Charlie — December 25, 2020
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The last time Charlie's entire family was around for Christmas, the anticpiated day started before dawn with excited whispers between her an Armin, wrapping up warm in dressing gowns and fluffy socks and creeping into the living room, slowly, so not to spook Santa Claus if he was still yet to leave. She sat by the twinkling tree with Armin, tearing open presents and giggling with joy. Then she hugged both of her parents in turn, who were sat watching their children, smiles adorning their faces and mugs of hot chocolate clutched in their hands.
Now, when Charlie woke, it was not to Armin excitedly shaking her awake, but naturally, and alone. Reaching for her phone to check the time, she found that it had just gone eight in the morning. With a yawn and a stretch, she heaved herself out of bed and grabbed the black jumper that she had left on the floor the night before.
After a quick stop in the bathroom to relieve herself, wash her face anf fix up her eyebrows and eyeline with makeup, Charlie made her groggy way to the living room. Everyone was gathered on the couch—Armin, Jean, Anya, Elijah and, most unfortunately of all, Paul. Charlie wondered if the air between her father and her mother's new boyfriend was at all tense or awkward. She imagined it must have been.
When the door creaked open, all heads turned. The tree lights were on, Charlie noticed, but the gifts were yet to be opened.
"They wanted to start without you," Elijah said, smiling warmly. "I convinced them to wait."
He wore the same green tartan robe that he used to wear on Christmas morning when Charlie was a kid. Was it the exact same one, she wondered, or a new, less frayed one?
"How thoughtful," Charlie drawled, struggling to keep sarcasm out of her voice. She sat cross-legged on the floor by the tree, and Armin and Jean joined her. The neatly wrapped gifts were labelled—most of them, Charlie noted, were for Armin. But four little gifts had her name written on them.
She reached for the one that she knew was from Mikasa first—brown paper, tied with a golden thread. It was so pretty, she almost didn't want to open it. Inside, Charlie found a small box, cramped with a vanilla-scented candle, some inscense, and a personalised zippo, enragved with the words: For my favourite wife, from Mikasa.
Chuckling to herself, Charlie slipped the lighter inside the pocket of her checkered trousers and reached for her second present. As expected, it was a pair of fluffy socks from her mom, and a new nail polish from Paul. She offered them her usual sarcastic smile, setting the extremely thoughtful gifts aside, grabbing the third and smallest gift.
There was a note attached to it, and Charlie was beyond grateful that she opened it before the gift. It read: Proceed with extreme caution around family. Merry Christmas, Cherry.
As Eren requested, Charlie did her best to hide the present from prying eyes without looking suspicous. Luckily for her, Anya and Paul could not have cared less about her in the moment. They were busy embracing Armin, who was thanking them for his new laptop. The only person paying Charlie any attention was her father.
Tearing away the wrapping paper, Charlie found an amethyst crystal necklace and a little jar. She popped it open, and she didn't need to look to tell what was inside—the smell was enough. Hastily twisting the lid back on, Charlie tipped it over, finding yet another note taped to the underside: Full ounce :)
That must have cost, what, almost two hundred and fifty dollars? Charlie couldn't believe it. She was going to kill Eren for spending so much on her.
"What is it?" Elijah asked, intrigued and grinning.
"It's a candle," Charlie lied. "Cute, isn't it?"
When she picked up the final present, Armin said. "That's from me. Just something small."
It was a new pair of AirPods. He must have actually been listening the other week when Charlie was complaining about one of her AirPods being broken, which surprised her. And what surprised her further was the genuine smile of gratitude that she gave her brother.
From his seat on the couch, Elijah cleared his throat. He stood up, stepping closer to the tree.
"I know gifts aren's as fun if they're not something you can open, but . . . " He took out a slip of paper and passed it to Armin, who made a bizzarre choking noise and leapt to his feet.
"I—I—Dad!" was all he could seem to manage. His eyes were blown so wide, Charlie worried they might pop out of his head. "Fifty-five thousand dollars? I—I don't—"
"It'll cover the cost of your tuition for Princeton," Elijah told him, smiling somewhat sheepishly. "I thought I'd help out a bit."
"I don't even know what to say, I—"
Armin threw his arms around Elijah, hugging him impossibly tight. They held each other for a few moments, and when Armin stepped back, Charlie saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and teary.
"That's very kind of you, Mr Arlert," Paul said, nodding.
"It really is," Anya agreed. "You have no idea how much of a help it will be."
Ignoring all the praise that was coming his way, Elijah rounded on Charlie, who had since gotten to her feet.
"And don't think I've forgotten about you," he grinned.
Heat rose to Charlie's face. "You already got me a porsche."
"And it's in the shop right now getting fixed up, but I needed to give you something on Christmas day too, so . . . " From the pocket of his dressing gown, he produced a silver key, dangling from a blue key ring. For a moment, Charlie frowned at it, bewildered, but realisation quickly dawned on her and her mouth fell open.
"You're kidding!" she beamed, grabbing the key from her father's hand and turning it over, examining it. "You're giving me the lake house?"
"Well, you loved it so much as a kid," Elijah said. "I thought you and your friends could get some enjoyment out of it. Maybe you could take a trip over spring break?"
"Dad, I—I don't know what to say." Charlie felt tears springing to her eyes, but she did little to blink them away. Moving towards her father, she found herself wrapping her arms around him without stopping to think about it. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
Elijah chuckled, hand cradling the back of his daughter's head as he held her close. And suddenly, Charlie was six again, and she was clinging to her father like he was her lifeline at her most desperate hour. Within the private confines of her own mind, she told her dad that she had missed him. She couldn't have been happier to see him again.
"Don't get too excited," Elijah said, his voice bringing Charlie back to the present, where she was eighteen and no longer a little girl. "I've got one more thing for you."
He stepped out of the hug, and Charlie suddenly felt cold. From beneath the tree, Elijah grabbed a present that she somehow hadn't noticed. He passed it to her, and Charlie could already tell that it was a vinyl record. Tearing away the paper, it was all she could do not to jump for joy when she found a 2008 signed copy of Day & Age by The Killers.
"No way!" she exclaimed, goggling at Brandon Flowers' signature. "Is this real?"
"Perks of working in the music industry," Elijah grinned. He wrapped his arm around Charlie's shoulders, and she leaned into him, too flabbergasted to hug him back. "Merry Christmas, Charlie."
By now, an almost painful lump had formed in Charlie's throat, and she was struggling immensely to keep her tears at bay. Not to mention that was the first time her father had called her Charlie as opposed to Charlene. Even her mother still called her Charlene after years of insisting that she preferred to go by Charlie.
"I'm gonna go put my stuff in my room," she said, unsure of how much longer she could hold off the waterworks. "Merry Christmas, Dad."
She hugged him again, a quick gesture, before gathering all her gifts up in her arms and hurrying back to her room. Tossing everything on the bed, the first thing Charlie did was test out her new record. The very second the introduction to Losing Touch began to play, the first tear leaked out.
The memories came rushing back; her little set of toys—the keyboard, microphone, and guitar—and her so-called performances with her dad. She used to sing and bang away at the toy keyboard, while Elijah strummed its partner guitar and sang along with her.
With tears shamelessly streaming down her face, Charlie made herself busy by putting away her new things. If she didn't give herself some form of distraction from the song, she was surely going to break.
I'm in no hurry, you go run
And tell your friends I'm losing touch
Fill the night with stories, the legend grows
Of how you got lost
But you made your way back home
You sold your soul, like a Roman vagabond
Charlie had just put her new pair of fluffy socks away when the door opened. Making haste of wiping her tears, she jumped around. Jean smiled apologetically back at her.
"Hey," he said. "I knocked, but you mustn't have heard me over the—wait, are you crying?"
The unfiltered concern in his voice made Charlie wince. Painting an unbothered expression on her face, she laughed, brushing him off.
"No, no, I'm just coming down with something," she lied. Human was now playing on the record. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just wanted to give you your gift," Jean said, and only at that moment did Charlie realise that his hands were tucked behind his back. When he showed her the gift, it would have been impossible to mistake it for anything but what it actually was. After all, electric guitars have a very distinct shape.
Mouth agape, Charlie stammered out, "Jean, I—I don't know if I can take this."
"Sure you can," he smiled, passing the wrapped instrument to her. "I had lots of savings, don't worry. It basically cost me nothing. I just thought that, if you had a new one, it might encourage you to start playing again. No, like, negative feelings attactched to it, y'know?"
Charlie didn't even bother unwrapping the gift. She must have lost her mind completely, because she laid the guitar on her bed and threw her arms around Jean. He was so taken aback, he staggered, and it took him a few moments to overcome his shock and hug Charlie back.
"God, and all I got you was a stupid new eyebrow pencil," Charlie snorted, hints of shame evident in her voice.
"And an eyeliner pencil," Jean added. "Oh, and the loop pedal."
"That's still no electric guitar," Charlie said.
"It's perfect, Charlie," Jean assured her. "Don't worry."
They stepped out of the hug, and Charlie expected the air to suddenly grow thick, hot and tense. But it was still cool, the airy chill of winter creeping in through the open vent on the wall, and there was a distinct lack of a blush in Charlie's cheeks. Her embrace with Jean had not been awkward, like she had expected it would be. Dare she say it was almost nice.
"Well, your dad's making breakfast," Jean said, pointing towards the door with his thumb and backing towards it. "You coming down?"
"I think I'll pass," Charlie answered. "But I'll see you later, yeah?"
Jean nodded, opened the door, paused. "Merry Christmas, Charlie."
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Merry Christmas, Jean."
***
Ever since Charlie learned that Eren was going to be in Marley and she would have to spend the big day with her family, she had been dreading Christmas dinner. And so far, it was going exactly as she had expected. Her mother had made some subtly snide comments about her portion size during both appetizers and the main course, and Paul wouldn't stop calling her Charlene no matter how many times she corrected him.
Once the topic of conversation switched to college and Armin was suddenly the centre of attention, Charlie had approximately five minutes to enjoy her turkey and ham before Anya and Paul tired of Princeton talk and decided they wanted to belittle her some more.
"So, Charlene." Paul's utterance of her name made the last remaining shred of Charlie's will to live wither up and die. Chewing on a piece of ham, he turned the gathering's attention back to her. "Where do you plan on going to college? Will it be Princeton, like your brother? Or perhaps a different Ivy League school?"
Charlie, who had been taking a sip of her drink, snorted loudly. When her mother's eyes narrowed into malevolent slits and Paul's face contorted in confusion, she came to realise that his question was entirely serious and not at all a joke.
"Oh, you're not kidding," Charlie mumbled, shifting in her seat and sitting up straight. "Well, I don't think I'm going to college."
Paul looked as though someone had just murdered his first born in front of him.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
If looks could kill, Anya would be wanted for murder and Charlie would've been six feet under.
"I don't want to go to college," she repeated. "I mean, school already makes me want to—you know. . ." To the pure horror of Paul and Anya, she made a slicing motion across her throat with her thumb, continuing on like she could not see their scandalised expressions. "So another four years will probably take me out."
Clearing his throat, Paul composed himself and asked, "So, what exactly do you plan to do after school if not further education? How to you plan to make a sufficient living?"
Charlie shrugged, stabbed her fork into a slice of turkey. "Become a stripper," she suggested.
"Charlene!" Anya snapped.
"Charlie," her dad added, an edge of disapproval to his voice. She looked to him, and when their eyes met, he slowly shook his head. Then he turned to the group at large and said, "Charlie doesn't need to go to some fancy school to do well in life. Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly proud of you Armin, but Charlie just isn't a school person, and that's okay."
"Exactly," Charlie cut in, nodding affirmatively. "Thanks, Dad."
He raised his glass and to her.
"I'm not sure I want to go to college either," Jean added. "I mean, at least not a big one, anyways. I'll probably just take a general business course here."
"A homebody," Paul hummed, raising his own glass to Jean. "I have a lot of respect for men who are proud of where they come from."
Jean blinked, taken aback. "Well, no, what I meant was—"
"Jean," Armin interjected with a withering stare. "Not helping."
"Of course, it's no surprise the girl doesn't want to go to college," Paul said, cutting up a piece of ham and speaking thoughtlessly about Charlie as though she wasn't in the room. "Women these days don't know what they're good for. They whine about not having jobs, then we give them jobs and they whine about having to work."
Armin paled. "Now, hang on a minute—"
Charlie was so astounded by Paul's comment that the only response she could seem to muster was a bark of laughter. A sound void of all amusement, of course, but teeming with appalled disbelief.
"I . . . I don't even know what to say to that." She leaned back in her chair. "I mean, where do I even begin?"
Though she looked visibly uncomfortable, chewing on the inside of her cheek and tightly gripping her glass of red wine, Anya said nothing in retaliation to Paul's blatant gush of misogyny.
"What, you don't agree?" Paul challenged. "So you have career prospects, then? And a driving determination to work? Perhaps I'm mistaken and you don't want to just spend you life wasting away on cigarettes and science-fiction movies in your room?"
Charlie could feel herself growing hot, a wick of anger within her sparking, curling, rapidly winding towards the stick of dynamite.
"First of all, fuck you," she started, ignoring her mother's horrified cry of her name. "Second of all, I don't represent all women. Just because I want to drown myself in alcohol and choke on cigarettes and please God be dead by forty, doesn't mean we all do. The point is that we have the freedom to choose. A woman wants to start her own business? Great. A woman wants to be a stay-at-home mom? Good for her. A woman wants to be a hooker? More power to her."
Anya was desperate to change the topic of discussion at hand. "Would anyone like some more brussel sprouts?"
The vein was throbbing in Paul's forehead. "Perhaps you're right. At least the hooker does something with her life, earns her own money. But I don't see you following in her footsteps."
It took every last ounce of Charlie's self restraint to not hurl the knife that was clutched in her hand right at Paul's face. She wondered if she'd be lucky and it would pierce him right between the eyes. Instead of becoming a wanted felon, however, she got sharply to her feet, chair legs grinding harshly against the floor.
"No, but I'd say I'm following in my mother's," she spat. "So if you have such a big problem with the dismissive, lazy lifestyle, maybe you should dive into a different dating pool."
For weeks, Charlie had known that Christmas dinner was going to end with her getting up and storming off. Honestly, she was just surprised that she had lasted as long as she did.