Page 42 of One Week With You
“I don’t know,” I admitted with a one-shouldered shrug, then topped up our glasses with red wine. I’d often wondered the same thing. “I grew up, I guess. Everything lost its magic when I stopped believing in Santa. Maybe the magic wore off for them too?”
“Maybe. It’s sad though. But it’s their loss, not yours.”
I rarely discussed my parents. Rarely discussed anything unless it was a need-to-know basis. But it was obvious Talia and the rest of her family had their own impressions, and for some reason I needed to explain. “You know, my parents aren’t bad people. If I’m being honest, they actually have the kind of relationship I’d like to have.”
Talia blinked in shock. “Really? That surprises me.”
“Why?”
“Because they act like you don’t exist sometimes.”
I winced. I understood, but they were still my parents. “It wasn’t quite like that.”
“You don’t have to defend them.”
“I’m not. I’m just telling you what it was like. My parents are the love of each other’s lives. They’re so wrapped up in each other that, yes, I was a bit like the third wheel. I suspect they had me because it was the expected thing. A box to tick maybe? Someone to take over the family business for them most likely. It happens.”
“That makes it worse, Rafe,” she said. “That’s not a relationship to look up to. You don’t have kids to tick a damn box. I hate that they’ve made you feel like that.”
“Not that aspect of it. I know they’ve made plenty of mistakes as parents. But the commitment they have with each other. The devotion. That’s never been a bad thing. I want that.”
Talia carefully set the spoon against her plate, sitting back to give me her full attention. “I didn’t realise you were such a romantic.”
“With the right person I am. Or I could be. I want to be.”
“I see,” she murmured.
“Do you?”
She blinked, startled by the seriousness of my voice. It felt like forever before she answered, her gaze steady against mine. “I think I do.”
* * *
After dinner we settled on the sofa to watch TV. We went back and forth while I scrolled the listings, but Talia conceded that yes,Die Hardwas a Christmas movie and yes, we could watch it, even though I didn’t give her much choice.
She fell asleep halfway through.
A combination of the warmth and the wine left me feeling the same so I stretched out lengthways and tucked Talia in front of me, resting my chin on top of her head. The TV was more background noise than anything and Talia’s body felt as heavy as my eyes as she succumbed to a deeper sleep. I brushed her hair back, tucking it behind one ear. I wasn’t sure how long I stared at her or the flutter of her eyelids, the way she opened her mouth to inhale a couple of times, smacking her lips together before resettling again.
I could’ve studied her all night and it wouldn’t have been time wasted.
The crackles from the fire dwindled and the heat dropped. It needed stoking, maybe an extra log, but I couldn’t move, and it was too late to bother anyway. I switched off the TV, ushering silence into the room.
My gaze caught on the picture on the bookcase in the corner – my mum, dad and me, age four or five, proudly posing beside the snowman I’d spent hours crafting. My dad’s Scott tartan scarf wrapped around its neck. The snapshot was clear but nothing else about that day stood out. Often left to my own devices, I’d been disappointed I’d had to build the snowman myself but so happy when they agreed to pose beside me, so much so the memory was a happier one.
On impulse, I grabbed my phone. They were five hours behind in Antigua.
Rafe: Hey, Dad. A day late but Merry Christmas.
To my surprise, I received a reply ten minutes later.
Dad: Merry Christmas. Your mother sends her love.
Rafe: Thanks. Send her mine too.
Rafe: Can I ask you a question?
Dad: Sure.
