26. A Change of Perspective

26

" W hat are you doing up so early?" Chance's voice startled me from across the lounge.

"Yeah, you caught me." I snorted a laugh, building the wood structure in the fireplace to warm up the space for us while we worked.

"What are those?" Chance pointed to the large cardboard boxes I had moved out from under the pool table, where they normally hid.

"Decorations."

"For Christmas?" Chance's voice was much closer then.

I turned around to look up at him, only a few paces away from me, and nodded, before swiftly returning my attention to building the fire.

"With that black cat attitude, you don't strike me as the type to enjoy decorating for holidays." He took a sip of coffee from a mug he'd brought up to the lounge with him from his apartment.

"Well, I do," I replied curtly.

Sensing he'd inadvertently hit a sore spot, he crouched down next to me, placing a warm hand on my arm. "I can help."

I swallowed. Why did he have to smell so good? He was fresh out of the shower, his hair still damp, and he smelled clean, like soap.

We worked quietly in tandem to get the fire going, settling on the couch when we were pleased with the outcome. Chance sat down next to me, his thigh touching mine, sending warmth flooding through me. He leaned back into the cushions, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, completely unaware of the effect he had on me.

"So Christmas decorations…on Thanksgiving?"

"Don't tell me you're one of those people who thinks you have to wait until December to put anything up? What a waste to lose out on a couple extra weeks of all the holiday cheer." I poked his arm in jest.

Chance laughed. "You can put them up whenever you want."

I felt his fingers brush against mine where our bodies met on the couch, and a moment later, he slipped his fingers through mine, his gaze still fixed on the fire.

I didn't pull away.

I couldn't.

"What were your holidays like growing up?" I asked.

"The only word that comes to mind is perfunctory."

"You're such an English teacher." I snorted a laugh.

"Jealous of my vocabulary?" he teased, gently squeezing my hand.

"Maybe," I admitted.

"My parents would throw big charity parties at our house over the holidays, and they would trot me and Amanda out like props. I can't remember a holiday season where I didn't feel lonely."

I sat with his words for a moment before responding. "Not even Christmas morning?"

"It was fine, but it was mechanical. Me and my sister would give my parents a list, and they would sit and watch us open the exact things we'd asked for, but there was no excitement or joy in any of it. I suppose my mom seemed happy, but it never felt like what you see in the movies, that sense of wonder and being surrounded by familial love. It was them checking off a box of what was expected of them," he finished, punctuating the thought by taking another drink of his coffee. "What about you? What were holidays like with your mom?"

"It was my favorite time of year because it felt like the only time that Mom wasn't completely down. I mean, the depression never went away, and looking back, I think it was really that she made more of an effort during the holidays, which made them feel more special. All of my favorite memories of growing up were during the holidays.

"She had a friend with a farm that would let her cut down a tree for us, and we'd string up a popcorn garland. We couldn't afford lights, but that was enough. She didn't have money to spend on gifts, but she'd make crafts with me and always create such unique things, so I always had at least one or two items to open on Christmas. She could make a lot from nothing."

I laughed, having an errant thought. "I wonder if that's part of the reason I liked Jolene right away. My mom would love her sweaters. Did you know she makes them all herself?"

"I didn't, but I might have assumed. They look handmade, and I don't know what store you could find something quite like them." Chance smiled. "But they suit her, I'll admit. Nobody could pull them off quite like Jolene."

He took a beat, then asked softly, "You don't have to answer, but why was your mom always so sad?"

"Because of my dad."

Chance squeezed my hand again. I don't even think he was aware of it; it had somehow become second nature for him to try to comfort me, even though I had continually pushed him away.

"My mom was pregnant with me when he died while deployed overseas. He never got to meet me, but he named me. He found out I was a girl right before he left and begged my mom to name me Violet after his grandmother. She loved the name, so she agreed. So even though I didn't know him, I've always felt like he was a part of me."

"I'm sorry."

I cocked my head. "It's not your fault." I didn't understand why he was apologizing.

"I've been complaining so much about my dad, but at least I had one."

I couldn't help but laugh. Chance glanced over to me, unsure of my amusement. "Don't be sorry. Your dad sounds awful. I don't think I would have survived a parent like your father. I have enough insecurities as it is—I don't need someone I am hardwired to love and want to make proud constantly pointing them out to me."

"What could you possibly be insecure about?" Chance's tone was so genuine, I had to do a double take to make sure that his facial expression was just as sincere, and it was.

"Are you kidding me?" I snorted a laugh. "First off, I'm a woman, so there are a million things, thanks to society: my looks, my clothes, my height. Then there's the reality of having grown up in poverty, which makes me feel inferior to every single person at Montgomery, every second of every day. I worry about my teaching, about my student debt, about my education, my emotional unavailability, would you like me to keep going?"

Chance's lips were parted in shock. "How can you say all of that?"

I mirrored his confusion.

"I wish you could see yourself from my point of view. I think it would completely change your perspective. Because I don't see any of those things when I look at you. I see a strong, stunning, incredibly intelligent, kind"—he paused—"very sexy, and accomplished woman." He chuckled, likely due to the shade of red my face was turning upon hearing his complimentary words.

"In fact, the only thing I would change about you is that I wish you would be able to acknowledge all the wonderful things about yourself, like how deeply you care for those you let in, how you've dropped everything to help me chase some kind of vigilante justice for Daniel, whom you barely knew, but simply identified with, or how dedicated you are to making a difference for students who rarely give you the time of day, because all it takes is for a single one of them to need you, for all of it to be worth it.

"I wasn't lying when I told you that almost everyone I've talked to at Montgomery thinks very highly of you."

"Almost everyone? Was it Serena that was talking shit?" I couldn't help but interrupt, despite the tightness in my throat from his appraising words.

Chance gave a small laugh. "After myself, Lenny, and Jolene, she might be your next biggest fan."

My brow furrowed. "But she hates me." We couldn't be talking about the same Serena Lawrence.

"No, she doesn't." Chance gave a withering chuckle.

"You must have misunderstood her then," I replied firmly.

" I misunderstood?" His brows shot up. "I did not misunderstand her approaching me out of nowhere on my third day here, saying she had seen me making eyes at you and if I hurt you, she'd eviscerate me with her own bare hands."

I felt my jaw drop at his confession.

"She really said that?" I asked meekly, in disbelief.

"Yeah, and she wasn't the only one."

Again my throat constricted. I'd always felt like an outsider at Montgomery. How could he be talking about the same people that I'd felt so deeply shunned by? But like Chance suggested, it was all about perspective.

Maybe it wasn't that they had iced me out, but rather that I had positioned myself on the outside, assuming they wouldn't want to have anything to do with me. I couldn't remember having given them a chance, because I hadn't. I had just kept my guard up to protect myself from being hurt.

"You are wanted and needed at Montgomery, and you have more allies here than you realize, but you need to open your eyes to find them."

I nodded, still in a daze at this ridiculous revelation, but I couldn't help but ask, "But you did say ‘almost'— who was the holdout?"

"Bernie." Chance shrugged.

"Bernie!?" The mild-mannered, sweet, bearded chemistry teacher whom everyone loved. "Not Bernie!? Why does Bernie hate me?"

"He doesn't hate you," Chance said through laughter. "He's just scared of you."

I scowled at the thought, already running through a few different ideas for how I could win him over. I didn't want Bernie to be scared of me. I wondered if he liked cookies…

"Does knowing that you aren't their enemy change things for you?" Chance asked.

I shrugged, playing it off, but obviously it made a difference. How could it not? "I mean, it's nice to know, I suppose."

"You suppose?" He laughed, clearly sensing that it meant a great deal to me that maybe I wasn't as ostracized as I had always felt.

I shrugged again, just to see his reaction. But I couldn't help the smile adorning my lips, so he merely shook his head, suppressing a grin.

"C'mon, these decorations aren't going to put themselves up." Chance looped his arm through my elbow and pulled me toward the boxes.