42. Josie

42

Josie

W hen I hear the slam of a car door and the jingle of a key turning the lock, I instantly feel better. Zane's home. It's just past eleven p.m., so the younger kids are in bed, and now that Zane's back, I can get some sleep myself. Or try to.

"Hey, Josie," he says, walking past the couch I'm perched on and ruffling my hair. "Did you guys make cookies?"

"Yes," I say. My holiday break started a few hours ago and I've already decorated one tree, made three kinds of cookies, and promised Iris that I could style her hair like Rudolph's antlers tomorrow. There's a video. Can it really be that hard?

Zane zips into the kitchen and reappears moments later with a handful of cookies and a concerned look on his face. "Have you been crying?"

I shrug. "Yeah, but I'm fine."

Levi looks up from where he's wrapping gifts on the floor. "Let me give you the rundown," he says, holding his hand out like he's ticking items off a list. "Her dumbass boyfriend is being a complete prick. He's not coming for Christmas. Milo's been sneezing all day, so I'd avoid the little snowball cookies if I were you because he helped make them. Tillie's asking for a cat from Santa and don't even think about suggesting one from a shelter. She and Milo are planning to steal Mr. Bilson's cat tomorrow because they think he's shady and they are convinced he's got dead bodies in his basement, so they want to save the cat. They think we don't know about their plan, but Iris ratted them out." Levi counts his fingers before nodding. "Yep, that's it."

I shake my head. "You forgot the part where Milo and Tillie catch a bus to Bainbridge, with the cat, of course, and hunt Van down to make him pay for breaking up with me."

"Right, right," my older brother says. "Slight change of plans on that, actually. I think I'll just give them a ride. It's safer, plus I wouldn't mind watching his demise at the hands of two ruthless eight-year-olds."

Zane looks at me. "And we wonder where those two get the crazy from."

This is the time of night that Zane usually heads up to his room, after raiding the pantry, of course. At fifteen, he's a little too cool to hang out with us old folks for too long, or at least admit to liking it. But instead of hollering goodnight and lying on his bed playing video games for an hour, he wanders over to the tree and looks at the ornaments.

We've never been a family with one of those fancy, color-coordinated themed trees.

Ours is always laden with homemade decorations and sentimental or ridiculous pieces we've accumulated throughout the year. My mom's favorite animal was a giraffe, so there are at least a dozen nestled in various places. Dad was a dog lover, despite being terribly allergic. We never had an actual dog, but there are probably twenty scattered around the tree.

I watch Zane out of the corner of my eye as I sip a cup of tea and pretend to read my book. He looks around the tree until he finds what he's been searching for. With all the aloofness only a teenage boy can possess, he takes a tiny glass giraffe ornament and moves it to the top tier of the tree, right at the center. He was ten when Mom and Dad died, so he's processed it a little differently than the rest of us. Levi and I coped by wearing ourselves out with responsibilities, and the younger ones have so few memories of them. As in all things, Zane's in the middle.

His work complete, he swipes a cookie from the plate next to me and gives my arm a gentle squeeze. "Night guys. And Levi, what time's the vengeance run? I've got practice until four, so don't leave without me."

Awww , I think to myself. My brother just said he loved me.

Levi's still wrapping gifts and I'm immersed in a small-town romantic suspense. Ward and Susanna have been shelved until further notice. I'm so immersed in the story and so annoyed that no one else realizes that the bad guy is her syrupy sweet neighbor, and not her asshole ex, that it takes me a second for Levi's words to register.

"If he walked through that door right now, would you take him back?"

"What? He doesn't want me back. He's the one who broke things off with me."

"That's not what I asked. If he walked through that door right now and wanted another shot—a third chance with you—would you give it to him?"

"I—" My mouth is moving, but no words are coming out. When I'm in situations where there's tension, I clam up. I have no words, no recourse. There's no fight-or-flight for me; it's all freeze. But just because I don't land one-liners like Mel, or volley words back and forth like Van, doesn't mean I don't have anything to say. It just means I can't say it, at least not in the moment. The cost is too great.But in my mind? There are a thousand comebacks, a million retorts, and countless parting lines.

When Van broke things off a few weeks ago, there was so much I wanted to say, but as usual, the words were trapped in my throat. It was all I could do to keep my tears in check and my sobs from pouring out before I got the hell out of the hockey house. So, I took one last look at the man I love, and I ran as fast and as far as I could. He'd broken my heart with his words and his rejection—his surety that we couldn't be together just because his life's path was taking a detour.

And I know damn well that a blown knee is more than a detour to an athlete with plans to go pro, but I also know that love stays. Love waits. Love holds on.

And Van let me go.

So I'll admit to being immeasurably proud that I was able to speak my mind last week at the rehab center. "I told him off," I say. "Did you know that?"

My older brother, the person who knows me better than anyone, looks back at me with the ghost of a smile on his face. "You told your boyfriend where to shove it?"

"Pretty much," I admit. "Although, he's not my boyfriend anymore. And he wasn't at the time of the telling off. When we broke up, it was ugly. I cried, of course. But then, I left him alone, and he kept his distance, too. Foolishly, I thought he'd come back to me after things settled down. About a week passed and…nothing. Which, I guess makes sense, since we were over. But I was also his tutor, and finals were upon us. He was given an extension, but not a change in tutor or anything like that. Tutoring is essential for him, and since he was ignoring me, I stopped by the rehab facility when I knew he'd be there. That's when it all went to hell, and where I let him have it. I was shaking the whole time, but saying what I was thinking without holding back felt pretty good."

"So..."

"Yes," I say in answer to the question he posed a few minutes ago. "Yes, I would take him back."

"Third time's a charm?" he asks, but his tone is kind.

I shrug. "The blame for the first breakup falls squarely on both our shoulders. We were young and new and terrible at communicating. Did he throw an epic tantrum? Yes. But I should have talked to him, let him know what was going on, or at least that something was going on. I had my reasons for keeping secrets, but there was a better way to go about it.

"As for this mess? It'd be easy to blame all of this on him, and I'm certainly not martyring out here. But like you said, he's hurt. In more ways than one, honestly. The course of his life has changed completely in a matter of weeks, if not seconds. So, a total meltdown isn't shocking. What hurts is that he never called back. Never messaged. Never reached out. At all. And when I showed up at the rehab place, his first words were, ‘You shouldn't be here.' But that's total bullshit. Where the hell else would I be? I love him. He was...my person, my partner. Where else would I be?" The tears are falling in earnest now, but they don't phase Levi. He just fishes for the tissues and hands me the box before refilling my cup with tea. "He didn't want me there, Levi. He doesn't want me at all anymore."

"I'm not so sure that's true," Levi says, stretching his legs out.

I level my brother with a look. "It is. I'm not saying he doesn't love me, just that he's closed up the place in his life where I used to be."

Levi lifts one shoulder and smiles sadly. "Sometimes it's easier that way." He goes back to his task of wrapping for a few minutes, then looks back at me. "It just doesn't add up, Josie. He's been pursuing you. Hell, he's been pining for three years, but at the first sign of trouble, he pushes you away. He's going through some shit, obviously. And I understand that."

Levi's words hit their mark: he knows better than most how drastically life can change in a moment. "What I'm saying is, I don't think you've heard the last of him, whether it be next week or next month or even a year from now. And let's be clear: this isn't about him, not for me. It's about you. You need to decide what's right for you. If that's moving the hell on, then do it. If that's giving it a minute or reaching out again, that's up to you. Just do what feels right, ok. I...I just, I don't want you to feel you have to rush anything, okay? I know you're hellbent on finishing this degree in record time, and that's fucking awesome. I'm proud of you. But we need to talk about the future. We need to?—"

I know where he's going with this, and he's right. We do need to talk. I made a promise and I'm sticking to it, no matter what. But I just can't go there right now. After spilling my guts, I'm feeling emotionally spent. Besides, it's getting late and Iris has a habit of waking up at six a.m. on days I don't have to set my alarm, so I should get to sleep. Still,

I can't leave Levi hanging. "I know," I tell him. "And we will, I promise, but maybe not tonight? I'm a little talked out."

"Sure," he says easily. "But soon, ok? And don't run from me, Josie. It's not going to be a hard conversation. We've just got some details to iron out."

I nod, feigning assurance. Because Levi's right, it's not going to be a hard conversation, just a painful one. Like he said, we just have the details left because we made the agreement years ago. It's not that I don't want to hold up my end of the bargain. I love my siblings, and it's not like I have plans other than moving back and tagging him out.

Thanks to my lightning-speed plan, I'll be done after this coming semester. Dr. Ambrose has already counted my tutoring hours and issued a grade for the class I never finished. Van and I were meeting so frequently that I passed the minimum number of hours a week before Thanksgiving. My graduation date is set, and May will be here before I know it.

Life is moving forward, even if my heart is still stuck in a run-down hockey house on the edge of campus.