The Russian's Christmas Present

“Dad,” I start, ready to play peacemaker, but Martel shoots me a look and I realize I don’t have much else to say.

Martel runs his hand down my cheek and gently pinches my chin. “Go wait in the living room.” He nods back toward the front of the house, and my stomach churns, but I trust him, and doing things my way with my father all these years hasn’t delivered the results I’d hoped for. So maybe it’s time for me to let him realize there are consequences for his actions, and one of those is that I’m not going to give in to his demands anymore.

“Bye.” I give my father a quick smile as he sneers and smacks his cane on the little fiber optic Christmas tree on the floor.

I’m three steps down the hall when I hear a choked yelp and Martel’s low voice.

“You’re not a man. You’re not a father. You’re pathetic.”

“Get out!” My father’s voice shakes.

“I’m going to get out. But until you decide to apologize for not being the father you should have been to her, until you clean yourself up, you’re not welcome in our lives. I’m the guardian at the gate now, and if you want in, there’s going to be a price. And new rules. If you ever make her cry again, ever put her in danger again, I’ll make sure no one ever finds what’s left of you. We clear?”

There’s silence, then a loud bang, and a guttural cough from my father.

“We. Clear?” Martel’s voice is rolling thunder and I press my hands over my nose and mouth, hoping my father will just agree so we can finish this.

“Clear,” my father coughs out. “Now get out!”

“I’m getting. Just know, if your daughter wasn’t standing in the other room, things would be very different.”

With that, Martel comes back out of the bedroom, takes my hand and leads me out the door and into the truck. As he gets into the driver’s side, I reach over and touch his arm.

“Did you hit him?” I ask as he starts the truck.

“I’m going to protect you, Bria. That’s what you need to know. Every detail isn’t for you.” He puts the truck in reverse, and I look out the window at my childhood home.

I see it in a way I didn’t before now. The gutters are falling off the front, the porch is crooked and the curtains in the front window are yellowed and torn. The once-bright red shutters are a faded, sad pink, and I realize it’s been four years since my mother left, and two since I’ve had any contact with her.

What I was holding onto there is gone. Hope can be a deceptive seductress and maybe I needed the Band-Aid torn off in order to take a step into my own life instead of hanging onto the memory of what could have been.

“I appreciate what you did.” I give Martel’s arm a squeeze. “Last night and today. Thank you.”

“Whatever is good for you, Snowflake, is what I’m going to do. Sometimes, you might not like it, but in my heart it will always be for the best. For you. For us. I promise you that.”

“It might take me some time, but I do believe you.”

“Good. Now, we’re going to my parents’, then back home.”

The way he says ‘home’ makes my heart jump.

“They don’t expect you to stay for Christmas? Like, your family Christmas tomorrow?” I know they’ve spent their Christmas Eve and Day together since he was born. He said his father even flew in early this morning to be sure to be here and from what Martel says, his father puts business before most everything so their Christmas is a big deal.

“What they expect isn’t my priority anymore.” He shrugs. “Never really was, but now even more so.” He pauses as he turns onto the main street, leaving The Pines and heading toward Oakland Hills where his parents live. “Besides, I want to spend Christmas with us. I want to start our traditions right now, today. You’ve spent too many years waiting. We’re done waiting.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m a bundle of nerves as Martel punches in a security code and two enormous, wrought-iron gates swing open, revealing a tree-lined driveway that winds back to a Tudor-style house ten times the size of the little structure I called home for my twenty years.

There’s pine garlands and white lights around the stone pillars of the front entry, and inside a bowed front window I see a giant tree lit up. Light snow has started to fall, even as the sun peeks out from behind billowy white clouds, making everything shimmer with white.

As Martel parks the truck, he turns my way, leans over and plants his lips on mine. His hand sweeps to the back of my neck and that feeling of being cared for in a way I didn’t understand before him overwhelms me.