36. Hannah

36

HANNAH

T wo days until Christmas. The excitement hit hard and fast as Megan and I pulled into the only empty parking space in the lot. Megan had offered to drive, and I’d enjoyed the opportunity to see the city from the passenger seat.

Conversation between us remained a bit stilted. I hoped to change that by the end of her visit. At least we were able to spend time together in comfortable silence, which was more than Arthur had when Megan first arrived.

My phone pinged a text message, and I unlocked it to a picture of Liddy with all three men sitting in the middle of a massive snow pile. Bright smiles lit up every face, and my heart squeezed so hard I lost my breath. I loved them so much it hurt to breathe.

“Ready for this?” Megan tugged on her gloves and rubbed her palms together, eyes bright with the kind of mischief I’d come to expect from Liddy. She ducked her head to peer out my window. “It’s going to be a madhouse. I hope you have a good resting bitch face or they’re going to eat you alive in there.”

“Excuse me?” I rested my knuckles under my chin in a model pose and batted my eyelashes. “I was born ready for this.” Megan snorted and rolled her eyes. Her teenage disposition gave me an inkling of what I might expect from Liddy in a few years. It was good to see her goofing off and having fun.

“Whatever. You’ll be stopped by every sales person hawking their perfumes and massages. Meanwhile,” she twisted her face into a grim expression that warned the world to fuck off, “I’ll be shopping in peace.”

“See, I’ll just stick close to you. Then they won’t bother me either.” I laughed when she rolled her eyes again. “Come on. Let’s see if there’s anything good left.” I’d finished most of my shopping weeks ago, but a few last minute ideas woke me up last night. Once Megan heard about my shopping excursion, she’d shocked me by asking to come along.

Arthur had been speechless when I told him and he’d offered to keep Liddy home with them so Megan and I could concentrate on shopping and possibly do some bonding. He’d kissed me on the cheek and said he thought it was good for Megan to have my influence in her life. Despite all her animosity toward Arthur, she’d been nice to me. I’d expected my age to be a complaint she brought up at some point, but if it bothered her that I was only a few years older, she never mentioned it.

We joined a group making their way through the glass doors and headed straight to the escalators. Megan turned around backward so she faced me. “Where to first?” An eyebrow wiggle reminded me of Arthur before she mock-whispered, “Let me guess. The lingerie store.”

“Megan. Stop.” Heat rushed into my cheeks. I swatted her shoulder with the tips of my fingers. “I need presents that can be opened in front of everyone on Christmas morning.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with a little fun.” She tossed her hair and turned back around. Was I supposed to ask about her love life? It seemed like an open invitation but I wasn’t sure we were ready for that kind of conversation.

Cinnamon and clove permeated the air, slapping me in the face when we reached the top of the escalator and stepped off to the right. Megan led the way past a man promoting watches and foot massagers. He took one look at Megan and turned away.

I snorted out a laugh and caught up to her long-legged stride. “Are you on a mission to get in and out as fast as possible?”

“No. Why?” She glanced over, her gaze sweeping down me, then slowed to a manageable pace. “Sorry. I’m used to Mom’s blazing trail of fury. Get in. Get what you need. Get out.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “I forget that I can do things my way.”

“And what’s your way?” Now this conversation was one I enjoyed. We strolled past the cinnamon roll stand, a coffee stand, and a woman showing off jewelry with enough sparkle to blind everyone who walked past. Fake snow littered the flower beds, nested around poinsettias and fake Christmas trees.

Megan stopped outside a boutique store, the first bit of hesitation showing in her body language. “Honestly, I’m not sure. Dad has always called Mom a force of nature. He’s right.”

“I’ve heard him call you a hurricane. And he means it as a compliment.” I led the way into the boutique store. Megan’s typical style of classy dresses and strategically torn jeans contrasted with the store's pink frilly shirts and flowy skirts.

“I’m what she created.” Megan held her hands out to her sides and turned a slow circle. “I’m the rich girl with an absent father who worries that no one loves her. I talk like my mother because that’s what she expects, and I dress like this because it’s what gets people to leave me alone.” Her vintage band t-shirt beneath a leather jacket, black holey jeans tucked into black combat boots, and wild red hair stuck out like a sore thumb, but I caught the look of longing when she touched the hem of a purple cashmere sweater. The price tag boasted an obscene number I’d never have considered before meeting Arthur.

After shopping for them over the summer, it almost didn’t faze me anymore to see so many zeros in a line. Almost. “You don’t have to be a victim of your circumstances.” I picked up the sweater and held it up to Megan’s lean frame. “Arthur loves you no matter what. Be your own person, Megan. You’re already making your own decisions about your life, and I’m glad to see you giving your dad a chance.”

Megan hung the sweater back on the rack. “You’ve been good for Dad. I hated it at first. He’s always seemed out of touch, out of reach. Every other Christmas, we fight. Well, I fight and he sits there like a rock. I just wanted to see him react, you know?” She shucked off her jacket and tossed it over a mannequin’s head, then removed the sweater from the hanger and yanked it over her t-shirt. Her head popped through the opening and she faced the mirror on the far wall. “Mom would tell me I’m being ridiculous. She’d say that Dad is an emotionless troll and I needed to stop trying.”

“And what do you think?” I peeked around her shoulder to see her expression in the mirror.

Megan frowned and tugged at the hem of the sweater. “I think I’m still figuring out who I am. And if I can’t answer that, how can I make assumptions about anyone else?” She took off the sweater and handed it to me. “You should get that. It’s the wrong color for me.”

“I’m not shopping for myself.” I put it back on the hanger and walked around a display of mannequins in giant ballgown dresses. Megan huffed and snatched the sweater back.

“Fine. Merry Christmas. I’m getting it for you and you have to act surprised when you open it.” She made a pretend shocked face then said, “Oh, Megan, that’s so pretty. How did you know?”

I found a chunky necklace with a band of gaudy pearls and an obscene amount of gold and held it out to her. “Pass or smash?”

“That’s not how you play.” Megan returned the necklace, her voice falling back into its normal tone. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Oh?” I left it there, giving her the chance to explain or drop the subject. We were dancing on the edge of dangerous territory. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what she thought of me.

She paid for the sweater and led the way from the boutique to a coffee and muffin cart near the railing. “I’m glad you’re different. And that you’re in Dad’s life. He needed someone like you. I wanted to hate you for that but you’re too nice to hate.” She made a sour face.

“Can’t say anyone has ever told me that before.” I bought us both a coffee and a blueberry muffin and we sat side by side on an empty bench facing an antique record store. People moved up and down the storefronts. Some stopped to examine a window , but most walked with the same hurried motion Megan employed and wore the same annoyed expressions.

Where was the joy?

Megan drank her coffee and picked at the muffin. “You’re the reason I’ve been able to see past the hurt and bitterness.”

The bite of muffin I’d taken lodged in my throat. I chewed slowly, sipping coffee to help wash it down. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be.” Megan intentionally misunderstood me, her smile and laugh sparking to life and fading in an instant. “I always show up with a chip on my shoulder. Dad mopes around and acts like I’m barely there. Not this year.” She threw her trash in the closest trash can and brushed her hands together. The boutique bag was over her wrist, swinging back and forth with every motion. “We’ve connected this year. For the first time in my life, he explained things to me instead of letting me beat the verbal hell out of him and then run away.”

I stood and hugged her. She looked so young and fragile as she made her admission that I had no choice. “I’m happy for you both. And I know it would mean a lot to Arthur to have a better relationship with you.” I waited for her to stiffen and pull away. She did neither. I stayed there as long as she needed. People walking past might have wondered at the situation, but I didn’t care. Megan’s emotional well-being mattered more than the thoughts of strangers. “You should consider telling him how you feel. It would be the best possible Christmas present you could give him.”

Megan dropped her arms and took a step back. “Dad’s not great at talking.”

“Not usually, no. But he’s trying. Hearing that you want to improve your relationship is a great motivator. Being able to have a conversation without yelling is a huge improvement, don’t you think?” I walked us toward the record store. I’d seen a record player in Arthur’s study and flipped through his collection. Maybe I’d find something he didn’t have, something special.

Megan took a deep breath when we entered the store. “Smells like my childhood. Dust and hopelessness.”

“There’s always hope.” I found a box full of the type of music he had and examined the records inside. “You might have to look deeper and work at it, but it’s there.” The twins growing inside me were a testament to hope. They would grow up safe and loved by three amazing men. “Trust your dad a little. Can you do that for me?”

Megan pulled out a black album and turned it over and over in her hands. “Yeah. I’ll try. I’d like to leave this Christmas feeling better about life and our relationship than how I have before.”

“Good.” I found a record for Arthur and carried it to the front. We shopped until our arms were loaded down and my feet ached. It was worth it to see Megan smile and to know that she’d made progress in overcoming her anger. Christmas was about to get a whole lot better.