What He Never Said ✔️

chapter six • christmas

I wrap my arms around myself and sigh. I would cancel Christmas altogether if it meant getting Rae back. This holiday feels fucking wrong without her.

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I awaken to the sound of my name. I open my tired eyes and see Evangeline's face just inches from mine.

"Can I help you?" I ask, my voice husky with leftover sleep.

"It's Christmas," she states. "It's Christmas morning."

"Okay."

"Aren't you gonna wake up?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes!" she exclaims, climbing on top of me and bouncing up and down. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

"I'm up, I'm up, I'm up!" I shout, reaching forward to tickle under her arms. She dissolves into a fit of giggles before falling off the bed.

I put on a t-shirt and glance at my phone. It's only six a.m. No wonder I feel like death reincarnated.

"Am I the first person you woke up?" I ask the six year-old.

She nods her head and flashes a guilty smile.

"Why?" I question her.

"You're my favorite, Bowie," she says simply.

I can't help but smile. It's nice to be someone's favorite, even if that someone is in the first grade.

I tell her to go downstairs, vowing that I'll join her shortly. Quickly, I shower and dress myself. By the time I'm done, Mom and Dad are just getting up.

As promised, I meet Evangeline downstairs. She's sitting by the Christmas tree, nibbling on a gingerbread cookie.

"I admire your self-restraint," I tell her. "I would have opened all my presents by now."

She shakes her head. "This is new for me. I wanna enjoy it."

Eager to keep her in good spirits, I turn on Rudolph and get her a glass of milk. Mom and Dad come downstairs and begin to prepare our holiday feast. While they cook, I occupy Evangeline.

After all, I am her "favorite."

Once Rudolph is welcomed into Santa's gang of reindeer, we watch The Santa Claus. Gemma and Benson are expected to be here soon. I'm not excited to see the latter. As usual, he's going to silently brag about his financial situation—he works for Lionspace, a.k.a. the most corrupt scientific research facility in North America, which I suppose is fitting—by getting Mom and Dad an expensive gift. Last year, he bought them a new plasma TV. The year before, it was winter tires for both their cars. I can only imagine what his grand gesture will be this Christmas.

As Mom runs around like a mad woman to finish lunch, my dad comes into the front room with a dress for Evangeline. He instructs her to put it on.

"I... I don't like dresses," the six year-old protests. I don't blame her. They seem uncomfortable and difficult to move in.

"Calista picked it out," Dad says, as if that's supposed to convince her. "Can you wear it for her please?"

Evangeline lets out a theatrical sigh but agrees to change out of her snowman pajamas. All the while, I'm trying not to laugh. If I ever have a kid, they're gonna get away with everything.

When she returns, I barely recognize her. In a sleeveless, off-white gown with golden sparkles etched into the fabric, she looks like a princess. She's just missing a pair of silk gloves and a tiara.