Page 71 of The Other Side
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“What are you doing up so early?” Chance’s voice startled me from across the lounge.
“Yeah, you caught me.” I snorted a laugh, building the wood structure in the fireplace to warm up the space for us while we worked.
“What are those?” Chance pointed to the large cardboard boxes I had moved out from under the pool table, where they normally hid.
“Decorations.”
“For Christmas?” Chance’s voice was much closer then.
I turned around to look up at him, only a few paces away from me, and nodded, before swiftly returning my attention to building the fire.
“With that black cat attitude, you don’t strike me as the type to enjoy decorating for holidays.” He took a sip of coffee from a mug he’d brought up to the lounge with him from his apartment.
“Well, I do,” I replied curtly.
Sensing he’d inadvertently hit a sore spot, he crouched down next to me, placing a warm hand on my arm. “I can help.”
I swallowed. Why did he have to smell so good? He was fresh out of the shower, his hair still damp, and he smelled clean, like soap.
We worked quietly in tandem to get the fire going, settling on the couch when we were pleased with the outcome. Chance sat down next to me, his thigh touching mine, sending warmth flooding through me. He leaned back into the cushions, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, completely unaware of the effect he had on me.
“So Christmas decorations…on Thanksgiving?”
“Don’t tell me you're one of those people who thinks you have to wait until December to put anything up? What a waste to lose out on a couple extra weeks of all the holiday cheer.” I poked his arm in jest.
Chance laughed. “You can put them up whenever you want.”
I felt his fingers brush against mine where our bodies met on the couch, and a moment later, he slipped his fingers through mine, his gaze still fixed on the fire.
I didn’t pull away.
I couldn’t.
“What were your holidays like growing up?” I asked.
“The only word that comes to mind is perfunctory.”
“You’re such an English teacher.” I snorted a laugh.
“Jealous of my vocabulary?” he teased, gently squeezing my hand.
“Maybe,” I admitted.
“My parents would throw big charity parties at our house over the holidays, and they would trot me and Amanda out like props. I can’t remember a holiday season where I didn’t feel lonely.”
I sat with his words for a moment before responding. “Not even Christmas morning?”
“It was fine, but it was mechanical. Me and my sister would give my parents a list, and they would sit and watch us openthe exact things we’d asked for, but there was no excitement or joy in any of it. I suppose my mom seemed happy, but it never felt like what you see in the movies, that sense of wonder and being surrounded by familial love. It was them checking off a box of what was expected of them,” he finished, punctuating the thought by taking another drink of his coffee. “What about you? What were holidays like with your mom?”
“It was my favorite time of year because it felt like the only time that Mom wasn’t completely down. I mean, the depression never went away, and looking back, I think it was really that she made more of an effort during the holidays, which made them feel more special. All of my favorite memories of growing up were during the holidays.
“She had a friend with a farm that would let her cut down a tree for us, and we’d string up a popcorn garland. We couldn’t afford lights, but that was enough. She didn’t have money to spend on gifts, but she’d make crafts with me and always create such unique things, so I always had at least one or two items to open on Christmas. She could make a lot from nothing.”
I laughed, having an errant thought. “I wonder if that’s part of the reason I liked Jolene right away. My mom wouldloveher sweaters. Did you know she makes them all herself?”
“I didn’t, but I might have assumed. They look handmade, and I don’t know what store you could find something quite like them.” Chance smiled. “But they suit her, I’ll admit. Nobody could pull them off quite like Jolene.”
