Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I’m pretty sure I’m as fire red as a fire-roasted tomato. “I can’t take much credit for the opossum. He was actually fine the whole time.”
“For all of the other stuff, then.”
“Okay.” I feel strangely warm, and the glow is back. It’s an inner glow, something I haven’t felt before. I’m scared Luke might be able to see it, so I powerwalk straight into the living room and grab the controller. I park hard on the far side of the couch since I know Luke hates sitting there because he’s complained many times about how he can’t see the TV properly. “You’re welcome,” I grind out. “For the rest.”
CHAPTER 14
Luke
Well, at least that’s one more Christmas done and over with. I can live with being absolutely exhausted and going through the motions of putting Shade to bed like I’m a damn robot. Lucky for me, he falls asleep after page two. I gently tuck his quilt around him and place a kiss on his forehead. I do the same thing every night, whether he’s awake or not.
I linger in Shade’s doorway for just a few seconds before I turn out the light and pull the door almost all the way closed.
Feeney’s room is just down the hall. I don’t have to pass it on the way to mine, but I do have to use the washroom. Actually, no. No, I don’t. I just want to go and stand at her door for some inexplicable reason I can’t even begin to fathom.
What the hell happened last night in the kitchen? An arrangement was the plan, the idea—what I thought could work. I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out after no time at all had passed. No wonder she looked at me like I’d lost my mind. She was right. It was the whisky I gulped down. Or maybe it was the beer in the chicken too. Dear god, Shade ate the chicken. No, I’m pretty sure the beer just made the meat moist. I’ve cooked it before, and nothing’s happened. I learned last night that whisky is a terrible idea. I knew it was all along, but whatever happened was just further proof.
I walk slowly to Feeney’s room. I know I should tell her I’m sorry for last night even though she set me straight and extended some sort of olive branch by playing a round of video games with me. I did beat her badly, but she just laughed at me, set the controller down, and told me goodnight like nothing even happened in the kitchen right before that.
Like our whole worlds didn’t just go spinning wildly off into the wider universe. I’m surprised we didn’t see Mars or Jupiter or something along the way. Shit. Maybe it was just my world that spiraled out of control, maybe it’s just me I don’t even recognize anymore, or maybe for her, it was nothing—just a few seconds of whisky fueled irresponsibility and irrationality brought on by the stress of the holidays.
Feeney’s door is closed tight, and the light is off underneath. I’m not surprised as it’s just about midnight. Trying to do two Christmases in one day is ridiculous but doing it with my dad and Britt’s parents was a nightmare. This year, I got lectures from both of them while Shade was preoccupied with presents in a different room. My dad called me a fuck up and an asshole. Not in those exact words, but the point was made. Dad told me I was doing only half of what I should be doing. He went a step further and said I’ve been this way before I even met Britt. Also coded in there was that I’m a massive disappointment because I’m not like him, which is not bad for just a few sentences on his part.
Britt’s parents aren’t open the way my dad is. And by that, I mean, they’re not openly rude. They just subtly hinted all night that Christmas is never going to be the same for any of us again. Not without Britt. That her memory is sacred, and I’m not doing enough to honor it. She’s gone, but she’s not gone. It’s like she’s still here when I go over to their house. Her mom talks about her like she’s going to walk in the door any second, and the walls are filled with her photos. I think they’re half living in denial, but maybe not, though, because I do notice how they never look at Shade. Shade is a part of Britt, and instead of loving that part, their grief makes it hard for them to handle the memories he evokes. It doesn’t really make sense, but not much about grieving and loss does. Losing your daughter in the prime of her life doesn’t make sense. They pretty much think I shouldn’t give myself a right to be happy when she’s gone even though we all know it’s what she would have wanted. I’ll always have that guilt.