What He Never Said ✔️

chapter eight • a new year

"I have wanted to kill myself a hundred times, but somehow I am still in love with life."
- Voltaire

New Year's Eve isn't something I typically celebrate. Like I've mentioned before, I'm not much of a drinker, so getting plastered and watching a ball drop on a television screen isn't my idea of a good time.

This year, Mom and Dad are having a kid-friendly party for Evangeline. We'll eat sugary snacks, drink sparkling cider, and ring in the new year at nine p.m., which is what they did with us when we were younger. Benson got to stay up late because he was the oldest. Gemma and I learned quickly that "oldest" was synonymous with "favorite."

In a bold move that disappoints my parents, I decide to skip the party and go straight to bed. December has been a tiring month, and I'm too drained for another celebration.

Honestly, I'm just eager for this year to be over.

When I awaken on New Year's Day, Mom and Dad are gone, probably on their way to the airport. Mom has been raving about Bermuda for days. I know more about the North Atlantic island than I've ever wanted to. I'm happy for them. They deserve a vacation in a tropical paradise. I just hate that Benson had to be the one to give it to them.

I take a quick shower and dress myself in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Once presentable, I open Evangeline's bedroom door. Her bed is unmade, but she's not in it.

I amble downstairs. My eyelids still feel the weight of sleep and struggle to stay open. I spot Evangeline and, to my surprise, Gemma sitting in the kitchen.

"Morning," I greet them.

"Good morning." Gemma flashes a smile and ruffles my hair.

I put on a pot of coffee. I may not drink alcohol, but I consume an excessive amount of coffee. Caffeine is my only addiction.

"Why are you here so early?" I ask my sister.

"Mom asked me to help you out while they were gone," she replies.

"I know, but I figured you'd stop by after work or something." Truthfully, I didn't think she'd stop by at all, but I'm not going to tell her that. If she wants to make an effort to see Evangeline—an effort she should have made years ago, granted, but still—who I am to question it?

"Well, I don't have work today. It's New Year's, remember?" she points out.

"Right." I fetch my favorite dark blue mug out of the cupboard, desperate for my liquid wakeup call.  "So did you do anything fun last night?"

"Went to bed early. You?"

"Same."

"I stayed up until midnight," Evangeline pipes in.

Gemma turns to the six year-old, her brown eyes wide with astonishment. "You did?"

Evangeline grins. "Yep! I watched the ball drop on the TV in your old room."

"And my parents were okay with that?" I know the answer; I just want to hear it from her.

"I don't know. They were already asleep," she replies with a shrug.