Chapter Four

 

The rest of the day passes without much talking on anyone’s part. We go to bed in the same silence. When I awake Christmas morning, I don’t immediately head downstairs. Instead, I choose to sit in bed and stare at my ceiling.

My mind’s racing, flashing with images from the day before. I can’t believe what actually happened. I knew it’d be bad if Max found out about me and Adam, but I didn’t think it’d be that bad. I mean, he actually tried to assault one of his oldest friends, and even quit the band.

“Oh god,” I groan as I bury the heels of my palms in my eyes, “I’m Yoko.”

It doesn’t feel like Christmas, and I can’t help but think it’s my fault. I should’ve shown some self-control. I should’ve pushed Adam away when he tried to kiss me. Fooling around at a distance, or when everyone’s asleep, is completely different than making out in the kitchen in the middle of the day. I should’ve known better and because I didn’t have any restraint, I’ve just ruined two lives, or maybe more.

I know I can’t hide out in my room forever, so whether I want to or not, I eventually make my way downstairs. When I do, I’m ot completely surprised to find the somber mood from the night before has followed us to today.

Silently, I make myself a cup of coffee and sit at the kitchen table where Max is already stewing. He glances sideways at me, but doesn’t say anything. I’m not entirely certain if he’s still as mad as he was yesterday, but he’s definitely still something.

For a little while, the tension becomes stifling and I just want him to say something so we can move past this. I should’ve been careful what I wished for.

“How long?”

His voice is tough, raspy, and still clipped when he asks his question. I’m not really surprised, but it makes me squirm. Regardless, I don’t plan to lie about anything now. What’d be the point? It’d only make things worse than they already are, and I’m not entirely sure I want to see what that’s like.

“Since the release party for Space Rider, bro,” I answer reluctantly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him roll his shoulders. I wait for the outburst, but it doesn’t come. Evidently, he’s trying to stay calm because he’s scared Mom might come out of the shadows again. So am I.

“Four years,” he says under his breath. I only nod. “Are you guys dating, or something?”

“No,” I state less than firmly.

Max doesn’t ask if what Adam and I had was just casual sex. I don’t think he wants to hear the answer, even though he’s probably well aware of the truth.

For a little while, Max doesn’t say anything else, so I take it as my chance to ask something that’s been on my mind since last night, and honestly worries me more than his current anger towards me. “Are you really quitting the band?”

I don’t want to think Max will actually leave the band, but I’m not sure he won’t, either. I knew he’d freak if he ever found out, but I never thought it’d be like that, so I’m actually afraid he’s going to quit his dream job.

“How the hell am I supposed to keep playing with Adam now?” he snaps. “Jesus, Chris. How am I supposed to tour with the guy?”

A sigh leaves my lips and I shake my head at his stupidity. It gives me just enough strength to be irritated even though I know I’m in the wrong.

“We’re adults, Max. Adam and me. What we did doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Doesn’t matter?” he looks genuinely surprised by what I’ve said. “You’re joking, right?” I don’t respond. “Do you have any idea how many girls he’s slept with in the last few years? Hmm?”

A pit forms in my chest. I don’t want to think about Adam with anyone else, because it has nothing to do with our time together. And for a moment, I almost believe that’s the real reason, and not jealousy. But the truth is, I don’t want to think about him touching anyone else like he does me.

“I don’t ca––”

“Dozens!” Max cuts me off. “Maybe more.” I cringe internally. “And now you’re just another notch on the bedpost.”

My focus sharpens on him immediately. I know Max is still angry and probably a little hurt, too, but he’s just insulted me whether intentionally or not, and I’m not going to let that happen.

“Look,” my voice is tight because I actually have to fight raising my volume. “I know you’re pissed, I get it, but we’re almost thirty years old, okay? I’m allowed to sleep with whomever I want without your approval. And you’re not going to quit the band, either, you hear me? You’re right in the middle of a tour, this is your dream job, and you’re good at it, so just let it go. Besides,” I push myself up to my feet and he reluctantly meets my gaze, “I think it’s safe to say it’ll never happen again.”

And with that, I leave.

****

 

Around noon, a bit of the oppressive atmosphere has dissipated throughout the house. I figure that’s about as good as things will get before Max and I head out in the next couple of days.

Now that it’s calmed a little, we all do the typical Christmas Day things, like sitting around the tree opening presents while A Charlie Brown Christmas plays in the background. There aren’t many presents because we’re not six anymore, but there are a few fun things wrapped in shiny paper. Mom got us childhood toys as well as practical, thoughtful gifts.

I hand Max his card, and he gives me one as well. When I open mine, it’s a novelty Christmas card that screams a badly sung carol the instant it’s opened. Evidently, we still think alike because the one I got him isn’t much different. Our presents to each other are similar, too. Being unable to take much with him on tour, I give Max a two-hundred dollar gift card to a popular music store with chains all over the country so he can buy anything he wants or needs. Max gifts me a two-hundred dollar gift card to a popular home improvement store.

When the presents are gone, and Max is stoking the fire and Mom’s making her ‘babies’ some cocoa, I walk around the living room picking up the trash and discarded wrapping paper. As I lift a torn piece with a Santa cartoon on it, I notice a final present almost hidden beneath the tree, nearly forgotten.

“What’s this?” I call out, lifting the small cube wrapped in sky blue paper to show to the room.

Max shifts to see and shrugs a shoulder. Mom pops her head into the living room and shares his confusion.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I didn’t buy it. Max?”

“Nope,” he grumbles as he pokes the igniting logs.

“Open it,” Mom says as she enters the living room with a tray of steaming mugs.

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’ve always loved tearing open wrapping paper. I drop the trash bag and slip my index finger beneath the tape, popping it open easily. The gift itself is about the size of a ring box, explaining how it’d been missed, so it takes seconds to open. As I suspected, it is actually a ring box. My brows tug together as I lift the lid and reveal what’s inside.

A piece of folded paper with my name written across it is bent into the lid, but my eyes are drawn quickly to the piece of jewelry. It’s a silver ring … though that could mean any number of metals. The band is perhaps an inch thick or more, created by four coils of interwoven thorns. It isn’t sharp, though. Instead, it looks almost delicate and beautiful as a result.

And resting in the middle of the thorns, tucked within the twists and curls, is an opal. That’s my birthstone.

My mouth opens and closes repeatedly as I try to speak, but I’m not entirely certain I have the ability. My mind is actually blank.

“What is it?” Mom asks.

Her voice gives me a reprieve from my internal struggle and shocks me back into the moment.

“A ring,” I reply. Snatching the piece of paper out of the lid, I offer the little box to Mom, who immediately gasps at its beauty. It’s definitely unique and incredibly my style, which is strange.

 

As Mom continues to gush over the ring and show it to Max, I unfold the piece of paper that turns out to be about the size of a Post-It. Inside are three simple words that bring a few answers, but so many more questions:

 

Merry Christmas,

Adam

 

Again, I’m struck dumb. This doesn’t make sense. Adam and I don’t exchange gifts. We never have. In total, we’ve known one another for about six years, and not once during that time have we ever given one another anything.

I don’t know how long I’m left staring into space trying to make sense of the expensive gift, but Mom’s hand on my arm brings me back.

“Huh?” I ask quickly.

“Who’s it from?”

My eyes dart to Max briefly and instead of answering out loud, I simply hand her the piece of paper. She reads over it as I sit in the nearby chair. She’s as surprised as I am.

Max seems to know something’s off and almost snatches the note away from Mom. Thankfully, common sense takes over and he doesn’t. She may have slapped him otherwise. When he sees Adam’s name on the piece of paper, his agitation returns tenfold. I say nothing and instead sink as deeply into the overstuffed chair as possible like it’ll help me disappear. Chewing on my thumbnail, I watch as he says something angrily under his breath and simply walks out of the room. Mom and I don’t bother trying to stop him.

“Well,” Mom chimes after a few minutes of silence. She plasters a smile on her lips as she offers me the ring again. “It’s a lovely gift.”

“Yeah,” I reply as I take it back. It really is beautiful.

 

****

 

After dinner, I’m in my room lying in a bed that’s almost uncomfortably small staring at a ring I still don’t know how to classify. Is something like this a gift you give a friend? Is it for someone who means more? Jesus Christ… is this an engagement ring?

I immediately throw that thought out of my mind. There’s no way Adam’s proposing to me. It’s not possible. We’ve never even been on a date, so obviously a ring of thorns isn’t an engagement gift. But, that barely helps me understand its meaning.

I slide it onto my right ring finger and I’m a little surprised it fits. Then again, I have the most common ring size, so maybe it isn’t so farfetched. I like how it feels, though, and that just makes the blowout from yesterday all the more heartbreaking. It shouldn’t have happened like that.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach for my cell phone and sift through my texts, looking for the last time I sent anything to Adam. I’m not really surprised it’s been over a month since then, and I quickly type a new message. I send it just as fast. To my shock, my phone beeps before I can set it down.

My initial message reads: The ring’s beautiful. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.

Adam’s reply follows: You’re welcome.

I stare at the two simple words, reading them more than once as though they’ll give me some insight into his actions, but they don’t. Of course they don’t. Again, I roll over and attempt to set my phone back on my nightstand, but again, it goes off. More confused than before, I read the second message from Adam:

I’m sorry, Chris.

There’s no point in asking what he’s talking about. We both know. I reply:

Don’t be.

He writes back quickly.

I guess this is done, then, huh?

 

My heart actually hurts when I read that bit. I feel a literal twinge in my chest because I can’t say no. I can’t tell him this’ll pass and everything’s going to be fine again. Yes, the animosity will end up fading, but Max will always be watching us now, and as per our initial agreement, Adam and I don’t date.

 

Yeah.

I write it whether I want to or not. Then I add:

It looks like it.

 

My eyes burn and my vision becomes blurry. I’m on the verge of tears and there’s no logical reason for it. It’s not as though I’ll never see or speak to Adam again, I think, so my emotional response doesn’t make sense. I don’t like it.

After a longer break than he’d taken before, I finally get another message from Adam simply wishing me a Merry Christmas. I return the sentiment and somehow know that’s the end of the conversation. Whether I want it to happen or not, when I blink, tears slowly glide down my face.