27. A Christmas Calamity

27

A CHRISTMAS CALAMITY

LILA

C hristmas in Riverside is nothing less than a gift-wrapped spectacle. The streets run amuck with frazzled mothers doing last-minute shopping, tourists who want to get away from snowed-in driveways and freezing households, and extended families who create a fire ordinance violation in every store they step in.

I’ve always spent Christmas with my mom, but Bristol invited me to spend Christmas with his family this year instead. I’ve never spent the holidays with a significant other. To be fair, I’ve never been in a relationship long enough to even have a significant other.

Is there a part of me that’s afraid I won’t be a good girlfriend? Absolutely. I mean, sometimes it feels like I haven’t even been that great of a friend . Taking things to the next level with Bristol is exactly what I wanted, but that means more than just a fancy title—it means that maintaining a healthy relationship is going to be a priority, and failure to do so could result in me losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Again.

Even though we’ve only just started dating, I was determined to find the perfect gift for Bristol, which meant that my tireless search consisted of my prescription glasses, some Gossip Girl reruns, and a bag of frozen, chocolate-covered strawberries. I scoured the internet for hours, looked at all those premade, man-themed boxes DIY-ers sold at unreasonably high prices, considered making him something with my bare hands and zero art skill, then reconsidered buying him something expensive that he’d probably pretend to like. He’s impossible to shop for. All this man likes is beer and hockey. And me.

But then, when my aimless search was coming to an end, I found it. The Holy Grail. The gift to end all gifts. The gift that says, “Hey, I’m expensive, but I’m also full of sentimental value!”

They’re called bond touch bracelets. Both partners wear one, and you tap on it whenever you’re thinking about the other person. It sends a signal to your partner’s bracelet as long as they’re wearing it and it’s turned on. A cute signal too! A little blue heart. Bristol and I won’t always be physically close to each other. He’ll have away games, I’ll have photoshoots—maybe even my first star-studded catwalk if I’m lucky—but this is a way to let him know that I’m always thinking about him.

And now here I am with the heater on blast and the radio screeching in and out of the nearest station, sitting next to the man of my dreams. We’re about thirty minutes out from his parents’ log cabin, and we’ve already entered the miniature tundra that surrounds the heart of Big Bear Lake. Glittering blankets of snow pile high on tree boughs that line the denuded mountain’s edge, and the last minutes of sun bleed across the greying sky, disappearing beneath a horizon of ominous storm clouds. The road’s also getting significantly slippery, with the monotonous tick of wipers chipping away at the frost-kissed windshield. The bitter wind outside hails against my door, bringing with it a torrent of slow-falling snowflakes.

As my car chugs up the tire-beaten path, the anxiety that comes with meeting his parents only worsens. Even though I’m surrounded by clean air, it feels like each breath I take is slicing my lungs into ribbons. My heart won’t slow down, my thoughts continue to eddy, and nausea fizzles like Pop Rocks in my belly.

It doesn’t take long for Bristol to notice my uncharacteristic silence, and he turns down the third Mariah Carey song on the radio in the last thirty minutes. “You okay? You’re awfully quiet over there.”

My thumb scratches against the sleeve of my puffer jacket. “Yeah. I’m just nervous about meeting your parents,” I admit, watching as snow bounces off the hood of Bristol’s well-loved Bugatti.

“You shouldn’t be. They’re going to love you, Lils.”

Yeah, but the last girl that you brought home was going to be your future wife.

“I’ve never spent the holidays with a significant other before. What if I ruin?—”

I don’t know how Bristol’s managing to navigate this mountain and my miniature freakout, but he does so with ease, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and offering me the other. “You won’t. You couldn’t even if you tried,” he insists.

I glance at his upturned palm like it’s some kind of biohazard. “But?—”

He doesn’t wait for me to interlock our fingers—no, he grabs my hand and does all the heavy lifting himself, and his touch momentarily halts the fear that’s snapping at my heels.

“I don’t care if everything isn’t perfect, okay? I’m with you, and that’s all that matters. If anyone needs to be on their best behavior, it’s my parents. I’m ninety-nine percent certain that they’re going to ask you some very invasive questions as soon as we sit down.”

Surprisingly, my throat opens enough to allow a chuckle. “Helicopter parents? ”

“More like we-want-to-make-sure-you-two-are-practicing-safe-sex ?—”

“Oh, God!” I take our intertwined hands and bring them to my forehead, unable to muffle a laugh.

“See? You’re practically a part of the family already.”

I don’t know what kind of sorcery Bristol is casting, but he’s the only person on this planet who’s able to silence my worries. It just comes so naturally to him. He emulates serenity, and it doesn’t matter if it’s through physical touch or words of affirmation. He neutralizes the nervousness pulsing through my veins like some living, breathing, fearmongering creature.

“How are you always so calm?” I ask him, rubbing my thumb over the heel of his palm.

He stares out at the ice-spun crystals clinging to the gnarled, swaying branches of pine, and the harsh fluorescents from the headlights blare off gluts of snow, veiling our windshield in a screen of white. “I wasn’t always. When I was little, I used to get really bad panic attacks before high-stress situations. And it took me a while to get my anxiety under control.”

My eyes crawl to his line of sight. “Like tests?”

“Sort of. It was mostly before hockey games. I was scared of letting my teammates down.”

He never told me he had such bad anxiety. I mean, I can’t imagine it’s a memory he wants to revisit. And I can’t be mad at him for keeping it a secret seeing as I pretty much did the exact same thing. The Bristol I know has always been the poster boy of calm. Like, marijuana-levels of calm. And now he’s the captain of an NHL team—where the stakes are a lot higher than minor league hockey—and he’s still so secure and levelheaded, even after everything he’s been through.

“I’m so sorry, Bristol,” I whisper sympathetically.

He squeezes my hand, siphoning all the worry out of my body. “It’s alright. I was lucky enough to not deal with them alone. My mom and dad were very understanding. They were always there when I needed them. When I got older, I realized that I wanted to provide that kind of security for other people, and the only way that I could do that was if I conquered my anxiety.”

“Sounds easier said than done.”

“It was. It took a lot of trial and error, but I’m a pretty good antianxiety bodyguard now, right?”

A slow-burning warmth razes through my chest, and it’s not from the insanely high heater. It slithers from the contact point of our palms, up my arm, between my ribs, and right into the center of my heart, where not even the freezing cold can penetrate it.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

An hour or so passes before we make it into town, and the road is far less imposing when it’s bordered by streetlamps dressed in red and green ribbon. Snow continues to fall in a quilt that covers every inch of pine-covered land, sparkling underneath the waning moon. Starkly colored petals bloom beneath December’s wintry beauty, and ice glistens like diamonds over once-running water.

Convenience stores and houses alike are decked in full holiday finery, ranging from multicolored Christmas lights to inflatable Santas to full-scale nativity scenes. Garlands hang off every rooftop and awning, and a few matching wreaths welcome the locals and the out-of-towners into the lit-up heart of Big Bear. Paper snowflake cutouts are plastered to heavily condensed windows, and little rows of life-sized candy canes run the length of gravel-laid pathways. There’s even a gigantic Christmas tree in the center of town square, looming over its residents with high-powered twinkle lights and a star that could probably be used as a distress signal from miles away.

Bristol’s family’s log cabin is nestled on the outskirts of town, overlooking a giant lake. The farther we get from the hub of the festivities, the quieter the road becomes. A copse of trees is waiting for us as we round the corner, and they stretch into a withered, lakeside forest that goes on for about a mile. The silhouette of the cabin comes into view—peeking out amongst a thicketed underbrush and an outcrop of rocks that have fallen victim to the opalescent snowscape—and a plume of smoke ascends from the brick chimney, intermingling in the glacial atmosphere. It’s beautiful here—untouched by civilization and the consumerism of Christmas—a hidden paradise carved out by powdered sugar and an alcove of giant pines.

This vacation with Bristol and his family is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Bristol’s mother does not regulate her strength when she squishes me into a hug, rocking me from side to side. “Oh, Lila! It’s so good to finally meet you!” she exclaims, squeezing me like I’m a life-sized chew toy.

“It’s…so…good…to…finally…meet…you…too!” I wheeze.

Bristol’s father—a tall, bushy-haired man—wags his head warmheartedly. “Cecilia, you’re going to break the poor girl’s spine.”

Cecilia instantly loosens her grip, happiness clinging to the wrinkles bracketing a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry! You’re just—oh, look at you! You’re even more beautiful than Bristol mentioned!”

Bristol, schlepping our luggage through the foyer in his insulated flannel, shakes off the shavings of fallen snow in his hair, doing his best to deadpan his response—and failing miserably. “Mom, you’re not supposed to tell her that,” he mock-chastises.

“Hush, Bristol! How could you keep this timeless beauty from us? ”

I’ve barely passed the threshold, and I already feel so at home here. I wasn’t expecting to be treated so…I don’t know. It’s stupid of me, but I guess I expected them to still hold some favoritism for Summit. I was worried they might think I’m trying to replace her, and that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.

“Thank you for letting me stay in your home,” I chime in. “It’s beautiful.”

Cecilia—even given her significantly smaller stature—snatches my purse from me and ferries me into the living room, beams of moonlight refracting through their massive skylight.

“You’re welcome any time, Lila. Please, make yourself at home. Bristol will show you to the guest room, and dinner will be served in about an hour. Do you have any dietary restrictions? Is turkey alright with you?” she rambles on, barely allowing me the chance to breathe.

I’m about to respond when Bristol swoops me up in his arms, shouts over his shoulder, “Everything sounds great!” and carries me up the staircase surprisingly quickly. I loop my arms around his neck and brace for our bumpy ascension.

Giggle after giggle bubbles out of me, and the minute we make it to the guest room, I’m immediately transported into the luxurious, rustic display of an aspen-log canopy bed, a shag rug that probably costs more than my entire apartment, a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks an acre of pines, and an antler chandelier than hangs elegantly from the vaulted ceiling. The room is gorgeous .

“Wow,” I breathe, letting Bristol lower me to my feet, so in awe of the foreign beauty that I forget to pick my jaw up from the hardwood floor.

“You like it?” Bristol asks.

“I love it.”

He nuzzles his nose into my neck, tickling the delicate skin now pockmarked with goose bumps. “Then you’ll love it even more when you feel how soft the sheets are.”

“Mr. Brenner, are you propositioning me?” I faux gasp, squirming from the stunted breath that beats against my throat, one intentional—or unintentional—slip away from reverting to the petal-softness of his expert lips.

“Me? Oh, I would never ,” he rumbles.

“That’s too bad. Rolling around in the sheets is my favorite pastime.”

“Angel, we can spend the entire night rolling around in the sheets, though I doubt either of us will get any sleep.”

I give a half-hearted shrug. “A sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Then get your cute little ass unpacked and come downstairs for dinner,” he says, lightly patting me on the butt.

Bristol has already brought my single suitcase up, and in my world, a single suitcase is quite the achievement considering how many cute winter ensembles I could’ve lugged along. He plants a chaste kiss on my lips before leaving me alone to get settled, and I wheel my suitcase over to the dresser, acknowledging the adorable snow globe that adorns the varnished wood top. With a methodical unzip to keep my clothes from popping out in one colorful avalanche, I start to tuck away each pre-planned outfit into a drawer.

Being here, celebrating such a special holiday with my boyfriend’s loved ones, is the closest I’ve ever felt to belonging to a family that wasn’t bound to me by blood. Bristol’s parents were so welcoming, and for the first time since Bristol broke the news about Summit, I don’t feel like I’m trying to shoehorn my way into an already tightly knit circle.

Bristol’s finally shown me how much I mean to him, and there’s no question or doubt in my mind that we’re meant to be together.

Until I knock against something in the corner of the drawer as I’m laying down one of my faux fur parkas. I slowly ease the drawer open to pinpoint the culprit, finding a little black box with an S engraved in the velvet. I don’t need to open it to know what’s inside. It’s your classic ring box, and the initial on top makes it crystal clear.

I don’t want to go there. I can’t go there. I can’t relive this pain again—this pain that weighs my extremities down like heavy-duty chains. This pain that’s succeeded in drowning me once before and has returned with a vengeance to finish the job off permanently.

Unshed tears teem in my eyes, and every muscle in my body quivers with untempered betrayal as my fingers unearth a truth that I have no business digging up. Before I can confirm there’s a perfectly good ring still inside, anger and sadness broil inside me, capitalizing off that nagging voice in the back of my head that blurts out every single one of my insecurities. If it wasn’t for the adrenaline or the idiotic hope that I’m wrong, I wouldn’t have gone through with opening it.

But against my better judgment, I crack the lid of the box open, and a gold, round-cut ring glistens at me from beneath the canary glow of the chandelier, so glaringly obvious that the sight alone makes me sick to my stomach.

Bristol kept Summit’s engagement ring.