The roads sleep with the soft of Christmas morning. There are no cars or distractions, only me and my brain working up the nerve to see Alec. And I will. I have to. But my feet have a different mission and I let them run for miles in the early cold. I jog under the umbrella of hush that softens the neighborhoods. No one stirs, not even a dog barking. It is as if time has stopped and I am alone. It is eerie the way Christmas has quieted all movements but I am hungry for this calm, the complete silence. And the power of my legs and lungs to propel me in whatever direction I want to go.
By the time I return to Ashland Drive, I feel strong enough to face anything. Alec. The truth. I slow to a walk and stretch my arms to the sky. I tilt my head back, relax my neck muscles. The sun bears down on my cheeks and feels almost warm since the wind can’t build momentum through our thick stand of trees. I stop and draw the heat down. My breath slows. The world pulses quiet. Soundless.
Until a twig cracks in the forest and breaks my meditation. It is a deer, I am sure. Within seconds, another crack echoes in the trees, bouncing off the still limbs, the snow caked on the forest floor. It causes fear to bump along my skin. Because nothing is for certain.
I race home and into the kitchen where Mom’s brewing coffee. “You were up early.”
“I needed a run.” Needed to think.
She moves to the island. “Did it help?”
“Yeah.” The run was perfect. It’s all the other stuff crowding my heart I could do without.
Mom crumples the note I left her before leaving the house this morning. “So, what are you going to do, Zephyr?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d be willing to bet you do know, even if it seems like the hardest thing in the world right now.”
And she is right. Of course.
I tug off my hat and scarf, unlace my sneakers.
Mom stirs cream into her coffee. “But none of that needs to happen in this very instant, so how about we try to conjure up some semblance of a normal Christmas? The rest can wait. Step by step, remember?” She gives a hopeful smile. “And those gifts aren’t going to unwrap themselves.”
“I could do with normal.” Anything to keep my mind off Alec. And maybe Mom needs the same thing, to keep her mind off Dad not being here and all the disappointment in me she’s trying to hide.
We go to the tree and I choose a medium box and tear at its wrapper. Inside is a Boston College sweatshirt and it steals my breath with all its maroon color and bold white stitching.
“I wasn’t sure if I should still give it to you. But you said it’s what you want.”
I rub at the thick material, think about its journey from the bookstore on campus. “It’s all I want.” I lost track of that too easily. If Alec is innocent, I still want Boston College. I can have him and Boston College and it will work. “Would it be weird to put it on?”
“Not at all. It’s important you visualize what you want. Maybe this will be a good sign for our mission with the dean.”
I pull off my outer tee and stretch the sweatshirt over my head, poke my arms into its soft inner fleece. It’s too big, but in that perfectly oversize way. I brush my hand over the front, my fingertips catching the embroidered seal. “Thank you.”
Mom looks at me, so proud. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who did the work to get there. And you’ll do it again, Zephyr.”
Mom’s faith is so strong I almost believe a second chance is possible.
“Zephyr, I think your father deserves to know what’s happened.”
Shame visits me again, quick as lightning striking. “I thought you might have told him already.”
“I wanted your permission first. And I wanted to suggest that the two of you talk about what’s been going on with you lately.”
“I don’t know if I can, Mom. It’s bad enough you know.”
“Telling me was the best thing. And talking to your dad about it might provide new perspective. Maybe he can see through this problem in a way we can’t.”
“Maybe.” Maybe. “Could you tell him? I think I’m fine to talk about it when I meet him for dinner; I just can’t bring it up. I need to focus on talking to Alec first. One thing at a time, right?”
“Step by step,” Mom says, and I can hear how she’s trying to draw the stress from me, help me survive this.
We spend the morning opening gifts and baking cookies until I am stretched on the couch, lost in a sugar coma. It is dark by the time the doorbell rings. Mom calls to me from the kitchen, “I’ve got it!”
I stand and watch Mom put her hand to the doorknob and in that instant all of me wants our visitor to be my father. I want to hear his reasons for leaving me and why he wants me back. I want someone to show me that love is complicated and makes us do ridiculous things. And that it’s okay to fall. And make mistakes. And forgive and come out the other side.