Dad is fake smiling, though he’s trying to be convincing. I’m smiling.