A Crazy Christmas Page 6

  “Look. I know you see imperfections, but I see my wife. The woman I never thought I’d have once, let alone twice. I see you, not like I always did, but as even more now. Bright Star, you are more now than you’ve ever been to me and you will be every single day. These”—he ran a finger along one of the white marks marring her skin—“aren’t ugly. They don’t make me want you less. And if I have to tell you that every day, I will.”

  Brighton was nodding along, but he wasn’t sure she was really hearing him, so he spun her around, taking a brief moment to admire her bare ass in the mirror, making sure she could see what he was doing and how much he was enjoying it. Then, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, locking their eyes together. “I love you, Bright Star. You could be seventy pounds heavier and smell like a ten-day-old ham sandwich and I’d love you. I’d encourage you to shower, but I’d love you.”

  A small smile began to reveal itself on Brighton’s face, so he continued, “I’m serious. I will never be able to not love you. There is nothing you can do to change that. You can bet on that—you have to know that I am a sure thing.”

  He didn’t use the words lightly. Gambling had ruined them once and even the smallest mention was sometimes hard for him to bear, his needs, his wants trying to meld together to convince him that one bet, one hand of poker would be fine. But if by telling her to bet on him—something he’d said to her once before—was the key to helping her see herself the way he saw her, then yeah, he’d use it.

  I will never be able to not love you.

  The words sent a shiver down Brighton’s spine. Or perhaps it was the fact she was still stark naked, wet and cold. Whatever it was, the way her husband was speaking about her was allowing the flame of anger to burnout.

  She’d been hurt when he’d asked about the shower, though her more rational self knew he didn’t mean anything by it. And maybe she’d overreacted, but she was alarmingly under slept, worried about Stella and still fighting with her body to return to her original weight.

  People Magazine acts like it’s so easy.

  She’d seen the magazines on the racks. Such-and-such celebrity back to their pre-pregnancy weight after two weeks. That wasn’t her. It would never be her. But, for some reason, she wanted it to be her.

  So much, she was killing herself with doubt.

  So much that, though she’d thought she’d never doubt him again, she couldn’t fight her fear that Sebastian would see every flaw, every bump, every mark.

  As if it wasn’t already enough to be crying in the dark, when Stella and Sebastian both slept. Or pacing the hallway, listening for any sound coming from her daughter’s room. Shaking whenever the first cry broke whatever silence she’d managed to find.

  Wondering if maybe, just maybe, becoming a mother was a mistake.

  It’s not a mistake. It’s not a mistake.

  Four words she repeated to herself over and over and over again, hoping that this time, they’d stick. That she’d believe them and be able to move on.

  Dammit, her life was nearly perfect and still her heart and her head ached.

  “Baby.” The warmth of Sebastian’s breath on her face as he spoke, made her realize that she’d closed her eyes. She opened them to find him still looking at her intently. “What do you need?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, struggling to find the words she needed. “Sleep?”

  It was probably the best place to start. At least without sheer exhaustion coloring her every thought, she might be able to look at things from a different, a better, angle.

  “Okay, Bright Star. Sleep.” He reached for another towel, wrapping it around her body once he’d pulled it loose. “Dry off. I’ll be right back.”

  “‘Kay.” A yawn escaped her as she spoke, her “okay” nearly lost to a deep inhale. And, while he disappeared in his wet suit, she toweled herself off, grabbing a second towel for her hair and made her way into the bedroom. She could hear the murmur of voices, but nothing that told her what was being talked about.

  My mental breakdown, probably.

  Dropping one towel back in the bathroom, uncaring for now that it was in a heap on the floor, she used the second one to protect her pillow—unwilling to let water seep into it as she slept, but too tired to bother with drying her hair. Then, with a heavy sigh and a twinge of pain in her chest that reminded her she wasn’t perfect, or even close, she pulled back the covers and slid between the sheets.

  Her eyes began to droop, trust in her husband and her mother-in-law to take care of Stella while she slept allowing her to relax just enough to let sleep start to take her under. And when the bed dipped behind her, the warmth of a body telling her she wasn’t alone, Brighton finally succumbed.

  Jade: Question for you.

  Brighton: Answer for you.

  Jade: God, you’re just like Declan. He says that to me, too.

  Brighton: Yeah, I think I caught it from him. Like a disease.

  Brighton: A TTD.

  Jade: A what now?

  Brighton: A TTD. A Textually Transmitted Disease.

  Jade: LMAO. Okay, that was funny. But seriously, question.

  Jade: If I bought a white dress for this Christmas party, think it could double as my wedding dress?

  Brighton: What? No!

  Brighton: I mean, of course the answer is yes, but don’t you want something pretty and special and new for your wedding?

  Brighton: It’s your WEDDING.

  Jade: No shit, Sherlock. But I hate shopping and this is like . . . multi-tasking.

  Jade: Here’s my idea. Bare with me.

  Jade: *Bear. Let’s not get naked just now.

  Brighton: Just now? So, maybe later then?

  Jade: You never know.

  Jade: Anyway, same dress. Different hair, make-up, shoes.

  Brighton: This is just an excuse for two pairs of shoes, isn’t it?

  Jade: I’m being frugal.

  Jade: And I hate shopping.

  Brighton: Unless it’s for shoes.

  Jade: Nailed it. So . . . ?

  Brighton: If you want to, you can get away with it. You’ll be beautiful no matter what.

  Brighton: And Declan won’t care.

  Jade: Especially if it’s low-cut enough *winks*

  Jade: Okay, settled. Now, let’s talk about you.

  Brighton: Let’s not and say we didn’t.

  Jade: You can’t avoid this.

  Jade: I’m an expert avoider, which makes me uniquely qualified to be a person you can’t avoid.

  Jade: Is there a word for a person you can’t avoid?

  Brighton: Pain in the butt?

  Jade: Doesn’t count. That’s four words.

  Jade: Seriously, B. Are you okay?

  Brighton: Yes.

  Jade: Because if you’re not, you know that no one is judging you.

  Jade: Except that lady who lives across the road from me. But I think she’s judging everyone, so you’re not special.

  Brighton: I do feel judged by her.

  Jade: Join the club. We have hats and meet on Sundays.

  Brighton: Oooh, fancy.

  Jade: But again, seriously. What do you need? A hug? A margarita? A one-person puppet show about the dangers of unprotected sex?

  Brighton: Unprotected text is probably what we need to be concerned about.

  Jade: Right, because TTDs are on the rise.

  Brighton: Yes. And so is my mood.

  Jade: Good. Still up for a hug though. Or a margarita, for that matter.

  Brighton: I love you. I’ll be okay.

  Jade: I know you will be.

  Jade: Because I’m at the door, arms wide.

  Jade: Hug me, woman.

  Jade had waited, not wanting to do it, but knowing it had to be done. Since Sebastian had called to say he’d be working from home for the rest of the week—and to let her know what was happening with Brighton—she took a slightly longer lunch break to start the hunt.

  Her lunch b
reak was not enough time. It took two more hours at the end of her work day to find something that she liked. Now, she waited at the front door of Brighton’s house, her dress in a plastic bag that was awkwardly tossed over her shoulder. She’d sat in her car exchanging texts with Brighton—trying to decide between going home or stopping in under the guise of showing her friend the dress she’d picked out.

  Seeing Brighton won out. In the back of her mind all day was her conversation with Sebastian.

  “She’s just . . . she’s hurting.”

  “How?” she asked, knowing that Brighton wouldn’t ever admit it, unless she had to—or unless it was so apparent she didn’t need to actually admit to it.

  “She was worried I didn’t want her, Jade. Me. I think—I mean, I know her confidence has taken a hit and I don’t know what else to do.” His voice proved his misery at not being able to help her. Heal her.

  “Would she see someone, do you think?” Jade was the first to admit that seeking help wasn’t exactly easy, but once she’d committed to it, she’d found that it made the weight on her shoulders infinitely lighter. If that could help her best friend, she’d drag her, kicking and screaming, into an appointment.

  “Maybe. I don’t know how to ask her that, I don’t want her to think that I think she’s wrong somehow. Does that even make sense?” His sigh was labored, his voice bordering on resigned. “I feel like an asshole. Worse, a clueless asshole. And now I’m dumping it all on you, my employee. Jesus.”

  “Seb, your wife is my best friend. Who else are you going to talk to about this?”

  “My mom.”

  “I guarantee you, your mom knows. And she’s waiting for your guidance on how to handle it. So, how do you want to handle it?”

  “No fucking clue.”

  “Do you . . .” She paused, wondering if this was a boundary she shouldn’t cross, then remembered what she’d just told Sebastian. Brighton was her best friend and had helped her when she needed it. Now it was Jade’s turn to return the favor. “Do you want me to talk to her about seeing someone?”

  “I—yes. Fuck. Can you?” He sounded like it pained him to ask, and maybe it did. But it didn’t matter to Jade.

  All that mattered was that her friend was taken care of. “I’m on it, boss.”

  The door opened, revealing Brighton dressed in a pair of pink sweatpants she recognized as Brighton’s favorite “do nothing” pants and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. Her face was plastered with a smile, but Jade could see the strain around her eyes, the exhaustion that coated her entire being.

  “Hug me already. Jeez.” She wrapped one arm around her friend, the other trying to corral the dress bag into not ruining the moment, and held on for a beat. Trying to say without words what Brighton meant to her. “There, better already, right?”

  She released Brighton from her hold and held up the bag. “Wanna see?”

  “Much better. And yes.”

  “The eye roll was a nice touch there, Bright.”

  “I thought so. Come on, Stella is still napping and Sebastian is . . . somewhere around here. Office, maybe?” She led Jade into the lounge room, plopping herself down on her couch. “He asked you to come?”

  Jade nodded, not wanting to deny her friend the truth, but eager to clarify something. “I’d have been here whether he asked me to or not, though. I owe you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, actually, I do. But even if I didn’t, I’d still be here. Know why?” She leveled Brighton with a look that said the question was rhetorical. “You’re the best person I know. I’m a selfish bitch, Declan is a jackass and Sebastian is . . . well, you know.”

  “Hot as hell?”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “The handsomest man ever.”

  “Have you seen Declan? No.”

  “Sex on legs?”

  “Would you stop? Jesus, I have to work for the man.” Jade pretended to be put out, but she wasn’t. Not really.

  “Fine.” Then, a mutter out the side of a mouth that was tilting upwards to smile, “You’re just jealous.”

  Jade laughed, enjoying seeing this side of her friend. She might not be herself 100% of the time, but she wasn’t completely lost, either. And that could only be a good thing.

  “So, do I get to see the dress now?” Brighton pressed her palms together, as if praying for the answer to be yes.

  “Not yet. Will you tell me what’s going on? I know you know that Seb and I talked, but he didn’t give me much in the way of details.”

  “It’s nothing.” Brighton shrugged, shifting her eyes away in a tell so obvious that even the worst poker player in the world would be able to see she was hiding something.

  “It’s not nothing. No matter how big or small or good or bad it seems, if it matters to you, it’s not ever nothing. You hear me?” Jade was perhaps more forceful than the moment needed, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  Too many people said it didn’t matter, tried to hide their feelings or brush them under the rug, and that only ever made things worse. She would not see her friend get worse.

  “I don’t really even know how to explain it. It’s just this feeling, like maybe I’m not doing it right. Or that I’ll never really be me again. The me that Sebastian loved.” Brighton raised her chin in a flare of defiance, like she was trying to not let the words seep in, but the tears in her eyes told Jade that for all her bravado, the pain was closer to the surface than her friend was willing to admit. “But I know that he does, it’s just not quite computing. Does that”—she swallowed, as if to push back the tears—“does that make sense?”

  “Yes.”

  “I miss my mom, too. It’s hard because I love Delaney, but . . .” Brighton’s voice trailed off, no longer able to hold back.

  “You want to share it all with her. I get it.”

  “I want to ask her about me as a baby. If what Stella is doing is normal, or like me, or completely different. It’s just”—she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper—“it’s not the same. And I think maybe that makes me a bad person?”

  Jade frowned, knowing with certainty that Brighton could never be a bad person. She was warm and kind and funny, and it was hard to realize that she doubted that about herself.

  Waiting a beat to ensure she had Brighton’s attention, she spoke her piece. “You are not a bad person. Anyone would be feeling the same way, I’m sure. And I bet Delaney would completely understand, if she knew.”

  Brighton was shaking her head, a message that she didn’t want her mother-in-law to find out, so Jade rushed to reassure her. “I’m not going to tell her. But, hey, I’m not a doctor. I can tell you that’s normal, but I think maybe you should talk to someone. A professional, someone qualified.” Jade paused a moment to let that sink in. “But, of course, I can offer you a shoulder to cry on, all the hugs and encouragement you need and, I don’t know, a dart board? For the therapeutic throwing of things?”

  That last comment earned Jade a huff of laughter from Brighton. Knowing she was on the right track, she added one more thing. “I will listen to anything and everything you want to tell me, but I want you to at least consider making an appointment with a doctor, ‘kay?”

  Brighton smiled, though the tears that tracked down her cheeks were not yet dried. “If I say okay, do I get to see the dress now?”

  “Um, yep. I can’t really wait much longer to show you. Like, get yourself together, woman.”

  Brighton’s laugh was music to Jade’s ears.

  “Enough about you, let’s talk about me for a minute,” she added, singing words to a song she hadn’t heard in years.

  “Okay, I’ll consider it.”

  Rubbing her hands together, Jade did her best impression of an evil old man in glee. “Excellent.”

  “You’re a dork. I mean, I love you, but . . .”

  Brighton stared at her best friend, the blush pink dress that draped over her body making her blonde and blue hair
look bright and lush and . . . “Perfect.”

  “I know I said white, but”—Jade shrugged, like it was all part of her master plan—“I really just wanted to get you thinking.”

  “It worked. And that dress definitely works. You look beautiful. Oh my God, you’re getting married. To Declan. My Declan.” Brighton couldn’t seem to stop her hands from flailing about—first, to her mouth, trying to cover the excitement, then over her heart, to keep it from beating out of her chest, and finally, in the air, like she just didn’t care.

  Except, she did. She cared a whole hell of a lot.

  Her best friends were headed down the aisle and, with her hormones already out of control, she was one wedding favor away from a full-blown crying jag.

  “I think you meant my Declan,” Jade pointed out, the sliver of a smile on her face telling Brighton she was in no way put out. “I kind of can’t believe it.”

  “I felt that way, too. About Seb. I think it’s a good sign. An omen.”

  “Or it means we need more therapy.” Jade mimed weighing up the choices, her eyes laughing and her dress fluttering around her body with the movement.

  “It’s funny because it’s probably true,” Brighton lamented, before breaking into a wide grin. “I have the decorations all planned and Delaney is going to help me put them up. You’ll stay here the night before, right?”

  “What about Declan?”

  “Do you want to do the whole ‘don’t see the bride’ thing?”

  “No. We’re having, like, twenty people to our house and some twinkle lights. I don’t even think—”

  Brighton held up a hand to stop her friend from finishing her sentence. “I know you think you don’t, but you do need to be away from the house. Delaney and I want to do this for you. Make it perfect and pretty. Your mom will be there too, and at least one of your sisters. Please?” She widened her eyes and pressed her palms together as if in prayer, making Jade laugh at the faux innocence on her face.

  “Fine. But Dec stays with me. In the guest room. Where we, you know . . .”