You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology (5 page)

He released her to retrieve them while she wriggled out of her shapewear and pulled down her dress. Accepting a couple of tissues, she blew her nose hard. “Well,” she said, managing a shaky smile. “It was good for me.”

“Then Bob’s job is done.” Re-buttoning her coat, he sat beside her. Tentative now, afraid. Of saying the wrong thing. Of causing her more pain. Of not knowing how to fix this.

With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Some night, huh?”

He smoothed her hair. “Some night.”

For a few minutes, they sat quietly, neither in a hurry to move, watching the occasional wraith pass by the fogged windows.

“What do you want for Christmas?” he asked, resting his cheek on her hair. “If I could give you anything, what would it be?”

“The sweet, shy guy I married would be nice. At least he was all mine.” There was a wistfulness in the joke that bothered him.

“You’re romanticizing him,” he said. “That guy didn’t take near enough responsibility and he was too dependent on you financially and emotionally.” He shuddered, thinking of returning to that life, of being that loser.

She chuckled.

“What?”

“We can’t even agree what kind of guy you were.”

“I think we can both agree I’ve been a selfish ass these past months.”

“What do you want me to say, Jared?” The wariness had returned to her tone, the cold kiss of distance.

He couldn’t live like this anymore. “Your marriage isn’t working for you now, is it, Betty?”

She hesitated.

“I want my wife back. I want us to stop avoiding the tough conversations.” He cupped her hands between his to warm them. “My wife and kids did the last tour leg with me. It was hell on our marriage for reasons that were all my fault. She took the kids home early and since I’ve returned we’ve been play-acting happy. I think we’re both scared as fuck we’ve screwed things up for good.”

She turned her hands and threaded her fingers tightly through his. “My husband changed when he went on tour and became famous. I didn’t. That’s the risk when you marry young. You do your growing up together or you start growing apart.”

“There’s a third way of looking at it,” he said. “One of you regresses to adolescence, realizes he’s been a jackass, and takes on the responsibility of making it right.” He felt an overwhelming need to spend time alone with her, to uncover and kiss every hurt. “We need to carve time for ourselves. Just us. Set up regular dates.”

He would make her fall in love with him again. “We could even drop the kids with my folks in Bridgeton and run away for a couple of days.”

“No,” she said. “I can’t.”

J
ared woke with
a groan when a small foot kicked him in the kidneys and nearly sent him over the mattress edge, where he’d clung most of the night. Reaching behind him, he moved the foot and turned over. Kayla wasn’t on the other side of their bed, probably driven out by the never-still, four-year-old, bed-hogging dominatrix. How the hell could someone three feet tall take over a king-size bed?

The babysitter had greeted their arrival with the cheery news that Madison had insisted she always slept in their bed when they were out.

Lately, she’d been sleeping in their bed when they were in, too. His fault. He’d toured so much last year that on the weeks he’d managed to get home there’d been nothing cuter than his baby girl standing at the end of the bed with a trembling lower lip saying, “I was scared, Daddy.” And that’s how bad habits start.

People thought he’d been some kind of wonder dad for staying home with the kids and working nights, but Kayla had made it simple. All he had to do was follow the schedule she’d left for getting the kids to appointments and heating meals she’d prepared on the weekends. His housework had been the make-do, wipe up spills kind. It amazed him that she missed that guy, the lazy fuck.

When your toughest competition for your wife’s affection was the old self you would die before returning to, you had a problem.

She’d seen them as partners, but they’d been unequal ones, their workloads no more balanced than they were…now?

His daughter woke like all little kids did, instantly alert and instantly demanding. “How many sleeps till Santa?”

“Where’s your calendar, Maddie?”

She tumbled out of bed and ran to her room, returning a minute later.

“Are Mommy and Rocco up?”

“Dunno.”
Because it’s all about me
. Well, he knew where his daughter got that single-mindedness.

“I want to schedule more dates, I do,” Kayla had said, driving home last night. “But let’s get through Christmas first. Our baby’s cold has put me way behind. We’ll have both our families here for the holidays and I haven’t organized beds, planned food, bought presents or bought a tree. Not to mention the house has to be decluttered and ready for sale by the New Year and my brother wants a bed next week. Squeezing in date nights would only add more pressure.”

He’d tamped down his impatience. “Okay, we’ll steal time for ourselves after Christmas.”

Now Maddie clambered over him, and he caught her foot before it did damage. “No more sneaking into our bed, Maddie girl. You can climb in for morning cuddles, but not in the night.”

“But what if I’m scared, Daddy?”

“Then I’ll sit with you for five minutes.”

“What if I’m sick?”

“Then, yeah, I’ll consider it.”

She traced the tattoo on his shoulder with her small finger. “That’s my name M for Madison, R is for Rocco, and K is for Mommy’s name, an’ the heart is for love always, isn’t it, Daddy?”

“Always.”
I will do anything to fix this
.

Meatloaf starting singing in Jared’s head about doing anything for love. When he got to the line about what he wouldn’t do, Jared yanked the lead out of the big man’s microphone.

He couldn’t make Kayla happy if he wasn’t hap—“Oww.”

The corner of the calendar jabbed in his lap and he welcomed the distraction, painful as it was. The calendar was decorated with tinsel and stars, and the Easter bunny, because he was Santa’s friend.

Brows fierce in concentration, Maddie counted. “One, two, free, four, five, six… eleventy—”

“Eleven.” He helped her count down the rest, and she beamed at him.

“Nineteen sleeps, Daddy. And I thought of something else for my present list.”

“I bet you did.”

“We got lots of money you said.”

And wasn’t that the dumbest thing he’d ever celebrated.

All of them would have to be financially conservative until the band’s future became clearer. Which was why he and Kayla were downsizing.

“We’ve got enough money for
some
presents,” he reminded her. “If you want to add something new to your list, you’ll have to take one off.”

“Can I think of a present for Rocco?”

“Sure.” He smoothed down her pillow hair. “It’s real nice you’re caring about your baby brother.”

“He wants a Barbie doll with purple hair,” she said, all innocence.

He started to laugh.

“Boys can like Barbie dolls, too. Mommy said boys and girls can like each other’s toys.”

“Yeah, but Rocco is a baby and he chews everything. You want your doll’s head chewed off?”

As he waited to see what his daughter would come up with, he could almost see the cunning chasing around behind her round brown eyes.

“I’ll look after her till he’s bigger!” she said, triumphant.

“Madison, you need to give Rocco what he likes
now
and not just what you like.”
Same as Daddy is trying to do with Mommy.

“He likes the vacuum plug.”

“Okay, we’ll work on it.” He got out of bed in the boxers he wore now his daughter was noticing the difference between boys and girls.

“Reindeers,” she said happily. They’d been a joke present from Kayla last Christmas, and Maddie loved them. He fully expected to find more pairs in his stocking this year.

He helped Maddie dress and brushed the tangles out of her hair before braiding it the way she liked. His fingers had gotten clumsy with ribbons and hairpins, a reminder of how often he’d been away this year. He used to be good at this. He used to be good at loving his wife, too.

When the final bow was tied, he picked Maddie up and tickled her, needing his daughter’s deep belly laugh. “C’mon, let’s get you breakfast.”

“Pancakes.”

“Muesli.”

“Because it helps you poop,” she said helpfully.

He couldn’t rewoo his wife until after Christmas, but he could certainly prove himself a better husband than the loser she’d married. It just took practice.

*

Kayla stood under
the shower in the main bathroom, rinsing porridge out of her baby’s fine hair. Though he was nearly one, Rocco still didn’t have a lot of it, but the kid could sure conjure tangles.

He wiggled to get away, his small body slippery. Tightening her grip, she sluiced the last clump of oatmeal down the drain. He looked at her crossly, water beading on his round cheeks and eyelashes, long and dark like his daddy’s, and she felt her heart clench in love, almost painful in its intensity.

“Good boy, all done.” Kissing his forehead, she swung him into the corner of the shower stall to play with the plastic blocks and stepped under the spray, hoping to loosen the residual tension in her neck and shoulders.

After last night it felt as if she was missing a layer of skin, which only made her aware of how she’d been shutting down her emotions lately. They were all there now, monkeys dancing on her back under the pummeling water, hurt, love, anger, hope…fear.

She’d always considered herself someone who rolled up her sleeves when faced with challenges. Lately she’d been all doubts and don’ts. I don’t want to be a rock star’s wife. I don’t want women pawing my husband. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to be left behind.

“What happened to me?” she asked her son.

He looked up from his blocks, her wet baby buddha and laughed at her through the steam. “Stop being a drama queen? Okay.”

She and Jared really
didn’t
have time to poke through their issues and it would be crazy to try so close to Christmas. Their moms were already agitating about the Christmas dinner menu—and it was her mom’s first holiday season without Kayla’s father, who’d died last January.

Rocco was clingy when he was unwell, and the house desperately needed a good clean. She needed to start packing extraneous junk into boxes for the big move. And she always needed to mentally prepare for visits from her brother Greg. “Why stay in a hotel when I’m in town on business when I can stay in
this
fucking hotel?” he’d said.

Still, those sounded like excuses.

The shower door banged open. Maddie stuck her head in, ignoring Rocco, who gurgled a welcome. “Mommy, Daddy’s making breakfast. You want pancakes?”

“Honey, water’s spilling on the floor.” Gently, Kayla nudged the door closed. “No, Rocco and I already ate. Tell Daddy you have muesli.”

“Awwww.”

Kayla smiled. Oh, so
that’s
the game. Play the parents off against each other.

“Daddy,” Maddie hollered. “Mommy says no!”

“What’s that?” Jared’s shadow loomed on the steamed-up door, and Kayla caught the handle. “What is this, Grand Central Station?”

Hearing his daddy, Rocco clambered over the plastic blocks “Dada!”

“Pass him out, I’ll dress him.”

She hesitated.

“Kayla?”

“Sure.” Turning off the shower, she grabbed the towel hooked over the top of the screen and wrapped it around herself before pulling the handle.

“Dada!” Rocco raised his arms for his father.

Picking him up, Jared looked at her. “Why are you wearing a towel in the shower?”

“Just finished.” Stepping out of the stall, she kissed him swiftly and cheerfully, then found another towel for their baby. “Here.”

Regarding her thoughtfully, Jared didn’t take it.

“Rocco’s dripping water on you,” she pointed out, hoping he’d attribute her blush to the hot water.

“Right.” He accepted the towel.

“Any chance I can slip out for a couple of hours today, leave you with the kids? I’ve got to start present shopping—”

“For meeee!” Maddie started jumping.

“And it’s way easier without little people.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Jared said. “Take the whole day. I’ve got this.”

“Don’t you have band stuff?”

“I’ve told the guys I’m taking more time off. Let’s work through that Christmas chore list together.”

He left with the kids before she could formulate another questions, leaving her frowning at herself in the mirror.

Whether he didn’t want to worry her, or didn’t think she was interested anymore, Jared rarely talked about his music except as it affected their private life—selling the house, finding something less palatial, giving themselves a financial buffer.

And she didn’t want to force the issue. These were difficult times as they waited to hear whether Zander’s singing voice would return and supported him through the fallout of his spectacular fall from grace. The lawyer in the bar last night had been right. Zander
could
be forced into bankruptcy if the insurance company didn’t pay out the tour cancellation insurance. And even if they did, and his singing voice recovered, it would take months to rebuild his reputation and get Rage touring again.