JENNIE
I keep waiting for Christmases without him to get easier, but I’m learning that’s not how grief works.
I don’t know that grief even has set rules, only that it pretty much always does the opposite of what you think it will. You think you know what to expect because you went through it last year, and the year before, and the one before that. You’ll be prepared this time. Right?
Grief’s not that simple. It’s a fucking mindfuck.
My heart feels jagged and fractured, a deep, dull pain that won’t wane, even as I snuggle beneath the covers, hugging the frame with the photo of me and Dad a little bit tighter, wishing for just one more Christmas with a heart that’s whole.
My phone buzzes, and I shove it under the pillow, not ready to wear a smile that feels extra empty today.
But it keeps buzzing, over and over until I yank it out, accept the call before I realize it’s a FaceTime, and growl out a rather aggressive, “What?”
Garrett’s bright eyes blink back at me. He grins. “Merry Christmas to you, too, sunshine. Jesus Christ, who shit in your Corn Pops this morning?”
I don’t know how the man manages to do it, but I crack a smile. A little one, like, super tiny. But the wider his gets, the bigger mine grows, until I’m rolling my eyes and laughing.
“Sorry. I didn’t look to see who it was before I answered.”
“You fell asleep on me last night, so I wanted to—”
“Are you on the phone with your girrrlfriend?” a voice teases.
“Get outta here, Gabby!” Garrett tosses a pillow, and even through the sound of a slamming door, I can hear Gabby’s shrill giggles. He sighs, dragging his fingers through his mussed hair. “She’s been calling you my girlfriend for the last three days.”
“Better set her straight then. Tell her I had no choice in having a brother as a hockey player; I’m not going to voluntarily date one. She’ll understand one day.”
He turns away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, Gabby can’t be tamed. She says and does whatever she wants, kinda like you.”
“Ah, so you’re surrounded by strong, powerful women.”
“Something like that,” he says on a long exhale. “Just toss the word wild in there.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re gonna get pinched for that when I see you next.”
“Nah, I’ll just tie your hands behind your back so your pinchy fingers can’t get anywhere near me. Plus—” he lifts one arm, flexing his bicep, and growls playfully, “—this body was built by the gods. I don’t have an ounce of body fat on me for pinching purposes.”
“You hockey players are all the same: cocky little shits.” I won’t touch on the fact that my lady parts are tingling at the thought of him tying my hands behind my back. But, like…maybe I’ll touch on it in the future.
“You can’t lump me in with the rest of them. I’m in a league all my own.”
I can’t say I really disagree. Garrett’s nothing like the players you see in the news. He’s like a soft, gooey cinnamon roll. A lot of women would jump at a shot with a man like him.
I tuck the thoughts away, because I’d prefer to remain oblivious to the eventual good-bye I’ll have to say to the only meaningful relationship I’ve ever had, the deepest, most genuine connection I’ve found with a person. Good-byes suck, and no part of me is ready for the one with Garrett that looms somewhere in the future.
“What are you doing still in bed, anyway?” Garrett asks.
“You’re still in bed,” I point out.
“I’m back in bed. We already had coffee, ate breakfast, and opened presents.”
“But you’re not wearing a shirt.”
“Wanted to give you something to look at.”
I laugh, a full belly one that feels good. “Okay, hotshot.”
“You could take yours off, too, if you want.”
“We’re not having Christmas morning phone sex when your family is down the hall.”
He runs a palm down his chest and sighs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. But seriously, can you do something for me? I need you to run up to my place for a minute.”
“But I’m in bed!” I peel back the blankets and aim the phone at my fleece pajamas with dogs dressed as Santa. “I’m wearing my jammies!”
His gaze rakes over me, an amused brow quirking. “Really leaving a lot to the imagination there, aren’t you?”
“Shut up, you donkey.” I slip out of bed and stretch, yawning. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m going like this, and I’m not putting a bra on.”
“Braless Jennie is my favorite Jennie.”
I ride the elevator up to Garrett’s penthouse and key in the code as he recites it to me. It’s bright and toasty in here, the morning sun drowning the space in golden warmth. Multicolored lights make the Christmas tree twinkle, drawing me to it. It’s been so long since I decorated for Christmas that I hadn’t even thought to put up a tree of my own.
“There’s a box under the tree,” I observe, spotting the gift wrapped in brown paper with shiny red reindeers stamped all over it, topped with an extravagant gold bow. I turn our snowmen ornaments in my hand, smiling at our initials on the bottom, right next to our ages. “You didn’t forget one of your sister’s presents, did you?”
“No. I just wanted to be with you while you opened your gift.”
My gaze falls to my phone, finding Garrett’s soft smile. “What?”
“The gift is for you, Jennie.”
I sink to my knees in front of the gift. Sure enough, Sunshine is scrawled across the tag. A lump forms in my throat, tight and heavy, one I can’t swallow down. “You got me a gift? But I…I didn’t get anything for you. I didn’t know…I—”
“Stop. I’m sure this crosses some sort of imaginary friends-with-benefits line, but I wanted to get you something. So go on and open it.”
I cross my legs and prop the phone up so Garrett can see me. There’s a slight tremor in my hands, both excited and nervous to see inside. I run my finger along the edge of the ribbon before tugging, watch the bow fall apart, then promptly rip into the wrapping paper.
When I open the box, a giggle bubbles in my throat, and I pull the first item out.
“So we can have dance battles,” Garrett says, watching me turn the Just Dance video game in my hand.
“I’ll destroy you. Is your ego built to handle that?”
“Maybe I’ve been practicing.”
“Practice all you want, Garrett, I’m still gonna bury you alive.” I set the game aside and pull out a sweatshirt, laughing again as I read the silver words that loop across it. “Sparkling Personality? Really?”
He’s doing a shit job at hiding how funny he thinks this is, snicker-snorting as he vibrates. “Get it? ’Cause you’re so pleasant and sweet.”
“Uh-huh.” The next item is clothing too. A pale blue and purple romper made of ultra-soft fleece, zipping in the front. When I spy the word on the butt, Garrett’s laughter quickly spirals into hysterical territory.
“They say angel on the ass,” he wheezes. “Angel.”
“Unbelievable. You’re really on a roll right now, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry.” He swipes at a tear. “I couldn’t help myself. Plus, they’re super cheeky, so your ass is gonna hang out of them.” He wipes both eyes again and pushes a heavy breath out, trying to get control of himself. Both actions annoy me, yet for the life of me I cannot stop smiling. “There’s one more.”
I pull the skinny silver wand out of the box, the claws attached to the head that make it look like some sort of extra-long fork.
“It’s a back scratcher,” Garrett explains, “but I thought, if you use it gently, you could tickle your own back when I’m away.”
I extend the wand and slip it down the back of my pajama top. My eyes flutter closed as I moan. “Oooh, Garrett. You might’ve just inadvertently replaced yourself, big guy.”
“Fuck that. Nothing replaces these fingers.”
“They are my favorite fingers.” I look down at the pile of gifts. “Thank you so much, Garrett. I love everything.”
“It’s no Princess Bubblegum, but I hope it brought you a little happiness anyway.”
“It did. Thank you for thinking of me.”
My gaze drops to my slippers as my own words register. Because at the busiest time of the year, between juggling his busy hockey schedule, the holidays, and traveling home to see his family, this man thought of me, and I honestly can’t think of the last time somebody did.
“I can’t remember the last time I got any gifts from someone who wasn’t family.”
Silence hangs between us like an anchor, keeping my eyes downcast. I’m worried I’ve taken us into unchartered territory, somewhere Garrett had no intention of going with a simple gift.
“But I think you are my family,” he finally replies softly, urging my gaze to his, patient and kind, full of compassion. “The guys, Cara, Ollie…they’re the family I found here, the one I chose, and I think you’re part of it, too, now. I want you to be, at least. You feel like you belong in it.”
I turn away in time to catch a sneaky tear that finds its way out of my eye and tries to roll down my cheek. Stupid holidays and big, cocky hockey players who are secret teddy bears.
“I’m not crying,” I tell him, sniffling. “I have this, like, leaky tear duct thing. It’s a condition.”
His laugh is my favorite sound, his smile my favorite sight.
“Merry Christmas, Jennie.”
“Merry Christmas, Garrett.”
“What in the sweet fuck are you wearing?”
“What? This?” Carter looks down at his shirt, tugging so the single word is visible, as if it weren’t already large and in charge. DILF. “Ollie got it for me.”
“It was meant to be a joke,” Olivia murmurs, “but it’s his favorite gift. He won’t take it off.”
“Wanna see the best part?” Carter pulls Olivia into his side, beaming proudly. “Show ’em yours, pumpkin.”
Her face flushes. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“C’mon.” He shakes her arm. “Be loud, be proud, Ollie girl.”
She does it, but she sure drags her ass about it, slowly pulling her sweater over her head, and I don’t know whether to laugh at her or cry for her.
Because the shirt she wears underneath sports one simple sentence: I HEART DILFs.
“Pip,” I whisper to Olivia, my shoulders shaking, laughter rumbling in my chest. I try to hold it in, I swear. “What did you do?”
Her shoulders slump, eyes downcast. “I fucked up.”
“What’s a DILF?” Mom asks, which only makes me laugh harder, and when Carter joins in, Olivia storms down the hallway. “It was just a question!”
Beside me, Hank smiles. “I feel bad for all the people who will never get to experience a Beckett Family Christmas.”
I feel bad for Olivia, because now she’s doomed to a lifetime of them.
I’m glad to have her, though, because I haven’t seen Carter this happy at Christmas since our dad died. His smile never wanes as he hugs her into his side, linking their fingers, kissing her shoulder or temple every time he passes by.
I think Olivia brought him back to life. Now he’s always the same brother I grew up with—goofy, outrageous, with a massive heart—not just when the cameras aren’t around.
So when he tells us he has an exciting Christmas activity for us to do as a family, I’m not surprised.
Still not surprised when he rips the sheet off the kitchen table, revealing several boxes of gingerbread houses, the kind you build and decorate yourself.
A little surprised they’re made of Oreos, though.
“I’m just saying.” Carter slathers a cookie with icing, sticking it to his cookie roof. “Whoever thought of this is a genius. A whole village made of Oreos?” He makes a sound, like he’s having a revelation, and turns, wide-eyed, to Olivia. “What if we name the baby—”
“No.”
“But—”
“Not happening.”
Carter frowns, grumbling something about the Grinch being a five-foot-one pregnant woman, and Olivia steals a mini-cookie out of his hand, tossing it in her mouth. It turns into a fight over cookies and edible decorations, and eventually Carter’s holding everything above his head and laughing while Olivia tries to climb his body to retrieve said items, all the while Hank’s eating whatever he can get his hands on beside me.
“Hank.” I snicker. “You’re supposed to be putting them on your house, not in your mouth.”
“Oops.” He pops another cookie between his lips. “Am I not putting them on my house? Couldn’t quite tell. I am blind, after all.”
“You’re not using that as an excuse to eat your cookies, are you?”
“I can do whatever I want,” he says simply, and it’s a wonder he and Carter aren’t actually related, because when the cookie village is done, that seems to also be Carter’s motto.
“There!” he exclaims, putting the finishing touch on the last of his three houses. “All done!” His eyes glitter with pride as he takes in the village that sprawls across his kitchen table. Then he reaches down, grabs hold of a chimney, pries it off, and throws it in his mouth.
“Carter!”
He stops, eyes round with fear, like he’s been caught red-handed by his wife doing something he’s not supposed to. Like eating the cookie village. “What?”
“You’re not supposed to eat it yet! You’re supposed to leave it on display for a few days! One, at the very least!”
“What? You want me to stare at cookie houses all day and not eat them?”
She jabs at one of the boxes, pointing to the village that’s on display in the picture behind the happy family, the one that looks nothing like ours right now. “Those are the rules!”
He flings his arms overhead. “You know I don’t follow rules, especially when Oreos are involved!” He breaks a wall off one house and looks Olivia dead in the eye as he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth. “Wha’ now, pwincess?” he mumbles, then dashes away with a squeal when she lunges for him.
Hank whistles along to the tune floating from the speakers. “So this is Christmas…”
Christmas snuggles are the best snuggles, especially when it’s your mom’s arms wrapped around you and you’re wearing matching jammies.
She hugs me tight, sighing into my hair. “I missed our sleepovers.”
“I missed you.” My gaze wanders through the open door, down the hallway, where I can see the twinkle of lights. “I can’t believe you decorated this year.”
“With the baby on the way, I figured maybe it was time to start again. They deserve to have a magical Christmas experience, no matter where they go.”
I turn, looking at my beautiful mom. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don’t you deserve it as well?” I link our fingers, pulling our clasped hands to my chest. “Don’t you want someone to spend the holidays with? Share your life with?”
“I have my family. I don’t need anyone else.”
“I just want you to be happy, Mom.” The words are more a plea than anything. I don’t know if finding someone to share her time with will bring happiness, but if she thinks it might, I wish she’d try.
This house used to be filled with so much laughter, and while it still is, it’s also home to a gut-wrenching, silent loneliness. It’s my mom snuggling up alone on a Friday night to watch her favorite movies, the cheesy rom-coms my dad gladly sat through with her head on his shoulder. It’s the far-off look in her eyes while she works in the kitchen, the memories of my dad hanging over her shoulder and begging for a taste of whatever she was making, pulling her away so he could spin her around the kitchen while he sang to her, loud and obnoxious until her laughter drowned out his voice, and he sealed it with a kiss.
Sometimes the silence is louder than the laughter, an ear-piercing roar that has you begging for it to end.
“I don’t need a man to make me happy, Jennie.” There’s no uncertainty in her eyes. She’s sure of her decision, but I suppose that’s what brings her peace. “I’m happy with the life your dad and I created here while we had the chance. I’m thankful for the memories we made, and I’ll always wish for more, but he’s with us in every new memory we create too. I can feel him, and I just…I don’t want to fill his space with someone else.”
A tear rolls across the bridge of my nose, dripping onto the pillowcase. “What if one day you find space for someone else?”
“If one day I find space, then I’ll let someone in.” She pushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. “But what about you? When will you let someone in?”
“I don’t need a man to make me happy,” I parrot back, making her laugh.
“No, you don’t. What you need is a partner, a best friend. Someone who’s patient with you, who waits for you to open up when you’re ready and wants to walk through all your battles with you. Someone who makes you laugh, who complements your incredible qualities. You have such a big heart, Jennie, and I wish you’d open up a space in it for someone. I know you’re afraid. But life is too short to be afraid.”
Her words wiggle their way into my brain, setting up shop in the corner, gathering cobwebs, until I’m thinking back on them over and over, even two days later while I’m lying awake in bed as the sun rises, and a deranged murderer decides to knock on my door.
Not literally, but seriously, what the fuck? My bare feet slap against the floors as I storm down the hall, not bothering with the rat’s nest on my head that most people call hair.
“In what world is it socially acceptable to knock on someone’s door at—Garrett.”
He smiles down at me from where he waits in my doorway, golden hair curling out from beneath the forest green toque he wears, dusted in snowflakes, just like the shoulders of his coat and the duffle that hangs at his side.
“I have one more Christmas gift for you.” He steps beneath the threshold, his presence overwhelming, making my senses run wild. When he extends his hand to me, my heart leaps to my throat.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“C’mon, Jennie. Take my hand.”
I do, tentatively slipping mine into his. It’s cool from the elements, but his touch still manages to make my skin tingle with heat, desire.
And as we stand there staring at each other, slowly shaking hands, I’ve never been so confused.
Until he pulls his hand free and lays it palm down in the space between us.
My memory floods with hundreds of happy mornings, my dad’s sly grin as a regular handshake spiraled and turned into one of our favorite pastimes, something special for just the two of us.
“C’mon,” Garrett whispers again, and my chest heaves as he smiles, waiting patiently for me to lay my hand on top of his.
When I finally clap my hand on top of his, his face shatters with a grin, and tears prickle my eyes as a burst of laughter bubbles from my throat, the two of us in my doorway, slapping hands, bumping hips, switching spots, and finishing right back where we started: with a simple handshake.
He opens his arms and I barrel forward, burying my face in his chest, inhaling his scent. He’s the same, rich mahogany, clean and citrusy, but the dampness from the snow he’s just escaped from makes him different too. Earthy and fresh, like rain and pine needles.
I soak it all in, because the truth is, I feel a little bit more me when I’m with this man. He sees past all the bravado, sees both the bold and the quiet, the gentle that simmers below the fierce, and instead of turning away, he takes my hand and walks with me.
When we press the same whispered words to each other’s bodies, something warm lights inside me.
“I missed you.”
