The sound of her voice made me jump.

“What are you doing up so late?” Sophie asked, rubbing the bleariness from her eyes as she padded into the kitchen.

She sniffled as she walked, studying me until she stopped next to where I sat at the long table in the center of the room. Even in the dim light I could see that she was wearing the sweater that I’d given her, thin arms swimming in the extra fabric as she hugged herself.

"Geez, Sophie,” I said, my heart pounding as wildly as if I’d been caught in the middle of a bank heist. I lowered the lid of my laptop as she bent to peer at my screen. “Nothing, just reading some sports stuff.”

“Really?” she asked, her voice skeptical.

“Yeah, the internet in my room sucks. What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep,” she mumbled and pointed to her nose. She sniffed again. “I can’t breathe.”

Sympathy rushed over me as I remembered what my mom had said earlier in the day about Sophie being sick.

"Sorry,” I said, gesturing to one of the chairs opposite of me and she shrugged as she slid into it, drawing her long legs up to her chest.

Neither of us spoke for a moment as I avoided her gaze, picking at the skin around my nails while I tried to shake off the sheet of awkwardness that was blanketing the room.

“So how long do you plan on being weird around me?” she finally asked, leaning forward in her chair to study my reaction.

“I’m not,” I said and from the corner of my eye I could see her frown.

"You looked like you were about to cry when I sat next to you at dinner.”

“Yeah, tears of joy that you’d finally shown up so Mom would let me start eating.”  

“Whatever, Parker,” she said, resting her chin on top of her bare knee. Silence settled over us again and after awhile, I glanced at her, unnerved to find that she was smiling gently at me, the tiny dimple in her cheek more pronounced than usual. Without moving from her position, she asked, “You aren’t mad at your mom, are you?”

“No,” I replied with a sigh. “She love showing off those stupid scrapbooks.”

“I noticed.” Sophie giggled, her smile widening. “She’d already shown me three by the time you got home.”

“I’m impressed, most people gouge their eyes out after two.”

“Yeah, well, I must admit that the last one was by far the most interesting,” she teased and I grimaced.

“I’m sure it was.”

Sophie licked her bottom lip leaving behind a trail of saliva that glistened on the chapped surface. “You’re lucky, though.”

“Why?”

“Because she loves you so much—both of your parents do.”

“I know.”

The humming of my laptop’s fans filled the air as I scratched the back of my neck, trying to think of what to say next. Once again, Sophie beat me to it.

“So what were you really doing?” she asked, tracing the logo on my laptop’s lid with her finger.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I could hear you typing away like a maniac from my room. What’s up? Internet girlfriend?” Sophie looked at me, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.”

"It’s private.”

Sophie made a face. “Ew,” she said, raising a hand. “Never mind.”

“You’re sick,” I said, flustered and shaking my head. “I’m working on something for school, okay?”

“I thought you weren’t taking classes this year.”

I hesitated. There wasn’t really any harm in telling her, was there? “I’m writing a screenplay to get into LAU’s film school.”

“Oh, cool. Why are you so embarrassed about that? You don’t think you’re going to get in?”

“Honestly, probably not,” I lamented, the memory of my first application’s rejection still raw. “They only take two upperclassmen a year.”

“Cutthroat,” Sophie said, tilting her head to the side. “You know, I can read it if you want—give you feedback or something.”

“No,” I said automatically and Sophie’s face fell, clearly offended by my refusal. “Sorry,” I mumbled and she shrugged, getting to her feet.

“Whatever,” she said, crossing over to the nearest cabinet and pulling a glass from the shelf. I watched as she filled it with water from our refrigerator’s filter and then drained the liquid in four long gulps. “I mean, I get it--it’s not like I know anything about scripts, right? What help could I possibly be?”

“It’s nothing personal, Soph,” I said, grabbing my own cup from the cupboard. She didn’t move as I sidled past, opening the fridge’s door and pulling out a carafe of apple juice. “I just don’t like people reading my stuff, that’s all.”

“So, what, are the actors that you’re casting just going to read your mind to get their lines?” Sophie demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“I meant that I don’t like people reading my work before it’s done,” I said, carefully topping off my glass.

Rolling her eyes, Sophie turned and started for the doorway, wordlessly setting her glass down on the table as she walked by. Meanwhile, I stood dumbfounded, trying to understand what I’d done to piss her off this time.  

"Wait,” I blurted and she paused, glancing over her shoulder. I filled my cheeks with juice as I tried to come up with a reason for stopping her. “You can stay if you want,” I said lamely after a long beat, motioning towards the chair that she’d been sitting in. “I don’t mind talking while I work.”

"No thanks,” Sophie said flatly.

"Oh.”

“Do you want me to stay?” She gave me a curious look and I raised a shoulder noncommittally.

“I guess, yeah. But I mean, it’s whatever you want to do.”

“Alright.”

For a moment I thought that meant I’d convinced her to stick around and hang out—that she wasn’t as annoyed as she seemed—but she continued through the doorframe, fading into the shadows of the hallway without another word. I sighed as I sat down again, opening my laptop’s lid and blinking as I let my eyes adjust to the brightness.

I’d been staring at the same sentence for what felt like hours when Sophie walked back in, a heavy wool blanket draped around her head and shoulders like a nun’s habit. “It’s cold,” she said simply when I looked up at her.

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched Sophie reclaim her seat and pull the blanket more tightly around the lower half of her face. With only her eyes visible from within the folds of her blanket, she reminded me of a bug waiting to burst out of its cocoon.

“What?” she asked, her voice muffled by fabric.

“Nothing.”

Sophie let the blanket fall partially away from her mouth and she asked, “Why are you the weirdest human?”

I laughed and to my relief, the silence that followed between us felt as natural as it always did. I said nothing while I worked, though I occasionally looked away from the walls of text to glance at Sophie. Each time that I did, I found her either tapping away on her cell phone or staring at me intently, her brows furrowed. When I finally paused to stretch my hands over my head, she coughed, choking as she wheezed.

"Are you okay?”

“I feel awful,” she admitted and instinctively I got up to refill her water glass.

“Here,” I said, handing the brimming cup back to her. She drank from it gratefully, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Do you need something? I think we have cough syrup lying around somewhere.”

 “No, it’s not… I don’t just feel bad because of this cold, you know?” She looked up at me with a pained expression in her eyes.

“What’s up, then?” I asked. Sophie shook her head at first but then took a deep breath.

“I called my dad earlier,” she said in a rush, staring down at her lap as if afraid to admit it aloud. “Just to wish him a merry Christmas.”

“And?”

“Nothing, it was nice. We talk every now and then when I miss him.” Sophie smiled at the memory before drawing her lips into a thin line. “But then I called my mom and that was… I don’t know, I’m just so over it.”

“What happened?”

"Brian answered,” she spat his name as if it burned her tongue, an angry scowl marring her features.  

“Your old agent?” I asked, startled by her admission and she nodded. “Why?”

“Probably because he’s my stepdad and they share a landline,” she replied, studying the maroon polish on her nails while my jaw dropped.

“When did that happen?”

“About five weeks after my parents got divorced,” Sophie answered with a bitter scoff. “Worst day of my life, it was such a joke. You didn’t hear about it?”

“No,” I said. “But I thought you fired him?”

“Obviously I hate him so that wasn’t hard to do,” Sophie said matter-of-factly. “We had a really bad fight about a week after I met you so I was like, you know what? I’m out.” She twisted side to side in her seat, presumably stretching her back before taking a shuddering breath and wringing her hands together. “Honestly, the worst part of it all is that the reason my dad and I barely talk is because he thinks I chose Brian over him.”

"So why didn’t you fire him sooner?”

"Because when I was growing up my jobs came first and, for a really long time, Brian was great at making sure that I was working. Of course, now that I have no career and no family, it’s obvious I probably made the wrong choice.”

I shook my head and Sophie continued, “Whatever, the whole thing is dumb. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

“Maybe because we’re friends,” I offered earnestly and Sophie responded with a single staccato laugh.

“I guess, even though that’s awkward for me to hear you say.”

“Why?”

“Because I used to hate you.”

"Nice, Sophie,” I said sarcastically, slightly miffed by how easily she said it. “Good to know.”

"I mean, I like you now—and I’m sorry, but everyone in our industry is such a sleaze. You can’t really blame me for assuming that you were as fake and shady as the rest of the people that I’ve met.”

"I didn’t even do anything to you,” I protested and Sophie shrugged.

“You’re nice. It still kind of freaks me out—like you have some hidden angle I haven’t figured out.”

I stared at her, first wondering if she realized just how crazy she sounded and then growing disheartened by what she’d said. How could she hate someone just because he hadn’t been mean to her? The thought alone was almost too twisted for me to wrap my head around and it made me wonder just how messed up Sophie really was.

“Well, anyway, long story short,” Sophie said, cutting into my thoughts, “my parents suck so feel free to tell yours that I’m up for adoption.”

“Uh,” I began and Sophie gave me an embarrassed smile.

“Just kidding.”

I laughed nervously and then yawned, a wave of fatigue washing over me. “What time is it?” I asked, glancing at the clock on my computer’s screen. Seeing that it was almost four made my sudden exhaustion unbearable. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I think I’m going to call it a night. We can talk more in the morning, if you want.”

“I should probably go back to bed for real this time, too.” Getting to her feet, she gathered her blanket in her arms and waited for me as I grabbed my laptop and followed her upstairs. We treaded carefully so as to not wake my parents, although Sophie somehow managed to step on every squeaky stair along the way.

“Good night, hope you feel better,” I said as we stopped on the landing in front of her bedroom, staring at each other in the darkness.

“Thanks,” Sophie replied softly and I nodded, continuing to the door beside hers. “Parker?”

“Yeah?” I turned the knob, letting the door swing open though I didn’t step through. “What’s up?”

I could see the outline of Sophie’s hand as it flitted to her hair. “What do you think would’ve happened if you’d won that contest?”

“You mean the one my mom told you about?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted. “Sorry, I’m just talking. Good night, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I replied. I watched her figure disappear inside the room and waited to hear the faint click of her door closing before entering my own.

After living in the same house for nineteen years, I no longer needed to turn on the light in my room to find my bed, though I navigated slowly in case I’d left a pair of shoes--or something worse--on the floor. When I collapsed amidst several layers of heavy blankets without injury, my minor triumph was celebrated with another cavernous yawn and I set my laptop down on the ground as I slipped under the covers, resting my hands behind my head to stare up at the blackened ceiling. I heard Sophie sneeze twice through the walls and then everything grew still. Not a creature was stirring, but although my body desperately wanted to succumb to sleep, my mind continued to churn even after my eyelids had flickered shut.

  ---------------------------------

After staying up past three talking to Sophie, it wasn’t a surprise that I slept through the rest of Christmas morning. A hazy film of sunlight filtered in through my blinds and roused me just before ten, but I buried my face in my pillows again, unable to fight the fog that dulled my thoughts. I must have slept longer than what was socially acceptable, however, as I eventually woke up to my mom’s hand on my forehead, a concerned frown on her face as she checked for a fever.

“Mom, stop,” I said, rolling away from her as she proceeded to smooth back my hair. Although I wanted to close my eyes and let her continue to stroke my temples, I was too old not to occasionally protest her constant displays of affection.

“It’s almost one,” Mom said as she pulled back her hand, much to my disappointment. “Are you going to come down for brunch, or do you think you’ve caught whatever Sophie has?”

I groaned, rubbing my eyes and shrugging. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just tired.”

“You and Sophie both, it seems,” Mom said and I pulled my down comforter higher up around my ears.

“She’s not up yet?” I asked, only mildly surprised. If yesterday was any indication of her sleeping habits, I doubted she’d be up for at least a few more hours.

“No,” Mom said, drumming her fingers against my back. “I don’t want to wake her either. I could her coughing half the night, poor thing.”

“How do you think I felt?” I mumbled, remembering the crackling coughs that had kept me tossing and turning for at least two hours after I’d finally fallen asleep. “Her room is right next to mine.”

“Should I tell Dad it’s just the two of us for brunch, then?” Mom asked and I shook my head.

“I’m up now.”

“Alright,” Mom replied, walking to my bedroom door and then hesitating. “You did get her something when you went out, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said, absentmindedly rubbing my cheeks as I felt the growth of stubble that had sprouted over the past two days. I hadn’t bothered packing a razor and wondered if I’d be able to sneak a spare one from my dad. Judging by the length of the beard he’d grown, I doubted that he’d notice if one went missing.  

“In that case, I guess we’ll open presents whenever Sophie gets up.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and staggering to my feet. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.”

Once my mom had left, I made my way to the ensuite bathroom and immediately understood why she’d assumed I was fighting off a cold. Even without my contacts in, I could see that deep circles rimmed my bloodshot, runny eyes and I leaned towards my glass reflection, squinting at the tiny veins that filled the white expanse around my iris.

Lame, I thought, wishing I could crawl back into bed until I looked and felt halfway normal.

Still, I knew that Mom would be hurt if I skipped out on any of her cooking, so I forced myself to shower quickly before pulling on a pair of black slacks. Though I rarely bothered with button downs and sweaters while I was at home, I knew that the old-fashioned side of my mom would appreciate seeing me at the table in something with a collar. I just hoped that it would make up for the fact that I’d spent most of Christmas Day passed out instead of spending time with her and Dad.

“There he is,” Dad said with a toothy grin and a slap on my back as I stepped into the dining room. “Merry Christmas, kiddo.”

I returned the greeting and slid into the seat beside him, across from where my mom sat waiting with a patient smile on her face. “No sign of Sophie, huh?” I asked, eyeing the spread of dishes before me.

"No,” Dad replied, looking towards the ceiling and lowering his voice, as if afraid that Sophie would hear him talking about her. “Your mom thinks she might have the flu.”

"I hope not,” I said, leaning across the table to cut off a piece of monkey bread. Mom frowned and I shot her an apologetic look before setting the slice onto the plate in front of me, licking the melted cinnamon butter off my knife. “Michael would kill me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mom said, gingerly sipping at her mimosa. “It’s germ season, getting sick is to be expected.”

"What’s worse, getting coal or a cold?” Dad joked and Mom and I both gave him a look. He scratched his beard sheepishly.

“She has an audition the day after we get back,” I explained. “It’s for Kelly O’Brien’s new movie so Mike’s pretty worked up about it going well.”

“Understandable,” Dad said, cheeks filled with egg and lox strata. Mom pursed her lips and I knew that, for the sake of the holiday, she was biting her tongue about our subpar table manners.  

“Yeah,” I said, spearing a morsel of eggs benedict onto my fork. “Well, you know, this is potentially her first real role in a year and a half. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“She’s so talented, though,” Mom murmured, setting down her glass. “I thought she won an Academy Award a few years ago.”

“Nominated,” I corrected her, cutting into the center of the egg and letting the golden yolk spread over my plate. “It’s really just industry politics, I guess.”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with the problems that she had awhile back, does it?” Dad asked, running a finger under his nose in an imitation of someone doing a line of cocaine. I shook my head, unsure if I was more concerned about defending Sophie's reputation or the fact that my dad was familiar with the drug-related gesture.

"No, that was just a rumor…” I trailed off at the sound of heels racing down the hallway.

"I am so sorry,” Sophie said, wheezing as she burst into the room. Her cheeks were flushed and I couldn’t tell if it was from her make up or her temperature, though something told me it was the latter. “I didn’t even realize—you should’ve woken me up, this is so embarrassing.“

“Don’t worry, dear,” Mom said with a reassuring smile. “We just sat down.”

"I’m sorry,” Sophie said again, taking the empty seat next to me. "And, geez, Merry Christmas. Wow, I’m really failing today.” She shook her head in self-admonition.

“Merry Christmas, Sophie,” Dad said as I slid the serving tray of pastries towards her. She hesitated before grabbing a small muffin topped with gingerbread crumble.

“How are you feeling?” Mom asked while pouring orange juice into Sophie’s glass.

“Oh,” Sophie said, spreading her napkin over her lap. “Fine. I’m fine.”

 Her declaration was promptly followed by a series of coughs so violent that her entire body shook. My parents and I exchanged glances. “Well, uh, if you need us to pick you up some medicine, just let us know,” Dad said, subtly pulling his plate closer to him and out of the firing range.

“Thank you,” Sophie said, taking a tiny sip from her cup and giving us all a weak smile.

The conversation turned to lighthearted chatter as my parents told Sophie about the marshmallow roast that we held every Christmas evening. She laughed when my mom told the story of how I’d knocked over the Christmas tree the first year after I’d learned how to walk and finally asked in a shy voice if she could help prepare dinner again.

“I’m pretty useless, though,” Sophie admitted, nibbling at the Canadian bacon on her plate. “Well, I’m sure you realized that yesterday when I burned the mashed potatoes.”

“Did you?” Dad asked with a wink. “I thought they tasted better than usual.”

Sophie’s face reddened and that time I knew it was due to embarrassment rather than sickness.

“Don’t tease her,” Mom scolded. “I’d love it if you helped me, Sophie. I’ll show you how to make that pie you liked, too, alright?”

Sophie nodded, eating the last bites on her plate before setting down her utensils and folding her hands in her lap. When my dad had finished his third helping of food, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “That was great, Diane,” he said.

“How would you know? Half your meal is stuck in your beard,” Mom said, picking crumbs from the hair that covered Dad’s chin. He waved her hand away.

"I’m saving those,” he said before brushing off the remaining pieces of egg and muffin.

“Let me help you clean up the dishes,” Sophie offered, getting to her feet and I followed suit.

"I’ll help, too,” I said, beginning to stack the plates. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet clinking of china and glass but that was soon overpowered by my mom’s girlish giggles.

“Oh, how cute,” she said and Dad chuckled.

“What is?” I asked, glancing at her as I added all of the serving spoons to the empty casserole dish in the middle of the table.

“You and Sophie match.”

I turned to study Sophie, who smiled and shrugged, only to see that my mom was right. The long sleeved dress that she wore was the exact shade of navy as my sweater and her legs were covered with black tights. Standing side by side, we looked like a doll set that had come to life--a fact that I wouldn’t have noticed on my own but that I was frankly surprised my mom hadn’t commented on sooner.

“I’ll have to get a picture with both of you in front of the tree,” Mom continued and I grunted my displeasure.

"Please don’t,” I mumbled, balancing the empty dishware in my arms.

“Parker,” Mom said with a frown and Sophie laughed.

“I don’t think Parker wants me to be part of the family scrapbook,” Sophie said, placing a hand over her heart in mock distress.

"That’s too bad,” Mom said firmly as she followed us towards the kitchen, carrying the tray of leftover pastries. “Because I do.”

That statement seemed to please Sophie, who beamed until my mom’s back was turned. Once she was sure Mom wasn’t paying attention, Sophie stuck her tongue out at me, placing her thumb against the side of her head and waggling her other four fingers in a childish taunt.  

“Are you twelve?” I asked as I brushed past her on my way to set the dishes down in the sink.

Rather than answering, Sophie wandered over to the counter where Mom stood scraping the leftover food into Tupperware containers. Sophie whispered something that I strained to hear before she and my mom erupted in a fit of laughter.

"Don’t bother,” Mom said, still smiling when I began to run the faucet. “I’ll take care of them after we’ve opened presents.”

As Mom ushered Sophie and me towards the living room, quiet holiday music began to play over the downstairs’ wireless speaker system, a fanciful indulgence my dad had bought himself last Father’s Day. Dad sat waiting for us on the couch, the same plush Santa hat on his head that he wore each year. I shook my head as I took a seat on the rug beside the tree, too tired to be embarrassed.

“You can sit on the couch,” I said to Sophie as she gracefully lowered herself down next to me.

“I’m fine,” she replied and I nodded, stifling a yawn with my fist.

Once Mom had taken her place beside my dad, I handed them the gifts I’d bought them back in L.A. Dad took his eagerly, like a kid in a toy store, and ripped through the messily wrapped paper without shame. His face lit up with glee as he pulled out the box inside and Mom groaned.

“Why would you do this to me, Parker?” Mom asked as Dad began to read the contents of his sumo-robot kit out loud.

“There’s a tournament next summer at MIT,” I explained to Dad, who was digging through the included tools for the instruction manual. “I figured we could team up.”

Dad looked as happy as I’d ever seen him and I stood to give him a brief hug.

“Nerds,” Mom teased as she opened her gift and broke into a smile of her own. I stared at the ground as she kissed my cheeks, waving a pair of tickets to the celebrity chef tour that she’d been gushing about for months in Dad’s face.

The rest of the gift exchange went quickly and wrapping paper soon covered the floor of the living room. Sophie looked teary-eyed as she opened the gift Mom had given her to reveal a silver charm bracelet with a tiny director’s slate dangling from one of the rings. My parents’ gift to me left me speechless as I held the new, entry-level professional movie camera in my hands with my mouth open to protest. It was more than I’d wanted and, knowing how much the model cost, more than I’d wanted my parents to spend. Dad stopped my objections with a shake of his head.

"Have fun,” he said with a look that said he meant it and I promised that I would, inwardly thrilled at the prospect of shooting my film school application with the sleek device.

At last it was time for me to give Sophie her gift, and to my surprise, I saw she held one for me in her hands as well. In a way that was both obvious and awkward, Mom and Dad found excuses to leave the room, leaving us alone beside the tree. I cleared my throat once my parents’ footsteps had faded down the hall.   

“Here,” I said, handing Sophie the box I’d asked the salesclerk to wrap. “You can probably return it if you hate it. I kept the receipt.”

Smiling, she carefully removed the paper and lifted off the top of the box inside. Her gentle gasp made me hopeful that I’d made the right choice.

“Wait, it’s beautiful,” Sophie said, placing the necklace’s chain in her hand. She traced the pendant that I’d picked out with her finger—a silver silhouette of a dove flapping its wings—before fumbling with the clasp to put it on. “I—I feel bad, I didn’t think we were giving each other real presents.”

“What do you mean?” I asked as I peeled the paper off the present she’d given me.

“I mean that I’m an idiot.”

“Huh?”

Sophie buried her face in her hands as I pulled her gift out of its wrapping. It took a moment for my mind to register what I was looking at, but when it did, I burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, stop,” she cried, her face as red as lava while I struggled to get myself under control. “I’ll get you something else.”

“No, don't. I'm sorry, but this is… classic,” I said, looking down at the toy car that rested on my lap. A Barbie doll sat in the front seat of the miniature BMW and a dark-haired Ken doll had been glued to the hood. It wasn’t hard to guess whom the figurines’ real life counterparts were—or what event had inspired the little replica that I now slid back and forth across the ground.  

“Are you sure?” Sophie asked, and I noticed that she reached up to play with her necklace rather than fiddling with her ring. “It was stupid.”

"Yeah, it’s great,” I said, drawing her into a one-armed hug. Her breath tickled the back of my neck as I murmured, “Thanks, Soph.”

-----------------------------------------------

A/N: I warned you it would be long! :O Hope you guys made it to the end, haha. To everyone who's been reading, thank you as always. You guys are the best and I'm sorry for the long delay. I'm in the middle of moving (to London, yippee!) and I haven't really had time to write or share this story, so to see people still reading it makes my day.

Chapter dedicated to @oh_leeeeves for her recent comment and support! It meant a lot to read your kind words on my wall. :) 

Until next time.<3