I knew from my own family that something like that came from emotional and mental pain, but I didn’t want to push it any further because sometimes people had to come back by themselves. If I’d pointed stuff out to her, Sasha might push him to open up, and maybe he just wasn’t that type of guy?
I could tell Marcus and Remy were picking up on this about him because they kept their body language calm and reassuring and stood near him like bodyguards.
Everyone has a story, I guess, and whether he realized it or not, he had us all behind him now if he ever needed us. The Townsends were a tight-knit family who stood firm behind each other. My grandparents seemed to pick people up who didn’t have anyone and bring them into the fold, giving them security and support. Maybe it was a genetic thing because that’s what we were like, too.
“Hey,” Marcus shouted when he saw me. “How’d you get the bruise?”
My hand lifted to what he was talking about—a large bruise that spanned from my temple, under my eye, and down my cheek. Then again, there was also the bite mark on my wrist from yesterday, which had now bruised. The strap of my Apple watch only just covered the worst of it, but there were still a couple of teeth-shaped marks that poked out on either side of it.
I’d lied earlier that the strap kept slipping and digging in when I put my hand in my pocket and that it’d caused the marks, but I don’t think anyone fell for that. Well, aside from both of our parents, and that was probably out of desperation than believing the lie.
Wincing as I absentmindedly prodded the other bruise, I glanced at the woman who’d caused it, and saw her pinching the bridge of her nose.
Some people might do traditional things on Christmas Day, but not mine and Sasha’s. We were all outside, relaxing in the sun or the pool, divided into different groups and cruising around each of them as we saw fit.
And discussing my assault and the reason for my newest bruise.
Well, it wasn’t an assault, per se. It was more of an accident caused by Sasha’s dream last night.
See, in her house, they had a tradition where they bought a shit ton of junk food, and no cooking, wrapping, cleaning, or adulting was done from midday on Christmas Eve. Instead, they got comfortable with blankets and pillows, laid out the crappy food, and put on movies.
That’s what I was blaming for my bruise. Movies and junk food, but the movies mainly. I’d finally gotten to watch Robin Hood, but after it we’d watched another movie that’d apparently refused to leave Sasha’s mind when we’d gone to bed.
“At about three o’clock this morning, I was rudely woken up by an elbow and forearm smacking me in the face,” I explained, watching Sasha’s shoulders lift with embarrassment.
“You getting rid of him?” Malcolm asked, smiling widely at his cousin.
Not answering him verbally, she just shook her head.
“Did you know your cousin re-enacts movies in her sleep?” Marcus asked them incredulously. Then, not waiting for an answer, he turned back to me. “What was she doing this time?”
Bending over to put my beer on the table closest to us, I put my feet together, held my arms out to the sides so I was in a T shape, and stood as stiffly as I could to show them how I’d found her.
“What the hell was that about?” Sadie asked Sasha.
Sasha looked over the top of Malcolm’s head and sighed with relief.
“Oh, thank God— I mean, oh shit, Milkshake’s in the tree again. Sorry.” And then the little sneak ran away from us to where her helmeted cat was trying to make his way up the same tree as last time.
Sitting on the edge of a chair, Marcus stayed focused on me. “What happened after that? I feel like this is a weird game of charades.”
Dropping my arms and letting my muscles relax, I snickered. “Sasha stayed like that for a full ten minutes, and then she yelled, ‘Johnny!’”
My twin blinked. “Johnny?”
“Yup,” I drawled. “Although, it wasn’t until she started wiggling around and singing that I realized she was dreaming about Dirty Dancing.”
Everyone started nodding at the same time, all of it sounding obvious to them now.
“You telling them about baby and her corner?” Ryan asked, looking at his daughter as he joined us. “She did the lift last night, but we’re not sure if it was on stage or in the water.”
Sadie, who was bent over and checking on a sleeping Bronte, raised her head to look at him. “Why does she do it? Is it common?”
“It’s a bit like sleepwalking,” he explained. “Some people suffer from the condition, and some don’t. According to the specialist we took her to when she was little, we've all talked or sang in our sleep. And he also said that everyone gets up and does some form of sleepwalking at least once in their life.