“What’s with the inflatable Santa?” Ayden nods at Ethan who’s inflating a massive Santa near the border of where our properties meet. “Last year, he put it that close to your house, too.”
“It’s because my dad’s afraid of them.” I unbuckle my seatbelt. “I guess he got stuck under one during a teenage prank gone wrong. Every year, Uncle Ethan puts it up to torture him. They’re so crazy and weird, maybe weirder than me.”
“Yeah, but it’s nice, I guess. To have Christmas traditions like that, something you guys have done for years.” He silences the engine and unfastens his seatbelt.
Suddenly, his deal with the big tree makes sense. He wants to keep tradition by getting a large one like the Gregorys did last year during his first Christmas with the family. He was so quiet back then, and I was awkward, pushing him out of his comfort zone. I wanted so much for him to be my friend. This year, I want him to be more than that. But with what he’s going through, I can’t expect anything more than friendship.
“You know, my mom is having one of her holiday art shows like she did last year on New Year’s Eve,” I tell Ayden as I open the door to get out. “We could go again, but this time we can try sneaking off with a few glasses of eggnog. Get buzzed. Add to the tradition.”
“I thought you were going to go to that party with Sage?” Ayden’s brow arches as he glances at me. “That one Maggie invited you guys to.”
Sage is the drummer of our band. With his blue-dyed hair, multiple piercings, and tattoos, he fits the part of what most people think a drummer should look like. After two months of jamming with him, I’m still deciding if he’s a walking cliché or just an expressive person.
“Well, she invited you, too, silly. But I think the art show would end up being more fun. Besides, parties still make me uneasy. And I could very well run into William there.”
William is the guy who assaulted me and attempted to rape me at a party a few months ago. Thankfully, I was able to get away before he got too far, but the thought of being near him makes me uneasy.
“You shouldn’t worry about running into him,” Ayden says. “He’s the one who should be worried, not you.”
“I know, but unfortunately, that’s not the way it works. I saw him at school after he did his community service. The douche had the nerve to grin at me.”
“I want to punch him in the face,” Ayden growls through gritted teeth, gripping onto the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
“You already did that.” I gently touch his arm, hoping to calm him down. “We just need to move on now. Stewing in what he did only gives him more power.”
“You got that from my therapist.”
“Yeah. He said that to me when I went to visit him.”
I went to one therapy session after what happened with William, mainly because my parents needed to know my head was okay. Talking about what happened was therapeutic, but not enough for me go to weekly visits like Ayden does.
“So, what do you say?” I ask, clasping my hands in front of me. “Does an art show sound New Year’s Eve worthy? Pretty please, say yes.”
“Sure. An art show sounds good.” He offers me a small, grateful smile. “But only because you said pretty please.”
“Awesome.” I shove the door open all the way, and a chilly breeze gusts inside the cab. “I’m going to go tell my dad to come get the tree. Then I’m going to take a shower. I smell like pine needles and greasy burgers, not a great combo.” I pause before I jump out. “Are you driving tonight or am I?”
“I can...” He appears distracted, his attention on the shut garage ahead of us.
“Hey, are you okay?” I search for what he might be looking at, maybe hidden in the shadows, but I don’t see anything.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” His gaze finds mine and he blinks dazedly. “I was just thinking about some stuff I have to do tonight.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” I swing my legs over the edge of the seat to hop out of the truck.
He shakes his head then forces a stiff smile. “I’ll go take care of the trees and then head over to your house in about a half an hour.”
I suppress a sigh, jump out of the truck, and close the door. Giving a quick wave to Ayden, I round the fence between our driveways and enter the warmth of my home.
My dad is in the kitchen when I walk in. He has a notebook in his hand, intently reading one of the pages as he nibbles on a cookie. His blond hair is sticking up, and he looks stressed out.