Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

“Oh, the horror,” I whisper.

“Yes. Ugh.” She sighs. “I just want you here.”

“I know. Me too. At least once I get there I won’t be leaving. Until I get my own place at least.” I’m a filthy liar. Part of me is relieved at the extra time I’ve been given. I let life’s wounds fester, and they’d turned to poison. The kind of toxins that transformed me into a shrewish, miserable version of who I once was. Leaving had been the only solution to purge and rebuild. Figuring out who I was outside of co-dependent relationships was a painful, necessary journey.

Growing up in the foster system, family had become what I made it. Finding Rosie, Flynn, and Duncan had been a small miracle. It wasn’t a shock when we paired off as we aged and got a place together. I hung onto Flynn like a baby koala. I trusted him. Honest to a fault, he never pretended to be something he wasn’t or lied to make me happy. I was the one who ignored how different our end pictures began to look as we aged.

“Are you ready for this?”

“I’d better be since I quit my job and sold all my things.”

“Stop,” Rosie chides me.

“To be a godmother? Hell yeah.”

“Delta.”

The warning in her voice stops me short. “You got that mom tone down pat,” I tell her.

“With you, I had to learn it young. I’m worried. You were scary bad. Barely eating or sleeping.”

“And I’ve worked through a lot of what caused my issues. I’ve identified my trigger thanks to the miracle of therapy. Coming back home is the final step on my road to recovery. I’ve learned the tools to deal with things.”

“I know. I know. It’s not the same as being around Flynn twenty-four-seven again.”

“I’ll be fine. I always am. You know me.” As the oldest in the foster home crew, I felt responsible for far more than I should. Distance and counseling helped untangle unhealthy ideals and bad habits.

“I want everything to go well. I’ve missed you and I can’t see doing the parenting thing without you.”

“And you won’t have to. We promised if we ever decided to go that route, we’d give our kids the support system we didn’t have. What happened with Flynn and me was unfortunate, but he didn’t do anything out of malice. I was the one who held on longer than I should’ve. I held too much in and tried to change core things about myself. That was on me. Flynn could never see it. He’s not built that way. Blaming him would be pointless.”

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“He missed you, too.”

“I know. I didn’t shut Flynn out completely. And now we can rebuild a new, healthy relationship.”

She sniffles. “That’s so beautiful.”

“Okay, this is your hormones talking. Now take a deep breath and relax. I’ll keep you posted on my travel information. I’m going to get off here and hunt up some food because I’m starving.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Rosie Posie.”

SAM

I, Samuel Solaris, am an idiot. I think the woman beside me tried to be kind. She is beautiful with her perfectly shaped pink lips, heart-shaped face, and large, kind, chocolate-brown-colored eyes. I didn’t always notice others, but she was like a beacon. Which was a big deal. My stomach flipped. I completely missed the cues at first. Now the time frame for responding has closed. Damn my neuro-diverse brain. Facial expressions and tones were difficult for me to read. I’d put a lot of hard work into changing that. Still, it didn’t always work out the way I wanted it to.

Flying is a double-edged sword. I loved and hated it. Loved it because planes and flying were a passion, both in theory and practice. My dad’s a pilot, and aviation is the one common interest we share. I loathe commercial flights, the people, the crowds, the noise, and the light. It combines and can be overwhelming.

Shifting my weight, I place my laptop on the empty seat next to me and allow my left leg more room to bounce. The lights are bright in the gate area, and people are becoming restless and milling around. What was once a reasonably unoccupied and quiet space is becoming crowded.

The speaker crackles to life, and I flinch. “Flight 1321 has now been delayed by three hours.”

A roar of protest goes up. Tolerance level breached, I stand. I’m jerked back by my headphones. Fumbling to remove them, I step away from my things—taking the time to gather them holds little to no appeal. The woman next to me watches me cautiously. I’ve scared her like I do a lot of people. Someone my size is always noticed, and any deviation from normal behavior makes them uneasy. I know this because it’s been explained to me over and over again growing up. It’s what led me to mask to belong.

“I can watch this if you need to ... go do something.”