1. Trevor

1

TREVOR

I hate Christmas in Chicago.

Unpopular opinion, I know. But I’ve seen enough of them not to be fooled by the sparkly lights and holiday cheer. It’s all a front, trying to conceal the underbelly of overspending and expectations.

The happy families lining up for ice skating or cider at the Christmas market are a front. Because, let’s face it, how many of them can actually be that happy?

I brace myself against the cold as I exit the revolving door of my office building, shoving my hands into my pockets and dipping my face behind my woolly scarf.

They might not have named it Windy City for the actual wind, but they may as well have. There are few things worse than wind-burned cheeks.

Other than going to work or going home, I’ve been trying to stay inside as much as possible. However, Oliver and Rowan won’t let me live it down if I skip our weekly midday lunch, especially this close to Christmas.

I love them like family, but I have to say I’m not looking forward to all their bubbly excitement. Now that they have a baby, Christmas is more of an event than ever.

As their daughter’s godfather, last year’s Christmas was one of the best of my life.

Rose’s godmother was still in the picture, though.

This year’s just going to suck being around the Hawthorns and all the bliss of their relationships and parenthood.

I’m a Grinch now. And I won’t apologize. I think I’ve earned it.

My brain is on autopilot as I navigate downtown Chicago and, before I know it, I’m at our usual diner.

Oliver and I have been coming here weekly since we started our respective jobs, him as the operations officer at his family’s company, me as a portfolio manager at a hedge fund.

The door dings open as I enter.

Rowan and Oliver are already at our usual table. They don’t even notice I’ve come in, cuddled up on the same side of the booth together, her hand rubbing circles on his chest, alternating between whispers and tiny kisses.

I ignore it and go up to the table. “Sorry I’m late.”

They break apart.

“Trevor, we didn’t see you come in!” Rowan says, a breathless smile on her face.

“How could you have when you’re using your lunch break to get started on baby number two?” I smirk as I shrug off my coat and slide into the booth across form them.

Oliver’s face contorts. “Gross, dude.”

I laugh. “Tell me I’m wrong!”

Oliver’s cheeks go red, turning his attention to the window while Rowan giggles, rubbing the back of her husband’s neck. “Life is busy! We have to take every second we have.”

Hard to believe Rowan was once mine. Even harder to imagine I was so utterly broken up over her breaking up with me.

Don’t get me wrong, finding out Rowan was not only working for my best friend but dating him was a blow to my ego, but that was years ago.

So much has changed. Oliver and Rowan are the perfect couple, and I genuinely feel blessed that we’re as close as we are. Best friends.

Difficult to not feel like a third wheel these days, though.

We order our usual, cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes all around.

Now that I’m in my thirties, I’ll feel the milkshake the rest of the day, which is why I’m glad now that I’m at the top of the totem pole at the fund I can take the rest of the day off.

“You’re coming for Christmas, right?” Oliver swipes a fry through the glob of ketchup on his plate.

I sigh. “Begrudgingly, yes.”

Rowan’s jaw drops open. “Begrudgingly?”

I take my time responding, attending to my burger, taking a sip of my shake. “Relax. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to spend Christmas alone.” Oliver’s gaze hardens on me.

I wouldn’t either, if I’m honest. In fact, I thought about it.

Oliver’s family has treated me as one of their own since we met in college. Fifteen years ago now.

And I’ve always been grateful for the way they’ve integrated me into the fold.

The issue is, if I wasn’t the odd man out before, I definitely am now.

Oliver and his brothers are now married with kids of their own. His dad too, after grieving Oliver’s mom for a decade.

I’m not married. I certainly don’t have a kid.

I was supposed to be married by now, though.

It’s hard to shake the pain of that when I get to witness all their happy endings.

“You know Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you,” Rowan says with a sweet smile.

I know her better than to think she’s just being nice, but seriously, why would a big happy family want the single sad sack who isn’t even related to them hanging around?

“Especially for Rose,” Rowan adds.

Rose, my beautiful goddaughter. “I doubt Rose is going to remember this Christmas. No offense, guys.” I divert my attention to my plate.

Oliver scoffs. “There will be pictures. And she’ll wonder where Uncle Trevor was.”

“Yeah, well, what about Aunt Iris?” My voice dips low and more disdainful than I mean it too.

The table goes silent.

Rowan and Oliver freeze.

I ignore it at first, eating, knowing that it’s a bit of a mic drop to bring up my ex-fiancée, who is also Rowan’s best friend. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve mentioned her since I ended things. For six months, her name has been like a curse, a conversation killer.

However, even if I throw Oliver and Rowan off with a mention of her, they are usually quicker than this to try and smooth things over.

I lift my gaze to the pair.

Oliver is leaning on his elbow, chewing on his thumb nail, and Rowan’s eyes are wide, teeth gnashing on her lower lip.

Those are tells if I ever saw them.

“What?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” Rowan tries to laugh it off. She pushes her half-finished plate of food away. “Just, um, well…” She looks at Oliver.

So, I look at Oliver, narrowing my eyes. “ What ?”

Oliver’s eyes flutter shut. “Goddammit. Fine.” He rubs a hand over his five o’clock shadow, straightens up, and looks me in the eye. “Iris is going to be in town for Christmas.”

My insides lurch. “In town? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rowan swoops in. Of course, she does. The two of them are a team.

I miss being part of a team.

“She’s going to be at Christmas. With…us.”

Now my appetites been usurped.

I push my plate away and wipe my hands on the paper napkin. Lifting my hand, I get the attention of our server, Brenda, who always takes care of us. I write in the air and mouth, “Check.”

Rowan reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling it down. “Trevor, don’t be like that.”

I retract my hand and grab my wallet from the pocket of my slacks. “I’m not being like anything, I just…” I busy my attention on the bills in my wallet, except I’m having trouble identifying which are ones and which are twenties.

Aw, fuck it. Brenda deserves a Christmas present. She can have all the cash.

I toss the money onto the table and grab my coat, intent on shrugging it on. “I don’t like when you guys spring things like this on me.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Trev, we just found out her plans yesterday . We promise, if we had known any earlier, you would have known too.”

Add it to the list of things that piss me off about Iris Galletto. “Of course, she just decided.”

“She wants to spend time with Rose. You can’t blame her for that, right?” Rowan’s eyes glisten with hope I’ll settle down.

It’s fucking annoying that I can’t blame Iris for wanting to spend time with Rose. We’re her godparents after all, and it’s not Rose’s fault that her godparents couldn’t keep it together.

I have a flurry of memories all at once, Iris and I visiting Rose in the hospital the day she was born, the first time we babysat her together when she was three months old so Oliver and Rowan could have a date night, her first Christmas, first birthday, so many firsts.

We were supposed to watch her grow up together. We were supposed to have a baby of our own so Rowan and Oliver could be godparents too, and our children could be best friends and–

God, life changes so fast. One day, all you’re focused on is making money and partying and the next, you’re planning a life with someone.

I’m still in mourning for Iris. Something I don’t know how to say. Because I’m not just mourning the relationship we had, I’m mourning what we were supposed to have. The future. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for both of us to be at Christmas. I’ll bow out, and we can celebrate a different time or–”

Oliver frowns. “Don’t be like that, man. I know this hurts, but you’re both family now. Sometimes, you have to suck it up for family.”

I bite on the inside of my cheek and say nothing.

I’ve been family a lot longer than Iris. Shouldn’t they choose me?

“You have to admit it will be nice to see her. At least a little bit, right?” Rowan asks, the good cop to Oliver’s bad.

My jaw tightens as I lift my head to look Rowan dead in the eye.

“The last time I saw Rowan, she told me she took a job in Seattle without discussing with me what that would do to our relationship. She just expected me to go along with it and–” Desperate sorrow waves through me, and I have to stop talking at least for a moment or else I might burst into tears.

I don’t cry over Iris as a rule. Not anymore.

Except in therapy.

However, holding it in is painful. Physically painful.

“She was the one who chose to leave. So, forgive me if I’m not super stoked to see the woman I was planning to marry at Christmas this year.”

I push myself out of the booth and shrug my coat on as I leave. I barely feel the cold, my temper so hot and raging it may as well be my own personal heater.

I don’t make it far before Oliver’s voice reaches me. “Trevor! Wait up!”

I keep walking.

“Come on, dude, my knees aren’t what they used to be…”

I take another step and then stop, huffing.

Damn him and appealing to my empathy for us aging.

Oliver sidles up to me, towering over me at six foot seven. I don’t often feel dwarfed at six two, but Oliver’s a giant.

He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Look, I get it.”

“Do you? Do you really get what it’s going to be like for me to have to see her after–”

Oliver grabs my shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”

I lift my eyes into his green ones. I try to maintain an ire-filled expression, but it doesn’t help that between us there are fifteen years of friendship, support, and love.

Sure, there have been ups and downs, but Oliver understands me better than anyone on this earth. Save one person, but…

“We love you, Trev. Rowan and me. Rose. My family. If you’re not there, it’s not Christmas.”

I resist the corners of my lips perking up.

It’s nice to hear, I have to admit.

“I know the breakup hasn’t been easy on you. It hasn’t been easy on any of us. And what Iris did wasn’t fair to you.”

“More than unfair.”

“Right, it was cruel. It was…” Oliver presses his lips together and squeezes my shoulder a little tighter. “I won’t be able to live with myself if you’re alone on Christmas. I’ll come over and be with you alone if I have to.”

“Don’t do that, man…” I flinch.

The Hawthorns are the closest knit a family can be. I’d be selfish to take him from his family on Christmas.

With a sharp inhale, I make up my mind.

I can do it. I mean, I didn’t think I’d be able to forgive him for being with Rowan, and now here we are. Family.

We’re family. Family makes sacrifices for family.

Even when they hurt like hell.

“I won’t ask you to do that. I can handle it. Seeing Iris, I can–” I gulp. “Handle it.”

“You sure? I’ll spend Christmas with you if–”

“No, you’re right. At the very least, I can do this for Roses” My chest warms with thoughts of my goddaughter. Her wavy brown curls, button nose, big smile.

Oliver shakes my shoulder a bit. “I owe you.”

“No, this is what family does.” Family doesn’t owe each other. Not the way I want my family to be. “When’s she getting into town?”

Oliver smiles sheepishly. “Tomorrow?”

My expression falls. “So, she’s going to be at family dinner on Sunday?”

Overhead, the El rumbles, loud enough to make me want to cover my ears.

Once the sound settles, Oliver nods. His eyes show his sorrow. “Yeah, she will.”

“Oh. Joy.”

* * *

“Twevoh.”

“Trevor.”

Rose screws up her mouth, staring at me hard. “ Twevoh .”

I blow out a breath. “T rrrr evo rrrr .”

Rose lets out a brilliant laugh and tries to copy me, but the r’s still sound like W’s.

“Good enough.” I smile at her.

Ash, Oliver’s dad, approaches us. “Hey, dinner’s almost ready, could you clear the counter?”

“Unless you—” He pinches Rose’s cheek. “—Ms. Rosie, want to be on the menu?”

She lets out a high-pitched squeal.

“No way!” I scoop Rose up off the counter, twisting away.

We all laugh, including Ash’s four-year old, Ivy, who is hugging his leg, forcing him to drag her along with every step around the kitchen.

I carry Rose out of the kitchen, into the dining room. “God, you’re getting big, aren’t you?”

“Big, bigger, biggest!” She giggles and grabs a handful of my curls. At least she’s past the point of trying to put them in her mouth.

“And yet, you can’t say Trevor…” I grumble to myself as I walk past Rye, Ash’s wife, setting the table with the help of Rowan and Piper. Piper is the eldest of the most recent Hawthorn generation. The first child of Ash’s oldest son, Jarred. She’s almost ten, which is truly crazy to think about.

“Mommy!” Rose yelps, reaching for Rowan when she sees her.

Something tugs in my chest. Disappointment at being a second choice. Obviously, she should want her mom and dad before me.

I can’t help but wish someone, anyone, would choose me first.

Rowan takes Rose from me, peppers the little girl’s face with kisses.

“Okay, well, I need another baby to carry.” I pretend to look around and then go for Piper who is already tall for her age.

Piper runs away, laughing. “As if , Uncle Trevor.”

I drop my hands, snapping. “Darn.”

Rye fluffs up the flowery centerpiece. “Pipes definitely isn’t a baby anymore.”

“No, she isn’t.” Time moves much too fast.

It’s been remarkable to watch all the children grow up but reminds me of my own mortality far too much.

Beyond the dining room, the din of the living room carries. I peek inside.

This is where the action happens. The rest of the Hawthorns are gathered around the perfectly trimmed Christmas tree, chatting and laughing, the kids playing.

The house is loud. It didn’t use to be that way when I came over for Sunday dinners. When I was eighteen, it was just me and the Hawthorn boys. Now all the Hawthorn boys are a matching set with their wives and each has at least one child.

Kiefer, the youngest of the adult Hawthorn boys, has been roped into some weird game with his twin boys where he’s a horse or a bull, crawling across the floor, making the toddler twins explode with laughter. He’s transitioning into being a full-time stay at home dad so his wife, Dara, can run her baking empire.

Dara is nearby, chatting with June, who is nursing her and Jarred’s third child, Veronica, or Ronnie as we call her,.

Oliver is helping Hayden, the middle of Jarred and June’s children, hang up an ornament on one of the highest branches.

It’s a beautiful scene. Loud, but beautiful.

And one I’m not sure I fit into.

Where would I go? Who would even want me around?

Rowan’s voice echoes from the front hallway. “Iris is here!”

Shit.

I could try and hide. Ignore her arrival and preserve my peace a few moments longer. Or I could face it head on. I’m going to have to see her eventually. Might as well get over the initial interaction like ripping off a band aid.

Fine . I’ll do it.

I follow the flow of the Hawthorns into the front hall.

Rowan has already thrown open the front door, silhouetted by the darkness with Rose bundled in her arms.

A cold breeze flows inside. A harbinger.

I adjust myself back and forth until I can get a good view of the front driveway among the bobbling heads waiting to greet the newcomer.

And then, there she is. Straddling a motorcycle. Of course, she is. She would do that to piss me off. At least she’s wearing a helmet. A small consolation prize.

Iris grabs her helmet and pulls it over her head, letting a torrent of blue hair fall over her shoulders. Last I saw her it was purple to match her nickname. Violet.

It’s not surprising she’s changed it. Hell, she’s probably changed it a few times over since I last saw her.

It smarts in my chest, though, the fact I don’t get to be the first to see whatever whacky color combination she’s chosen now.

Then she turns to smile at us. A crackling lightning flash of teeth, her beauty as bright as a star.

She looks happy.

And that…hurts me more than I can say. Because that means my worst nightmare has come true.

Iris is better off without me. Happier without me.

I turn around and head back inside before I can greet her.