I sigh and start pacing the kitchen. “The damage is done,” I tell him. “Readers will believe it no matter what now. I don’t want it to happen again, though.”
“You want to make an example out of them?”
“Yes.”
We’re both quiet, and hopefully he knows what I’m asking without saying it. I’m sure it must seem petty, and I may change my mind, but for all they know, I loved and adored my parents. It’s shitty to print a story you can’t prove when you know their orphan is watching.
“We’ll talk soon,” he says, understanding me.
“Goodbye.”
I hang up and walk to the sink, drawing a glass of water.
Jake comes to my side. “You could just make a statement.”
I laugh under my breath, turning off the faucet. “Their daughter defending them? That’s believable,” I mumble. “If this goes to court, they’ll be forced to account for their sources.”
“And you’re betting they don’t have any.”
“I know they don’t have any.” I hold the glass to my lips. “Mirai and I lived in that house. No one controlled my mother. Next to him was exactly where she wanted to be.”
I take a drink and spin around, heading out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. I need a shower.
“Why do you care?” I hear Noah call after me. “They were awful to you.”
I stop on the third step, trying to push myself to just keep walking, because I don’t know how to answer that. It takes a moment for me to turn around and meet his gaze.
The truth is, I don’t know. My heart hasn’t softened toward them, but something has changed since I’ve been here. A line is drawn that wasn’t there before. There’s a limit to what I’ll tolerate now.
I shrug, searching for my words, but I don’t know how else to explain it. “They’re my parents,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow as they all stare at me.
But that’s all I say.
I turn and continue up the stairs, almost wanting to smile a little. My mom and dad may or may not deserve my loyalty, but standing up feels kind of good.
I twist the wire, binding the twigs to the hanger I stole out of Jake’s closet. I only have plastic ones, so it was impossible to contort mine into a circle.
Using the cutters, I snip off the excess wire and smooth the evergreens around the wreath, smiling at how they fan out but in a way that’s a little chaotic and wild. Growing up, my house was professionally decorated for the holidays, lots of white, and I’m excited for the more natural Christmas-y feel. And smell.
I check the other bindings on the wreath and crawl on my hands and knees on the living room floor, the dogs passed out in front of the fire as I inspect the garland I made for the mantel with the branches Kaleb and I cut a few days ago. My fingers, the tips gold from the paint I used on the bookshelf tonight, peel back the foliage to see if more wire needs to be added.
But awareness pricks, and I dart my eyes up to see Jake watching me as he sits on the couch. His eyes hold mine for a moment and then he blinks and looks away, going back to watching the movie. I move my gaze to Kaleb in the chair, and while his eyes are on the movie, he’s aware of everything in the room except the television. His jaw is flexed, and my cheeks warm.
Noah checks the doors to make sure they’re locked and makes his way over.
I pop up off the floor. “Help me?”
He takes one end of the garland, and I take the other, the ache in my arm
growing stronger because the aspirin is wearing off. We lift the decoration and lay it over the mantel, the whole thing covering the ten-foot length. Noah backs away, letting me fluff and adjust it, and I bend over, swiping the wreath off the floor. Holding it by the hook, I hand it to Noah and gesture to the door.
He hangs it, and I stand back, admiring all my handiwork. If only I had some red ribbon to add. Christmas is in a few weeks, and for the first time ever, I’m into it.
But when I look at Jake, his eyebrows are raised like he’s expecting something more to happen for my hard work all night. Like for the twigs to start glowing or something.
I retreat a little, chewing the corner of my mouth. “If you don’t like it…”