I’m not feeling better until Christmas morning five days later. I eat the eggs my mother makes as if I haven’t eaten in years. My father comes downstairs and kisses my mother for longer than normal. I ignore them and keep eating. When I’m finished, he goes into the living room to take the first load of presents over to Aunt Angelina’s and I go upstairs to get dressed.
When we were small, Finny and I would camp out under whichever Christmas tree we would open presents at in the morning. We’d lie side by side, staring at the tree, adorned with either my mother’s perfectly color-coordinated, store-bought glass ornaments or his mother’s mix-match of exotic beaded tassels from India and her eccentric creations of clay or paper.
We would whisper together and stare at the tree until the lights became blurry. In the morning, we would wake together and then run to get our parents so we could open presents.
I put on a black skirt and a green sweater. After a moment of deliberation, I choose a silver tiara that is so low it is nearly a headband. There were three Christmases after The Mothers decided we could not sleep together anymore that Finny and I were in such a rush to get to each other that The Mothers could not convince us to get dressed, and we opened our presents in our pajamas as if we had stayed the night together. It hasn’t been like that for years, of course.
***
Aunt Angelina hugs and kisses me. Mom hugs Finny and Dad shakes his hand around the last batch of presents he is carrying. Finny is wearing a button-up shirt and khakis. Our eyes flicker to each other but we don’t say anything.
By tradition, we open our presents one at a time, and we all comment and exclaim over each item. Finny is quieter than usual, but I don’t think much of it. I wonder if he’s still mad at me for saying his friends would spread a rumor about me.
The gift marked as from Aunt Angelina and Phineas contains a tiara made of silver snowflakes. I bound across the room to hug Aunt Angelina. My mother has accepted but never encouraged the tiaras. Sometimes I wonder if having an illegitimate child and a string of lovers has kept Aunt Angelina young. Perhaps it has. Or maybe marriage has just aged my mother.
“Thank you,” I say. Aunt Angelina squeezes me back.
“Phineas picked it out,” she says.
“Thanks, Finny,” I say as I sit back down on the floor. He only nods, but then he smiles softly when I put the tiara on my head along with the first one.
By the time we are finished with the presents, it is after noon. The Mothers go into the kitchen to get lunch together. I go to my favorite chair by the window to start one of the books I got. I have a nice pile I am looking forward to working through in the next week we still have off. Dad and Finny watch some sports thing on the couch. I barely register it when Dad gets up and leaves the room. He often has to take important calls from The Office, even on holidays.
“Hey, Autumn?” Finny says. His voice is suddenly so close and low that I start in my chair. I look up. Finny is standing by the arm of the chair looking down at me. His hands are stuffed in his pockets.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I don’t think the favor you asked me is going to be a problem.”
“Thanks,” I say. I smile, but he doesn’t.
“What are you two whispering about?” Aunt Angelina says from the doorway.
“Nothing,” we both say. She cocks her head to the side and smiles at us.
“Lunch is ready,” she says.
***
“So how is Finny holding up?” my mother asks as we cross the yard back over to our house. It is evening now and I rub my arms against the cold, glad the walk isn’t far.
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“The breakup,” she says. I catch myself before I stop in my tracks from surprise.
“Finny and Sylvie broke up?” I say.
“I thought you would know that,” my mother says. She opens the door and we take off our coats in the entryway.
“Mom, why in the world would I know that?” I say.
“Angelina said he was pretty broken up about it the night it happened, but I thought he seemed okay today,” she says, ignoring my exasperation. She goes into the kitchen with a plate of leftovers for the fridge. “Of course,” she calls from the kitchen, “it’s always hard to tell with Finny.” I follow her and stand in the doorway. I doubt that Finny would dump Sylvie because she told someone that I was pregnant, but the thought has crossed my mind anyway.
“Why did he break up with her?” I ask.
“She broke up with him,” Mom says.
“Seriously?”
“You’re surprised too?” she asks.
“It just always seemed like she was so into him,” I say.
“That’s what I said,” Mom says. “And of course I’m biased, but he’s such a handsome and sweet boy, I don’t know why she wouldn’t be.”
“I hope he’s okay,” I say. Thinking of Finny with a broken heart hurts me. I want to ask Sylvie what she could possibly be thinking. Whatever her reply would be, it wouldn’t matter; I’d still want to pull her ponytail for hurting him.
“Why don’t you call and ask him?” my mother says. “Or go back over there?” I roll my eyes.
“Mother,” I say. She sighs and shakes her head.
I go upstairs with my books. Finny’s light is on, but his curtains are closed. Aunt Angelina said he seemed pretty broken up the night it happened. For someone as quiet and stoic as Phineas Smith, that says a lot. I remember the couple of times I saw Finny cry when we were kids. My throat tightens.
“Fuck you, Sylvie,” I say.
