Your pen stopped from where you were scribbling something on a note card, and you looked up from the textbook you’d spent most of the day buried in to the mess of flashcards spilled across the floor. A smile covered your face as you reached out to grab a card that was half covered.
“No, these are for my anatomy class. It’s all of the muscles and facts about them that I need to memorize. This one’s the gluteus maximus,” you explained. “Did you know that the gluteus maximus is the muscle in our bodies that allows us to walk upright?”
“Maybe that’s why you’re such an ass man. Your name’s in the word,” Jameson teased.
“I think it explains why he can be such an ass,” Wes fired.
This adorable grin covered your face and then grew into a laugh. You finally closed the textbook, and began gathering the mess of cards and highlighters before stretching.
“Come on, Maximus, let’s go to bed.”
My body whipped around. Your surprise turned into a giggle that I’m pretty sure was induced from too many hours of being so deep in thought. I stood up, and you backed up a few paces, shaking your head. “No. Don’t even think about it,” you warned.
It was too late, and you knew it. You sprinted down the hallway with me on your heels.
“I have socks on! This isn’t fair!”
I was gaining on you, and you knew it. I was thankful for the socks because I’m pretty fast, but you can shoot off like a damn bullet. Those socks leveled the playing field.
I heard the others whoop at us as we made another lap around the house, and I waved my arm, trying to get one of them to stand up and cut you off.
Before we reached them, your foot slid as you raced through the kitchen, allotting me just enough time to catch up to you and haul you over my shoulder, eliciting a stream of giggles and pleas as I stopped to catch my breath.
“I think someone’s going to get some gluteus maximus,” Kendall said as she walked past us, slapping you on the ass as she did.
I patted your ass a few times as I carried you up the stairs in a fireman hold.
Once in the confines of my room, I set you down on the bed and watched you shake your head at me. “You are a maximus!” you exclaimed, pulling your socks off and flinging them at the wall.
I grinned and took my shirt off, tossing it in the same direction of your discarded socks. “But I’m your maximus,” I said, grabbing your left hand in mine and turning it so I could see your tattoo: the word ‘his’ etched across it in my handwriting. I placed it to my mouth and slowly licked it.
My eyes moved from your hand to your face and I saw the anticipation dancing in your eyes. “Always,” you whispered, readjusting so that you sat on your knees.
You lied to me Ace.
You fucking lied to me.
I wake up feeling sated and happy, until my eyes open and I’m forced to face it was all a dream. My mind can conjure up repressed details, like the way her skin tastes warm and sweet, or the scent of her hair, even the feeling of her skin against mine. I push the dream away, discarding it along with the dozens that came before.
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Real or fake, none of it fucking matters. She’s gone.
I roll away from Erin so that I face the wall, and move around a few moments trying to get myself comfortable.
Christmas is lonely and painful. I narrowly managed to avoid having any involvement with Erin for the holidays. I wasn’t about to bring her to Arizona to meet my entire family, especially not after the fiasco from Thanksgiving. I’m still receiving shit from Sarah and both of my brothers about that. My mom on the other hand, works to play ignorant, like she never heard the words in the first place.
Kendall insisted on carrying out a few traditions, thankfully not half as many as last year. There’s no way in hell I would have helped to roll out shit loads of cookies, decorate a tree, or any of the other holiday mayhem the girls had involved us in last year.
Hank and Sarah had invited the family to their house for Christmas this year. I wondered if my mom had suggested it to get me away from our house, and the memories of spending hour upon hour decorating our house and the Bosses last year. I feel positive that she pushed the idea forward when we all learned she was coming home for Christmas. No one had flat-out told me that she was, but I’d overheard Kendall discussing it with Jenny one night.
The memory of David floods my mind constantly over the holiday as I painfully recall that we had planned to head north this Christmas to have a real white Christmas, complete with sledding, pine trees, and wood-burning fires.
Thoughts like these come with an onslaught of memories of her, as my mind works from memory and imagination, picturing us in front of a fire with my arms wrapped around her small frame, breathing in the comforting scent only she had, hearing her breathe as she worked her way further into my arms. I can hear her laugh as we sail down a snow-covered hill on a sled and picture the bright fire in her eyes from the thrill. My mind is so good at creating these false realities that sometimes I have to remind myself what’s real.
When I arrive back in San Diego, I find Kendall sitting on the couch with a blanket and a picture album.
“Hey, how was your Christmas?” she asks, looking up and trying to inconspicuously close the album.
I really don’t want to explain that I spent the majority of it in my brother’s guestroom, drowning in sorrow and my fake realties because I wanted to be experiencing ridiculous Bosse traditions, like sleeping on the floor under the Christmas tree or watching every corny Christmas special on TV. I even missed hearing Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby on a continuous, repeated playlist.
I shake my head to dispel the thoughts, and focus on Kendall. “It was good. Where’s Jameson?” I ask, dropping my suitcase. I’m hoping he’s nearby so I can get out of here without too much small talk.
My eyes fall to Kendall and notice her face is blotchy from tears. “He went to the grocery store. The fridge is like empty.”
“What are you doing? Are you okay?” Guilt pushes me to question her, although I know I shouldn’t, and that I’m treading closer to a ledge that I shouldn’t want to be nearing.
“It’s nothing. I didn’t realize you’d be home this early.”
“Are those from this Christmas?” I ask, nodding to the now-closed album on her lap.
She shakes her head. “No, Mindi put these together. Ace couldn’t get hers to fit in her suitcase so I’m going to ship it to her.”
“That’s hers?”
Kendall looks at me suspiciously, appraising my mood. I had created a rule that developed a couple of months ago that we wouldn’t say her name. I’m not sure which of us has a more difficult time with the agreement that I harshly ordered one day after hearing Kendall casually say her name, but we both diligently work to maintain it. It’s best to have thoughts of her buried as far back in the recesses of my mind as possible.
“Can I see it?”
Kendall nods, gifting me a small smile as she lifts her blanket and resituates so I can sit beside her.
“My mom cleaned out Dad’s den. Apparently it’s going to now be a home gym,” Kendall explains as she flips the book over and opens the cover. The fact that she doesn’t specify that it’s their dad catches me for a second, and I stare at her. I know David had told me I’d been accepted into the family. He told me this even before she and I began dating, but for some reason, Kendall’s words make me feel the absence of not only that acceptance, but of the love I had received from the Bosse family. It adds to my already emotional state and I take a few steps closer to her. “She came across boxes of photos, and Mindi took them all and made albums for each of us.”