Page 55 of On My Side (Quiblings #3)
Ren
Playlist: Glittery - From the Kacey Musgraves Christmas Show | Kacey Musgraves [feat. Troye Sivan]
December
Over the next few weeks, Audrey and Piper become a part of my daily routine.
One Thursday in early December, I get a text from Piper asking for a ride home because she doesn’t want to take the bus.
I agree, but regret it when we find ourselves in an argument about Hayden Christensen’s performance as Anakin in the prequels.
“Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean he’s a good actor,” Piper argues as she uses her free arm to unlock the front door to the cottage.
Leia is happily curled in her other arm, because Piper somehow convinced me to go back to my apartment and pick up Leia.
I’m convinced Piper has weird mind control powers, because suddenly I was unlocking the door to my apartment with no recollection of driving there.
“I’m not saying he’s a good actor because he’s attractive,” I respond, closing the door behind me. “I’m saying he’s a good actor because he’s a good actor. He also just so happens to be attractive.”
While Piper launches into her rebuttal, I head to the kitchen, kissing Audrey on the cheek before washing my hands and cutting the vegetables on the counter.
“But you know who’s hot and is a good actor? That dude who plays Obi Wan,” Piper shouts from her spot on the couch.
“You’re right,” I agree, mostly so I can talk to Audrey. “What’s for dinner?”
That night, when Audrey and I brush our teeth side by side, I realized she never asked me to stay, and I never asked if I could.
I just… did. Like we both have decided this is where I’m supposed to be.
“Mom hates Christmas,” Piper informs me in the middle of class a few weeks later.
The two of us are sitting at the piano at the inn, while Audrey’s reading a romance I gave her at the front desk.
When I glance towards the front desk out of the corner of my eye, Audrey flinches, like Piper’s words cause physical pain.
Similarly, I can feel the chasm in my heart at that moment.
“She’s always sad, but pretending she’s not,” Piper continues, and I turn my attention back to her. “And she says she’s not crying on Christmas morning, but her eyes are always puffy and red when she finally comes out of her room for presents…”
Piper’s voice fades as I look back at Audrey and meet her eyes. She smiles, but I know she’s forcing it.
That night, I ask her about it after she unties my hands from the headboard.
“Did you let me sit on your face to butter me up, Lorenzo?” she asks teasingly, playing with my chain.
“You know I didn’t. It’s a coincidence you’re soft and satiated in your afterglow.”
She’s silent for a beat before speaking again. “I used to love it. I loved any excuse for decorations and celebration, and for most of my adolescence, I’d insist to my parents we hang our stockings the day after Halloween.” She exhales heavily, refusing to look at me. “And then I got pregnant.”
I grab her hand, kissing the back of it as I weave our fingers together.
“Halloween is easy,” she continues. “Pumpkins and skeletons and apple cider and handing out candy. Christmas is hard. Thanksgiving was easy to make our own, with the tradition of working, but Christmas was when the questions came. Why didn’t she have a dad?
Where were her grandparents? Why did other kids get more expensive gifts? ”
I swallow roughly, the image of Audrey in her early twenties trying to give Piper the best life she could, feeling like she never was doing enough. “That sounds hard,” I say earnestly.
“It was,” she whispers. “Aunt Olivia tried to make it as special as possible, and we came to the cottage and made our own little traditions… but the season was a stark reminder of what I didn’t have, of what I used to.
It’s gotten worse since Aunt Olivia died, because now Piper remembers what used to be different, too. ”
“What was your favorite tradition?” I ask, and it feels like my heart is filled with helium as a soft smile makes her face glow.
She tells me about how she and her parents would cut their own tree at Miller’s Tree Farm, a small farm an hour northwest, then get hot apple cider before driving home.
Her dad would set up the tree in the living room, and they’d spend the evening eating pizza and watching Christmas movies while decorating the tree.
“I always put the angel on the top,” she reminisces wistfully.
The day before Christmas Eve, I text Piper.
Ren
come outside, i need your help.
Piper
no thanks
Ren
ok, i guess leia and i will go home.
Piper’s bolting down the porch steps exactly thirteen seconds later, skidding to a stop when she sees my car.
“No. Way.” Her eyes are wide as saucers.
I grin. “Way. Think you’re up to the challenge?”
“Hell, yeah,” she says decidedly, cracking her knuckles. “Let’s do it.”
An hour later, Audrey comes home from work, freezing in the doorframe as she takes everything in.
To be fair, her boyfriend and daughter wrapping lights around a seven-foot-tall tree in her living room while wearing footie pajamas and singing along with The Muppets Christmas Carol is a lot to take in.
“Mom!” Piper shouts excitedly, hopping down from the chair she’s standing on. “We saved the angel for you! And your pajamas are on your bed!”
Audrey’s staring at me, face unreadable, and I begin to fidget with my St. Anthony medal. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think we’d have time to get it together, so I drove to Aurora Falls myself and got it and— umph !”
I’m cut off by Audrey throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to mine.
“Oh my god !” Piper yells behind us. “This is a family establishment! Leia, cover your eyes!”
I chuckle against Audrey’s lips before pulling away and tucking her hair behind her ears, lost in her eyes that glisten with unshed tears.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” I tell her, voice hoarse.
The next evening, the three of us head to my parents’ for Christmas Eve dinner. It’s loud and obnoxious, even without Kat and Steve there. Audrey drinks a little too much white wine and is giggling with Jo about something. Try as I might, I haven’t been able to follow their conversation.
After dinner, we gather in the living room for presents.
“All right,” Leo says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together enthusiastically.
“I’m afraid your days of being the youngest in the family are over, son,” Dad says.
“Oh my god,” I say before I can stop myself. “Is Mom pregnant again?”
“Lorenzo! I’m not pregnant!” Mom scolds while my siblings and I let out a simultaneous exhale of relief. “But Piper gets to go first, because she’s the youngest.”
Before I can say anything, Nic is rummaging under the tree and depositing a stack of wrapped gifts at Piper’s feet. Piper stares down at them, wide eyed. “These… are for me?” she asks, voice barely audible.
“Did you do this?” Audrey whispers, voice shaky in my ear.
I shake my head, throat tight as Piper opens her first gift. “I didn’t know,” I said honestly.
That’s when I notice everyone, except my parents, who are diligently documenting Piper’s gift opening experience on their phones, is staring at me, grins on their faces.
And I think they know by taking care of Piper, they’re taking care of me, too.
Every single one of my siblings got Piper a small but unbelievably thoughtful gift—even Kat and Alex, who aren’t here.
Nic and Josh got her some fidgets she likes, Jo and Hunter gave her a gorgeous embroidery piece of the baby grand in the SandPiper Inn lobby, and Kat got her a classical composers calendar.
“No way!” Piper screeches as she unwraps her last gift, a long, rectangular package in silver wrapping paper. “Is this a…”
“YAMAHA 88-key Weighted Action Digital Piano with Sustain Pedal and Power Supply?” Dad finishes, obviously reading from his phone. “Sure is.”
“Holy shit,” I say, mouth agape. My parents never got me anything as expensive as one of those.
“The salesperson at the music supply store told us this was top-of-the-line,” Mom adds anxiously, either taking pictures of or filming Piper’s shocked reaction.
Piper’s suddenly on her feet, throwing her arms around both of my parents’ necks and pulling them in for a group hug. Audrey bursts into tears next to me, and my parents exchange over-excited looks over Piper while my siblings whoop and clap.
And me? Me, I never knew happiness like this could be effortless.