When Landon drops me off at my house, Hunter is sitting on my porch swing. He’s swinging back and forth, his head lowered down as he does so. Landon asks if I want him to stay. Even though I want to tell him yes, I hike up my big girl panties and send him on his way while I deal with my brother.

I take my time approaching Hunter, my keys shoved in between my fingers like I’m ready to shank him if he comes after me. I don’t know why I’m doing this so I loosen my grip.

“What do you want?” Not the merriest of greetings, but he’s lucky he even gets that.

He lifts his head, still swinging. “I’ve been waiting here for almost two hours. I thought you and Landon came back here.”

“We went to his house, not that it’s any of your business. How do you know where I live?”

“Jules, it’s not like when I went to prison all my memories erased from my mind. I remember where you live, the layout of your house, how if I walk in there right now, I won’t find any trace of the holiday.”

“So, what, are you planning on robbing me?”

“Jules, that’s not fair.”

I stand in front of him, my wobbly knees ready to give out at any moment. My mouth is like cotton, my heart beating so fast I’m almost dizzy. The important thing is I remain calm. “I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

He stops rocking and pats the open space next to him. “Can you sit down?”

I sigh inside. I don’t want to sit down. He needs to leave both my house and my mother’s. He can find a friend to stay with or go back to prison for all I care. Unless I call the police to remove him, I know he won’t leave until I listen to what he has to say. My jelly legs stiffen as I sit, and I grip my purse in my hand.

“Tonight didn’t turn out so well.”

He’s stating the obvious. What type of reaction is he trying to pull from me? No, it didn’t go well, but it wasn’t much different than I expected. I’m not disappointed because I went in with low expectations. That’s the way I live life. I stare at him. Is that it? Am I supposed to react to that? Tonight went exactly as I thought it would. I can’t be disappointed in the evening with such low expectations.

“I know you hate me.”

I don’t hate him, but I can’t even bring myself to say that. I hate his actions and how he took advantage of our mother. I hate how he allowed a bad lifestyle to take a hold of him. But I don’t hate him. Even though I don’t want him to think that, I don’t bother correcting him. What kind of a person does that make me?

“I don’t know how I can convince you I’m not that person anymore. A person doesn’t spend two years away from family, attend counseling that entire time, and not come back changed. What I did was wrong, and I took—take—responsibility for that. I paid my debt to society. Why can’t you forgive me? Come on, can’t you find it within yourself to pull out the smallest spirit of Christmas?”

I don’t make eye contact with him the entire time he speaks. My nose is cold, and I wipe a snowflake away.

“The forecast said there’s going to be a big snowstorm,” I say as my eyes are in a frozen stare on the road. “Just like that one when I was nine, and you were eleven.” I wrap the strap of my purse around my hand, squeezing so tight it hurts. I don’t care. “Christmas 1988. I’ll never forget it. All I wanted that year was a tape player so I could listen to Cher’s new song, ‘If I Could Turn Back Time,’ whenever I wanted. I was so tired of listening to the radio and trying to record it. Every time I hit the record button, the DJ started talking. Gosh, I was pissed. When I didn’t get the player, I was so mad. Then our parents announced their divorce. They couldn’t even wait until the New Year. No tape player and a divorce. Merry Effing Christmas. If I could turn back time, I’d change all that. Maybe if that Christmas had turned out differently, our lives would be different. Marriage wouldn’t scare me, and you wouldn’t be a felon.”

“Juliette,”—he puts his hand on my shoulder, ignoring that I called him a felon—“our parents divorcing was a good thing.”

My eyes leave the comfort of the road, and I glare at him. How can he say that? Did he live in the same house as me? In what universe is it a good thing for a child’s parents to separate?

“They didn’t get along. They hadn’t for years. I can’t believe they hung on as long as they did.”

“What do you mean? Mom is still in love with Dad. She never got over him. She never wanted the divorce.”

“That’s not true. She clings to Dad, but she’s not in love with him. She hasn’t been for years.”

“I don’t believe you.” And I refuse to.

“Fine. Don’t believe me. But their divorce isn’t what made me do what I did. And their divorce shouldn’t skew your opinion of me, either.” He stops and watches the snow falling from the sky. “Is this why you hate Christmas so much?”

I shrug. “I have reasons. That may be one.” I clear my throat. “I have to get to bed. I work in the morning.”

“Yeah, work. I have to figure out how to get a job.”

Not my concern. He will mooch off my mom for as long as he can. “Good luck with that.” The swing moves back and forth as I stand up and walk to my door. When the key is in the lock, I turn and notice my mom’s car parked in front of my house. Another thing he took from her. I hope he asked her permission. I turn the key, never looking at him once as I step through and yell back, “Drive safe.”

I slam the door behind me, the tree from Landon still boxed up next to me, as I slide to the floor. My eyes well with tears, but I wipe them away. Hunter isn’t worth my tears.