"C'mon, let me drive you back to the diner, Chevelle. It's cold as shit outside."

"Look, I'd say yes, but I don't want to have to explain to my dad who you are. I mean, I don't even really know that myself."

"Ouch."

Chevelle laughed. "Sorry! It's true though, we did just meet. Also, you're crossed, so I'm not that sure I want to get behind your wheel. Risk your life, not mine, you know?"

With a reluctant sigh, Abel conceded. "Okay, fair," he agreed. "If that's what you want, then sure."

"It is," Chevelle said. "But this was fun. I probably won't ever follow another stranger to their car again, but I don't regret doing it this once."

"And we should do it again."

Chevelle chuckled, opening the car door, and shooting Abel a smile that told him his attempt hadn't gone over her head. She stepped out of the car and back into the snowy night, leaving with one last, "Merry Christmas, Abel."

↠ • ↞

Even though this was his first time seeing it and they both knew he was thinking about it the entire ride home, Chevelle's father didn't mention her haircut once.

He greeted her, looked up at her buzz-cut head, lingered, and then opened the car door for her silently. This was better than him lecturing her about it or making any half-handed comments, but still, Chevelle didn't like the silence. It always meant that something more was brewing, and she had been hoping to get through the next four days with minimal drama. She wanted to sleep through tomorrow morning, get lightly buzzed before the midnight mass her parents were determined to drag them to, and then stay drunk and hidden in her room until she left on the 27th.

And yes, Chevelle knew she was making a statement by leaving the day before her birthday, but it was honestly for the best. Her parents hadn't fought her on it when she told them because even they knew it would be better for everyone if Chevelle spent her birthday away from home.

"Did you leave your car unlocked?" Chevelle's father finally asked as he pulled into their driveway.

"No, Papa. Of course I didn't," she muttered. "Why would I do that? Mwen pa sòt."

He clenched his jaw. "You don't have to be stupid to make a mistake," he said.

Chevelle sighed, disarming just a little. She didn't like the way he'd asked the question like an accusation. As though he'd been thinking about it for a while and slowly convincing himself that she did, in fact, leave her car unlocked. And how would that have helped someone steal the car battery anyway?

"Okay, well I didn't," Chevelle assured her father. "Thanks for coming to get me."

Her father acknowledged her thanks with a nod, and then he turned off the car and the darkness of the Christmastime night finally settled.

Their house wasn't as lit up and festive as some of the others around it, and it became painfully visible at night. The Etiennes enjoyed celebrating Christmas, but just in less flashy of a way than most Americans were used to.

Chevelle looked at her father and marveled at how silver his hair had become—and in less than a year. It was obviously from stress, that much was a given, but Chevelle liked to believe that the silver was also a way for all the secrets in her father's head to find an outlet. He had become a person who left so much unsaid nowadays, and so she figured that creeping through the black coils on his head and finding a home there was the secrets' way of showing her father that they were not dead. That even his silence could not kill them.

"Is everyone home?" Chevelle asked.

"Oui, but your mother is asleep. Josephe and Farah may be awake."

Chevelle's father purposefully left out Jared's name (despite Jared being there) because it still didn't quite sit right in his conscience no matter how much he tried to convince his family and himself that it did. At the very least, Chevelle was happy that her mother was asleep. She didn't want to have to answer for the haircut tonight. She knew her mother would leave nothing unsaid the way her father had, and Chevelle didn't have the energy to defend herself right now.

The house was warm and quiet, and despite never wanting to admit it to herself, Chevelle knew she had missed this place. Only when it was like this though—when the judging voices were all asleep and all that was left was the faint smell of soup joumou and razac body lotion that remained forever trapped in the old, carpeted floors.

Chevelle let out a deep sigh and allowed her defenses to fall a little more. Even if these next few days would be hard, she at least had this. The solace of this space between morning and night, when she could exist in this house without having to worry about whether she was doing it right.

With her duffel bag in tow, Chevelle made her way up to her room. She had plans to light incense, take a shower, and listen to quiet music in her loud headphones, but on the way up, she ran into Josephe who was exiting the bathroom looking tired and annoyed.

When Josephe saw Chevelle, he smiled wide and ran to give her a hug. Chevelle scrunched her nose when he came near. He smelled like crawfish that had been badly masked with cologne.

"Chevelle, bonswa! Welcome back, we missed you."

Chevelle forced a smile. "Yeah, I missed you too, Josephe." She paused, taking in his current demeanor before asking, "How is Seline?"

Seline, Josephe's fiancée of eight months, wasn't spending Christmas at the Etienne's this year. Josephe was sticking to the story of Seline being in a month-long counseling training program over the Christmastime period that required she be there every single day, but Chevelle had met Seline. She knew that the real reason Seline wasn't around was because she's Muslim and Josephe was too much of a coward to tell their parents. Chevelle had met Seline by accident; she'd travelled down to Josephe's house when he was sick and she had been chased away for not calling beforehand. She wasn't exactly itching to help him through this sticky situation now. In fact, there was a part of her—a small part, but still—a part of her that hoped Seline would leave him one day. That she would get sick of her fiancé hiding her away like some shameful secret and just pack her bags.

Josephe's smile hardened when Chevelle asked about Seline, and she pretended not to notice. "Seline's good," he said with a nod. "Tired, but good. I'll tell her you asked."

"Yeah? Thanks," Chevelle said. "I'll see you in the morning. I'm also very tired."

"Of course," Josephe replied, purposefully ignoring the light mocking Chevelle had made sure to lace her voice with. If they got into it here and now, everyone would find out about Seline. "Goodnight, Chevelle."

Josephe leaned in once more to give Chevelle a goodnight hug, and when he was gone, Chevelle entered her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She let out a deep breath and slid her back down the door until she was flat on the ground. She exhaled again, and then smiled as she looked around her room. She hadn't been back here in months, and although she had a room in her apartment a couple cities over, the one in her parents' house would always be her favorite. It was cluttered in a way that made complete sense to Chevelle. Everything in her other life (the one her family wasn't involved in) was organized and reasonable and sensible, and it was only in this one room, in this one city, thousands of miles away from home, that Chevelle could allow the chaos to settle.

Part of the reason she loved this room so much was because of its refusal to be understood. From the pristine purple Barbie house her father had made for her when she was still a young girl back in Haiti that now sat covered in dust by the window, to the gaping hole in her closet door that she had made from many smaller holes that had triggered her trypophobia, to even the incense and crystals that sat atop her bedside table next to the ash she had never cleaned. This room had travelled through many points of Chevelle's life, but never quite moved on from any of them. And as Chevelle's eyes fell to the wine stain on the carpet that was half-covered by the ends of her bedsheets, she couldn't help but think about Abel. Tonight had been weird, but in such a refreshing way. Spending time with Abel had been like finally, finally coming up for air and Chevelle didn't like that she couldn't quite explain how it was making her feel.

And she couldn't even try to lie about the sexual tension. It was so raw, so subtle...it was everything she had been needing for a long time. Ugh, she wanted to throw herself out the window for not getting his number. That was literally the worst possible fuckup she could have made, because if tonight had told her anything, it was that this was going to be a long few days. Not only did she have to deal with her entire family, but fucking Jared was here as well. It would have been so nice to be able to go over to Abel's place for some fresh air (among other things) at least once during this time.

Chevelle wasn't sure why she'd brushed Abel off when he asked her to hang out again. At this point, her defense mechanisms were so strong that she didn't really have control over them; she just pushed people away before they could hurt her—regardless of whether or not she actually thought they would. That's what she had done with Abel; she had pushed him away and convinced herself she was doing it because there wasn't enough time to get to know him even though most of her closest friendships had birthed themselves in the course of only a few hours.

The truth was that she was afraid, no matter how much she wanted to deny it. She had been scarred, and the wounds were still too fresh to begin healing. And there was nothing she could do about it now, because Abel was gone, and with him, went any chance of her enjoying this Christmas holiday.

↠ • ↞

Chevelle could smell the eggs and plantain wafting through the air before she woke up. They entered her dream and coaxed her out.

She smiled lazily, her eyes still closed as she rolled over on the bed to pick up her phone. She cracked one eye open—it was 10:35AM, which, in this household, was way too late to be waking up. Even if it was Christmas Eve.

Looking over at her window, she saw that the curtains were already open. Her mother must've come in and done it while she was sleeping. The thought made Chevelle's chest warm with love. She got up and headed to the bathroom to take a shower and wake the rest of the way up, and on her way in, Chevelle heard a door opening down the hall and looked over to see Jared exiting Farah's room. His blonde hair was dripping water down onto his shirt, and Chevelle watched as he ran a quick hand through it, splashing the walls around him. It felt so comfortable—seeing him like this, in her home. Chevelle had gotten so used to the sight of him here that it was easy to forget how different things were now.

Jared had in earphones and his attention was focused on the phone in his hands, so Chevelle didn't realize that she was watching a bit too intently until the door closed behind him and snapped her out of it. She hastily entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her. The only thing worse than Chevelle knowing that Jared and Farah would be sleeping together under the same roof as her for the next four days, would be either of them finding out that despite all of Chevelle's best efforts, she still cared.

Her shower that morning was quick. Chevelle didn't want to have to explain to her mother that the reason she wasted water was because she needed to 'unwind'. Was that even a part of her mother's vocabulary?

Chevelle got dressed and looked at herself in the mirror before heading down to the kitchen. She was beginning to look so much like her mother that it was scary. She had stumbled across an old picture of her mother a few weeks ago and stared at it for hours. It was her in that picture. Chevelle couldn't explain how or why she felt that way, but the longer she stared at the photo, the more the memory of the hot red sand beneath her feet became real. And as she looked in the mirror now, she saw her mother's eyes staring back.

Chevelle left the bathroom and descended the stairs, knowing she'd dread whatever sight met her in the kitchen, but going anyway, for the food.

The kitchen came into view, and Chevelle took in as much as she could while her family was still oblivious to her presence. Her mother was standing by the stove, scooping more food from the pot into Farah's plate, and sitting beside them at the kitchen table was Josephe, who was inhaling his breakfast as per usual. Next to Josephe sat Jared, who wasn't really eating his food, and instead, was telling Josephe a story (something Chevelle had noticed he tended to do whenever the food was even slightly spicy), and when Farah's plate was full, she sauntered back over to Jared and sat on his lap. That was when she looked up.

Farah's face lit up when she saw Chevelle, and the big, messy afro surrounding her head bounced with her movements. "Chevelle!" she cried excitedly, standing up from her chair and raising both of her arms in the air as she ran over to the stairs.

"Oh God, Farah. Hi," Chevelle said, bracing herself for the oncoming impact of her sister's hug.

Farah collided with Chevelle once she was down the last stair and, instinctively, they wrapped each other in a tight hug, leaning in close and nestling. Chevelle let out a deep breath as Farah's familiar smell of lavender and rosemary tea enveloped her in a hug of its own.

"I missed you, Chevelle," she said. "And this hair! Ou bél."

Chevelle smiled. "I missed you too," she replied honestly, upset with herself for having truly missed Farah these past few months despite everything. And then Chevelle looked up and saw Jared watching them with an unreadable expression—as though he was happy to see her, but not happy to see her hugging Farah. And then Chevelle remembered why she hadn't wanted to miss Farah in the first place. Chevelle's arms tightened up and upon sensing the hug was over, Farah pulled away. She looked up at Chevelle with a glad, but wary expression, the same expression she always had when she watched Chevelle from afar, like she was waiting for something bad to happen. Farah looked behind her and saw that everyone else (but mostly Jared) was also looking at Chevelle, and with another grin that Chevelle couldn't gauge the sincerity of, Farah led her to the kitchen.

"She's finally awake!" Farah sang, dancing to the music coming from the tv as she walked beside Chevelle. As they passed the living room, Chevelle saw their father sitting in his armchair, drinking tea and reading the paper, paying no mind to the tv that played along in the background.

"Morning, Papa."

Without looking up from his paper, Chevelle's father gave her a nod and she continued on her way to the kitchen. "Manman," she greeted her mother, going in for a hug and ignoring the incredulous expression on her mother's face—definitely because of the hair. "It's good to see you."

Chevelle's mother hugged her briefly and then pulled back and pinched as much of Chevelle's hair as she could between her thumb and the side of her index finger. Her eyebrows were pulled together in a bumpy frown. "Sa sa'a ye?" she demanded. What is this?

Chevelle rolled her eyes, yanking her head from her mother's grip. She had thought they could be civil and normal for just one day, but of course, she'd been wrong. Chevelle scoffed, "Is it your head?"

Folding her arms across her chest, her mother replied, "As long as it is under my roof, yes."

Chevelle laughed, and her mother raised an eyebrow, daring her to say something else. Instead of taking the hint and shutting up, Chevelle just shrugged. "Manman, the hair's already been cut, so let it go."

"Me zanmi!" Chevelle's mother now raised her hands to her own head, looking at her daughter with eyes wide in such disbelief you'd think Chevelle had just told her that she was no longer a virgin. "Chevelle! Are you trying to kill me? In my own house!"

"Manman, just leave it alone," Josephe muttered from over at the table, surprising everyone in the room. He didn't usually get involved when their mother terrorized Chevelle or Farah about one thing or another, but whenever he did, she always listened to him. Farah and Chevelle could say something a thousand times, but their mother wouldn't listen until it came from Josephe's lips. Partly because he was a man, but mostly because he was her favorite child.

Chevelle didn't really care; she'd always been more of a daddy's girl anyway. What had really hurt was the way she and her father had grown apart due to the whole Jared ordeal. And Farah had swooped in to take Chevelle's spot in that relationship too.

Their mother looked over at Josephe and then sighed, grumbling something about children not respecting their parents anymore as she turned back to the pot on the stove. "Bring a bowl," she told Chevelle.

Chevelle turned around and made her way to the cupboard.

"Morning, Josephe," she murmured, giving him a curt nod that he didn't return. And then, in a very intentional gesture that everyone made sure to notice, Chevelle passed Jared, saying nothing. He was sitting right beside Josephe, but she didn't so much as look at him. Farah scoffed from behind her, but also said nothing—which was a good choice considering Chevelle was ready to fight should Farah have given her even the littlest reason to.

The kitchen was uncomfortably silent as Chevelle approached her mother again, bowl out and mouth hard. Her mother scooped food into Chevelle's bowl with a loud and exaggerated sigh. "Go and join your father in the living room," she said.

Chevelle was thankful for the out. The tension in the air was thick, and her mother was trying to diffuse the situation before it had a chance to blow up. In the few months that Farah and Jared had been dating, they hadn't once, as a family, actually addressed the topic. They just skirted around each other on their tiptoes, waiting for Chevelle to finally snap. And she hated it. Chevelle would rather they all just said with their chests that they didn't care about her or her wellbeing so that at least she would feel justified whenever she declined a call from her mother or ignored a text from her sister. Anything would be better than all the uncomfortable interactions and silent conversations they had now.

"Papa, how are you?" Chevelle asked, sitting on the couch next to her father's chair.

He lowered his newspaper. "M'bien," he replied. I'm good. "Et ou?"

"I'm okay," Chevelle said with a weak smile. "Just very tired. And very hungry." She paused to take a bite of her food. "So...when do you want us to go get my car?"

"I already went," her father said, pointing vaguely towards the front of the house. "Your car is in the driveway."

Chevelle's jaw dropped. "You went this morning?" she asked in disbelief. "Oh my gosh, Papa, how early did you wake up?"

Her father shrugged lightly, saying nothing.

"You could've woken me up..."

Chevelle added this as a last effort. She was saying it to make herself feel less guilty, but they both knew damn well that she wouldn't have woken up any time before 8AM.

With a laugh, her father lifted back up his newspaper and began to read it again. "Would you like to come with me to the supermarket?" he asked through the paper.

Chevelle nodded eagerly. "Oooh, yes please," she said, excited at the prospect of getting to leave the house—no matter what the reason was. And in that moment, Chevelle could feel the two of them slowly easing back into their regular groove. It happened every now and then—when they were away from the rest of the family and her father didn't have an immediate reason to be cross with her—everything would just click back into place. They could actually laugh with each other and mean it, the way they used to. But those moments didn't last very long, and as Josephe entered the living room and sat down on the couch opposite Chevelle, as quickly as it had begun, the moment ended.

A quick pronunciation guide:

Chevelle (sheh-VEHL)

Etienne (eh-tee-EHN)

Abel (ah-BELL)

Seifu (SAY-foo)

Farah (FAH-rah)

Josephe (zhoh-SEHF)

Nadegine (nah-duh-ZHEEN) (Chevelle's mama)

happy new year my loves<33