CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | GRACE LE DOMAS

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          Every time something bad happens—even minor inconveniences—I'm constantly amazed by how weak my mind truly is. While Betty and Callum continue bickering with each other, all I can do is sit there, staring at my phone like there's anything I can tell Xavier.

          I don't think he was the one to invite anyone to come to Alaska for the holidays, and I won't put it past my mom to invite herself. After finding out where he lives and being so adamant on sending me to him, I can't say I'm surprised to find out she wants to see Juneau for herself. If anything, he might have invited Dad, just so he won't be by himself in a big house or drowning in work now that he no longer has to worry about me, but didn't put two and two together and forgot about Mom's fiancé.

          It will be awkward, no doubt about it, and I think we've both had our fair share of family drama to last us for a lifetime. With things between us still being somewhat shaky—though now I'll definitely have to talk to him since Betty and Callum have called it a truce—I don't want to risk making it even worse and ruining the holidays for everyone.

          Thanksgiving was awful enough, with neither of us caring about it enough to pretend everything is fine, and I had to excuse myself out of the living room as soon as the football game started, with the Zach-sized hole in my heart aching way too much. Xavier didn't question it and didn't follow me upstairs to check on me, but gave me a generous slice of pumpkin pie in silence so I'd have something to drown my sorrows in.

          It's sad that this is what our relationship has come down to, communicating through food and avoiding actual conversations.

          I know food is the love language for so many people out there, but it has never been that way for me; I like words and affection, I like being close to people. People would often comment on how joined by the hip Emma and I used to be, never one without the other, and they even thought we seemed to be obsessed with each other. I don't think we ever were, but she was my soulmate, completing me in ways I didn't consider possible.

          Zach was my twin flame, everything I'd ever wanted, and losing him was like losing a part of me, like I'll never be whole again. Losing Emma also symbolized losing my potential, the person I could turn out to be if I had enough nerve, but I've always been a dirty coward who peaked in high school and will never amount to anything. It's unfair to dump it all on her, when what happened has never been her fault, but I can't stop myself from projecting the what-could've-beens on her.

          "You okay there?" Betty asks. I know she means well, being almost as alert as Sidney, but I can't blame her for being grateful to have an excuse to stop talking to Callum, even temporarily. "Bad news?"

          "Not technically," I reply, stuffing my phone back inside my bag so I'll resist the temptation to be mean to Xavier. It's amazing how brave people get when they can hide behind a screen and a keyboard, but I refuse to give in to my negative emotions and take it out on him. Dad I can handle, but Dad, Mom, and her fiancé under one roof is way beyond what I can bear. "It's just Xavier."

          "Mr. Boring lives."

          Odette scowls. "Don't be mean to Xavier just because you can't be mean to Callum."

          "Except I can be mean to Callum. It's called friendly banter."

          "I'd rather if you didn't," Callum retorts.

          "So, my parents are coming over for Christmas," I continue. Betty's eyes widen, while Odette and Callum, who haven't been nearly as involved with my family issues as Betty has—she did have to put up with Xavier's cranky mood while I wasn't here—don't seem to be as affected. "That includes Dad, Mom, and Mom's fiancé. Xavier hasn't seen any of them in years, so I feel like this is a recipe for disaster. Thoughts?"

          We all sit there and stare at each other like we don't have lectures to get to in a matter of mere minutes, which seem so fleeting in a day and age where everyone is always in a rush, and we wait for someone to be the first to say something.

          I momentarily consider asking Callum for advice, as he's the least involved out of the three, so he won't offer biased advice like Betty or attempt to be a people-pleaser like Odette—not that there's anything intrinsically wrong with either of those things, but I feel like a fresh perspective will help me see things clearer.

          I realize, one moment too late, that he has no reason to care about this. He's here because of Odette, not thanks to genuine concern for and involvement in my personal life, so I'm not trying to make either of us feel bummed out for not getting what they're looking for out of this conversation. I don't even know what I want—if I want genuine advice or if I just want someone to validate whatever hidden feelings I have—so we've found ourselves in a bit of a predicament here.

          Grossly overestimating just how much other people care about my problems and my drama will once more be my downfall.

          "There's no way of changing your parents' mind, I'm assuming," Betty tentatively begins.

          "Doubt it," I reply, sliding down my chair and brushing my hair away from my face. Though it's early December and the temperatures drop by the week, there's sweat running down the nape of my neck and I feel disgusting. "I think my mom might have invited herself, and wherever she goes, her fiancé goes, especially after they postponed the wedding." Like I wasn't feeling low enough already, guilt joins our table without even bothering to ask for permission. "Xavier must have invited Dad so he wouldn't be by himself on Christmas, but failed to consider just how awkward it's going to be."

          "Maybe it won't be as terrible as you think it will be," Odette suggests, ever the peace seeker. "It's been a long time since all of you were together in the same room, so things have changed. People have grown. How amicable was the divorce?"

          I shrug. How amicable was it, really, regardless of my subjective thoughts on it? 

          "It was fine. It was one of those things where people just grow apart, you know? They get along well at the end of the day, but I think that's mostly because they don't have to live together and see each other so often anymore. They tolerate each other's presence in small doses."

          Betty playfully punches Callum across the table. "Like you and me, dude."

          Callum scowls. "We're not divorced, Elizabeth."

          Odette continues to ignore them, though I think Betty kind of has a point there. They act almost like my parents did immediately after the divorce, one snide comment here and there, but it's different. "That doesn't sound too bad. At least they're not the type of divorced couple that absolutely cannot stand each other. Besides, it'll be Christmas, and no one wants to ruin Christmas. I think you'll be fine."

          "Yeah, they could be like my parents," Betty dryly adds. I realize a tad bit too late that this is the first time I've ever heard her so much as mention her mysteriously absent parents, and I've never wanted to directly ask her about it in case it would bring up painful memories and feelings. "They're only happy when they're on the road touring. I think that's why they're never home. This one time, I heard Mom tell Clara she didn't want to spend the rest of her life feeling miserable in this city, all holed up in a place that doesn't care about superstars. She's not that talented."

          They don't make any more comments about that, like they already know the full story. I don't, but I also don't feel like I should ask; if Betty wanted me to know more about her parents, she would've said something ages ago. After all, I've been the one so willing to dump my personal problems on her without prior warning as soon as it was established I could trust her, not the other way around. For what it's worth, she's been relatively reserved.

          "The point is, Betty's famous parents aside, you're worrying too much in anticipation over something that might end up not being nearly as terrible as your brain is making you think," Odette continues. "It's Christmas, Wendy. No one wants to be the person who ruins it for everyone. I'm so serious. Betty, tell her about that one time your dad broke the dining table during Christmas karaoke with my folks."

          Betty chokes on the cookie she's eating as she snorts out a laugh. "Oh, God. Of course you had to go and remind me of that."

          Betty does share the story with all of us. Odette laughs at it like it's the first time she's hearing about it, like she wasn't present for all of it, and even Callum smiles a little, his arm wrapped around the back of Odette's chair. His thumb absentmindedly caresses her shoulder. I force myself to look away, focus on what Betty is complaining about her parents embarrassing her in front of the Chen-Chatraines, and try to ignore the nagging voice in my head.

          That's the same thing Zach used to do to me whenever we were sitting side by side. I felt comforted, safe with his arm around me, but now I'm fully exposed to a world that nearly killed me—the same world that killed him.

          I don't know how to ignore those feelings. I'm not entirely sure it's even possible—how am I supposed to not think about Zach, really, when he was torn away from me in such a violent manner—regardless of how often I tell myself it doesn't matter. Obsessing over the past and what I've lost will never matter; no amount of time I spend longing will ever fix anything.

          It doesn't matter, I tell myself once more, fingers clenched into fists. It doesn't matter.

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          By the time finals season hits me like a truck, I've almost managed to forget all about the holidays.

          It hasn't been easy, not even close, especially with all the lights hanging around the city and the remainder of the Christmas decorations following me everywhere I go—though I don't go barely anywhere these days with how busy everyone has been—but there are times I find something else to occupy my mind with. In those moments, how rare they may be, I'm at peace.

          This is the most effort I've put into my education ever since I've been going to school, even beating the harsh studying sessions before the SATs, and I feel close to crumbling under pressure. It's humiliating to admit to feeling that way, especially when I've spent the last six months trying so hard not to give into those negative feelings or fool myself into thinking I'm the same person I used to be then.

          During my junior and senior years of high school, I had Emma. I had Zach. I had all my friends, friends who organized study sessions at their homes, in local libraries, who would make lists on who should bring what to make those sessions extra productive. The competition between us was fierce, yet respectful at the same time, and we always found our way back together in the end, even after people started going their separate ways after graduation. We survived freshman year of college, too, reuniting for a mere month during the summer, and then I lost all of them.

          What was the point, then? Was all of that for nothing? What use should I give all these memories when they cause me nothing but anguish?

          Mom and her fiancé, Roberto, fly in during the harsher studying period, so I don't get to see them much. Though it pains me to have her so close yet so far, with me hiding away in my room or Odette or Betty's and libraries, it also gives me time to mentally prepare myself for the actual Christmas dinner while they're busy sightseeing.

          She complains there's not much to see, being so used to big cities all around the world—she is a New York City native after all, and has seen so much of the world I can't help but feel slightly jealous over her bravery—but it keeps them occupied. Roberto is Italian, so Juneau is the most different thing from home he could have found when compared to the warmth and dryness of Tuscany. To give him some credit where it's due, he at least shows the slightest bit of enthusiasm about Juneau, being genuinely interested in the small businesses downtown and the docks, though the weather hasn't been too favorable for trips to the shoreline.

          "I hope you know neither of us blames you for what happened." Her fingers gently brush against the back of my hand, resting next to my laptop. Trying to study with it while sitting at the dining table hasn't been entirely productive, as there are far too many distractions around me. "Your father's decision to use the precinct's resources to help you was his own, and he doesn't regret a single thing. It has kept you alive, and that's good enough. Don't ever feel like you're not deserving of that."

          I don't. On good days, at least.

          On my good days, I'm able to look back on all the sacrifices my parents have made for my sake since June and not let the guilt overwhelm me, being grateful they have been looking out for me all this time.

          I can't even begin to imagine the suffering they went through when the 911 call was first transferred that night, when Dad put two and two together and realized I was either in mortal danger or was already dead, when he had to call Mom to tell her before she found out through the news. I can't fathom the spiral of emotions they were feeling before I got pulled out, shaken up and injured but still alive, Dad's frustration over not being allowed inside the front gate, Mom's panic while getting delayed news, and Xavier's ignorance of it all. Knowing he thought I was dead is the final drop of salt in my still open wounds.

          In reality, it's not as dramatic as it sounds—at least now that we've all had more than enough time to process it. Coming to terms with me surviving the worst night of my life involves trusting me with this healing process and not hovering as often as they did months ago, but that's only beneficial when it comes from my parents. With Xavier being as distant and aloof as ever, it's no wonder I feel so guilty all the time, like I've done something wrong.

          It's not fair to feel that way. I know that. However, feelings are subjective and don't have to be rational, according to Doctor Albott; what matters is knowing how to identify them and cope with them in a healthy manner, which I only do on occasion. The pressure to do even that perfectly, to never do anything that defies the norm that she has defined for me is draining, and I don't know how to handle it.

          "I know, Mom." My voice comes out shaky and weak, exactly what I didn't want to happen, and she awkwardly pats my hand again. "I wasn't trying to complain. I'm glad his life is finally getting back on track."

          "I wasn't trying to complain about him, either. I'm sorry it came off that way." She shifts in her chair, glances at the archway leading to the kitchen, where Roberto has been trying his hardest to keep up with whatever Xavier has been teaching him for the past hour. "How have things been between you two? Neither of you ever elaborate too much whenever we ask."

          I instantly regret having followed her stare, as I know it's more than enough evidence for her to know things aren't quite okay. Even with her being absent for a considerable portion of my life, she still knows me better than anyone else in my life—who's currently still alive, that is—and she's great at picking up on nonverbal cues.

          She has talked about this, the importance of body language and nonverbal communication, effectively reminding everyone who listens of how smart she actually is, how trained she is to read between the lines. Smiling can take you a long way, she always tells me, as long as you know exactly what you're trying to say.

          She senses my ambivalence and discomfort coming from a mile away, maybe further. She even inches closer to me, as close as the dining table allows, and lowers her voice to ensure the men can't hear us.

          "What happened?"

          "Nothing in particular. We get along fine, but there's always this . . . feeling looming around, like we'll never stop resenting one another." She knits her brows together, setting her elbow on the table to support her chin on her hand like we're two conspiring best friends instead of mother and daughter. "I know he's trying his best to accommodate me, and I really am grateful that he dropped everything to let me stay here with him, but what if I can never move on from these negative feelings? What if I can never let go of the fact that he never went back home for the funerals or bothered to check in on me if he was so worried? I keep going in circles and I hate that I'm so repetitive, but it's eating me alive."

          All the color washes away from my mom's face and I'm once again greeted by the freezing feeling in my stomach that always comes whenever I've made a mistake. I can't immediately tell what it is, considering she asked me directly what had happened between me and Xavier and I know she appreciates my honesty, but I spot the distinct look of fear plastered on her face.

          I don't understand. I'm trying to, but I'm not able to properly dissect her brain so I can get the information out of her.

         "I expected him to tell you at some point," she timidly begins, "but I also feared it would be wishful thinking coming from me. The entire planet would have to be up in flames for Xavier to be willing to talk about his feelings."

          "What?"

          She takes a deep breath, but never looks me in the eye. "I asked him not to come home."

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