Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
And yet despite that, I find myself a bit emotional at the idea of not seeing my parents for the holidays. We’re still barely speaking, although my father did courier over a stack of Christmas cards and order me to sign my name under his and my mother’s. Apparently the cards are being delivered to hospitals and charities in my father’s congressional district, courtesy of the perfect Cabot family who cares so much about humanity.
That evening after dinner, the three of us scrounge for decorations and lights in the attic, buried under years of dust.
“I don’t think we’ve decorated for Christmas in, what?” Cooper questions his brother as we carry the boxes to the living room. “Three, four years?”
“Seriously?” I set my box on the hardwood floor and sit in front of the tree.
Evan opens a box of tangled lights. “Something like that. Not since high school, at least.”
“That’s so sad.” Even a plastic Christmas is better than nothing.
“We’ve never been big on holidays in this family.” Cooper shrugs. “Sometimes we do stuff at Levi’s house. Usually Thanksgivings, because every other year for Christmas they go see Tim’s family in Maine.”
“Tim?” I ask blankly.
“Levi’s husband,” Evan supplies.
“Partner,” Cooper corrects. “I don’t think they’re actually married.”
“Levi’s gay? How come this is the first I’m hearing of it?”
The twins give identical shrugs, and for a second I understand why their teachers had a tough time telling them apart. “It’s not really something he talks about,” Cooper says. “They’ve been together for, like, twenty years or something, but they don’t flaunt their relationship. They’re both really private people.”
“Most folks in town know,” Evan adds. “Or suspect. Everyone else just assumes they’re roommates.”
“We should’ve had a dinner here and invited them.” I feel glum at the lost opportunity. If I’m going to be living in Avalon Bay and staying with the twins, it might be nice to form deeper connections.
It’s strange. Although we grew up in two opposite worlds, Cooper and I aren’t that different. In many ways, we’ve had parallel experiences. The more I come to understand him, the more I realize that our shared language is deeply influenced by the ways we’ve felt neglected.
“Dude, I think some of these ornaments are from Grandma and Grandpop.” Evan drags a box closer to the tree. The guys dig into it, pulling out little, handmade ornaments with photos inside. Dates from ’53, ’61. Souvenirs from trips all over the country. Evan holds up a little cradle that must have belonged to a manger set at one point. “What the ever-loving fuck is this?”
He shows us a swaddled baby Jesus that more closely resembles a little baked potato in tinfoil with two black dots for eyes and a pink line for a mouth.
I blanch. “That’s disturbing.”
“Didn’t even know these were here.” Cooper admires a picture I can only guess is his dad as a boy. Then he tucks it back in the bottom of the box.
Once again, a lump of emotion clogs my throat. “I wish I had boxes like these at home, full of old pictures and knickknacks, with interesting stories behind them that my parents could tell me about.”
Cooper gets up to heave one of the larger boxes back to the hallway. “I don’t know … Having a bunch of servants to do the heavy lifting can’t have been all that bad,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Not to mention waking up to a ton of presents,” Evan pipes up.
“Sure,” I say, picking out the ornaments that are still in good shape and appear the least emotionally detrimental. “It sounds great. It was like waking up in Santa’s workshop. Until you get old enough to realize all the cards on your presents aren’t written in your parents’ handwriting. And instead of elves, they’re actually people your parents pay to keep as much distance as possible between them and anything approaching sentimentality.”
“Bet they were sick presents, though,” Evan says with a wink. We’ve moved well past the how many ponies did you get for your birthday jokes, but he can’t always resist getting in a jab.
I shrug sadly. “I’d give them all back if it meant my parents would want to spend time together, even just once. To act like we were a family rather than a business venture. My dad was always working, and Mom was more worried about her charity functions—which, yeah, I know, she wasn’t boiling puppies or something. There are worse things than raising money for a children’s hospital. But I was a child too. Couldn’t I have gotten some of that holiday spirit?”
“Aww, come here, you little shit.” Evan throws his arm around my neck and kisses the top of my head. “I’m messing with you. Parents fucking blow. Even rich ones. We’re all screwed up, one way or another.”
“All I mean is, doing this, the three of us, means a lot to me,” I tell them, surprised at myself when my eyes start stinging. If I cried in front of these guys, I’d never hear the end of it. “It’s my first real Christmas.”