How My Brother's Best Friend Stole Christmas

Hide from so much.

Pretend so much.

“You’re going to stop this,” I said. “You’re going to leave Mom alone.”

His face twisted into a sneer, but when he opened his mouth to say something, I simply applied pressure to his shoulder and elbow and he nearly collapsed at my feet. “This is done, Dad. You can’t keep fighting something that’s already happened.”

“You going to beat up your old man?” he asked and I laughed.

“When I was sixteen, eighteen, that’s all I wanted. It’s why I joined the Marines, so I could beat the shit out of you. But I’m done with that. Done with you. So is Mom.”

He made a sound like he knew she was in there thinking about the good years and fighting the urge to let him in.

“Tomorrow we’re going to the police station and getting a restraining order. And, yeah, Dad, after that, if I see you here, I’ll put you in the hospital just to give Mom a break from your shit.”

He stood there for a second, a miserable man alone on a cold night.

“I never thought it would end like this,” Dad whispered.

“How?”

He looked around, the tarnished exiled prince of a trailer park and a family who no longer wanted him. “Alone.”

My father looked up at me, his eyes watery and…bleak. And I wondered if there was any kind of difference between pushing people away by treating them like shit or treating yourself like shit.

Because that was what Dad and I were doing—pushing people away. Only our methods differed.

Dad wandered off, and part of me felt really, really bad for him. The way you would for any stray dog on a cold night. But inside that house was my mom, who didn’t deserve any of this, and my job was being at her side.

I watched him go until the shadows ate him and his lying overcoat.

The inside of the trailer was warm and cozy. The tree blinked in the corner. The smell of coffee and cake in the air. It was the smell of home. And there on the couch was Mom, and beside her was Sophie, and that was the sight of home.

All my home. Right there. Right here.

Don’t end up alone.

“Is he gone?” Mom asked, her eyes red from crying. I nodded.

“You all right?” I asked.

“Fine. Totally fine. I’m not even…it’s just always such a shock when he shows up and it’s always so…” She made a wild-eyed, crazy gesture.

“Dramatic,” Sophie said.

“It’s his addiction,” I said. “That and the booze. He needs constant…churn.”

“Well...” Mom sighed. “I need some peace and quiet.”

“You want some more tea?” Sophie asked, and Mom picked up Sophie’s hands and squeezed them.

“No, honey, you go on home. It’s late.”

Sophie kissed Mom’s cheek and stood up, but then paused. “What honey?” Mom asked, but Sophie smiled and shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said. “Get some sleep. I’ll come by tomorrow to see you.”

Sophie walked past me and grabbed my hand. Everything about her felt like comfort. Looked like comfort. And I wished I could grab it with both hands. Hold her—with both hands. “Call me,” she said, “if you need me.”

I need you all the time.

“I will,” I said and walked her out to her car, just in case my father was lingering. “What were you going to ask her?” My breath plumed in the cold night.

“Why she still loves him.” She shrugged. “She does, you know. She still loves him. It’s why she wants to let him in.”

“I know,” I said. “And he knows it. It’s why he keeps coming around. Thanks for being here with me.”

She kissed my cheek, her face pressed to mine. I breathed her in like air.

“If you want…” she said, and I knew what she was asking me.

“Yeah?”

“My door’s open.”

Was I strong enough to resist that? To say no to that?

I wasn’t even sure why I was resisting anymore.

17

I watched her taillights vanish down the road toward downtown and went back inside to find my mother doing the dishes. Wiping the occasional tear with the wrist of her sweatshirt.

“Sit down, Mom. I can do that.”

“Good, because I don’t want to.” She stepped away from the sink full of bubbles and sat down at the Formica kitchenette set where she always sat. For the crosswords. For an evening cigarette. For a morning cup of coffee.

“He won’t come back tonight?” she asked, and I shook my head. “I’ll go with you tomorrow to get that restraining order.”

“Good,” I said. She’d been putting me off for years.

“Sophie?”

“She went home,” I said, putting a plate in the dish drainer. I felt the tips of my ears burn. The way my ears always burned these days when I talked about her. Thought about her. Tried not to think about her.

“Sam?”

“Yeah.”

“Put down the sponge and look at me.”

I turned and found her, my beautiful mother who should have had a million kids and a house by some water with a big tree in the back for her to sit under.