eleven: family time

*

I'm floating on a cloud all through Tuesday. Kaylani ribs me all day and I go along with it; I don't even try to hide that Storie and I kissed last night, for the first time in four years – more, even, by a couple weeks – and she grimaces when I mention how hard it was, in more than one sense, to share a bed with her after that.

I feel untouchable, and I really need that feeling to last because I'm working a shorter shift today, giving myself an hour to squeeze in some last-minute Christmas shopping before I get in Storie's car and she drives us to Five Oaks. I know she's talked to her family, that they know we're together and she's asked for their support, but I'm still nervous as hell.

By six o'clock on Wednesday evening, by which time my nose is so cold it feels like it could snap off, and my frozen fingers are gripping a few bags after a mad dash around downtown ending in Tower City Centre, I'm back to thinking oh, fuck, why did I agree to this? But the feeling doesn't have long to percolate, because I'm due to meet Storie at her building in ten minutes and if I don't get my ass moving right this second, I'm going to be more than what is acceptably late. Couple minutes? That's all right. But any longer is downright rude.

So I hurry, trying not to slip this time. It snowed again this morning, but the gritters have had plenty of time since then to coat the roads and sidewalks, and there's a ton of pre-Christmas traffic in the city. People are filling the sidewalks, doing the same as me, and I dash between them to make it to Storie's apartment without knocking anyone out with my shopping. The best part of being paid cash in hand is that it doesn't feel like I spent anything today: my bank account hasn't taken a hit from my purchases, because I haven't deposited any of the money I've made since Monday. The worst part is that that made it way too easy to spend almost three hundred bucks in one hour, trying to find the right gifts for my way-too-large family.

I'm supposed to meet Storie at six fifteen. I make it one minute late, panting when I reach her door even after standing still in the elevator for the twenty-five-floor ride; she's just putting on her coat when she opens the door.

"I was just about to call you!" she says, taking my bags off me and setting them down by the sofa. "You managed to do some shopping?"

"I have mastered the art of doing all my gift-buying in an intensely stressful hour-long session two days before Christmas," I say, untangling my scarf from my coat and my bags so I can rewind it, though I swear some of the fibers have actually frozen. Storie laughs and tuts at me. She's the queen of organisation; I bet she had all her shopping finished by October. She's probably wrapped everything, too.

"Got your stuff for tonight?"

I shrug the shoulder my overnight bag is slung over. We're both spending the night at her parents' house and coming back tomorrow morning, both of us working Christmas Eve. And then she'll be returning to Five Oaks, and I'll be driving home to Cincinnati. Tomorrow's my last day at the Winter Wonderland until the new year, I realize, and I don't even know if it'll be around then. Surely Christmas Day is the cut-off for stuff like that? I feel a sudden pang of ... sadness? Like I'll miss it.

It's been a weird couple of weeks. The work has certainly helped, but it's not like it's a forever gig. I can't be a garden center's Christmas elf for long. Not when Christmas is thirty hours away.

"Right," Storie says. "Let's get going, then. The service starts at eight, but it'll take an hour to get there and we'll grab a drink on the way 'cause I'm really craving a chai latte, and we're meeting the others and Mom and Tad's house before we go to the church."

I haven't stepped foot in a church for a long time. But Storie wants me to be there with her, and I will do anything for her, so I can't wait to stand by her side and fuck up the lyrics to O Come All Ye Faithful.

"Sounds like a plan." I rub my hands together, trying to coax some semblance of sensation back into my fingertips. I didn't realize until way too late that I had no gloves, and it's somewhere in the high twenties out there. Cold. As. Fuck. "Let's go."

"There's just one more thing I need to do before we leave," she says, winding a thick yellow scarf around her neck, the sunny shade a perfect complement to her skin. She stretches up on her tiptoes, one hand on the back of my head, and kisses me tenderly. I lean into the moment, cherishing the minty taste of her tongue and the shea butter of her chapstick, and I grin when she drops her heels to the ground.

"I feel a lot more ready now," I say, taking her hand. Every moment that I spend with her feels more right, more natural, more perfect. Even more meant to be. Each day, a little more anxiety sheds itself from my shoulders and I can stand a little taller, because of her.

*

It takes the heating a while to kick in. It isn't until we've been to a drive-thru Starbucks and I have a venti mint hot chocolate in my hands that I start to warm up, relaxing into my seat with each sip. Storie's talking about work, and I am relishing every word that passes her lips; her words flow like honey, a confident ramble, the way she can easily talk for hours if she gets onto a subject that interests her.

If there's one thing I'm getting right now, it's that she loves her job. I may not understand the intricacies of the work she does – or rather, I understand the intricacies that she's talking about more than I understand the broader idea – but I can tell she is happy doing what she does. Although her main job is copyediting, it's her voluntary stuff that she talks about the most. She started a campaign a couple months back to help out with Christmas for the autistic kids she helps out at school, and each time I catch her eye when she glances away from the road for half a second, I see her excitement in her eyes.

"Anyway," she says with a laugh, after almost twenty minutes. "Sorry. That was a bit of a rant. I can't even remember what you asked me."

I chuckle. "I asked how work was today."

She laughs and groans. "Sorry. I went off on one a bit. How was your day?"

"Busy. A lot of kids wanted to see Santa at the last minute, though I'm pretty sure if the haven't sent in their lists by now, he's not gonna have enough time to sort out their wishes. I overheard at least three different kids asking for some toy that, according to Kaylani, sold out five weeks ago."

"Uh oh. There'll be some disappointed children on Christmas Day then."

"Quite possibly. But, yeah, my day was fine. I've realized Kaylani's actually pretty tolerable, and half decent company, so there's a chance I might have made a friend. It'll be nice to have one of those again."

I mean it to come out lighthearted but Storie pouts, her expression shifting from amusement to sadness. She's driving with one hand on the wheel; the other drops onto my knee and gently squeezes. I put my hand over hers and we stay like that for a while, until she has to switch lanes and we're coming off the I-90. We're almost there. It's really real. This is actually happening. My heart's in my throat but then her hand's on my knee again and I don't feel so sick. Not with her next to me.

I only came here a handful of times while we were together but I remember every road, every turning, so I know with startling clarity just how far her house is from the Welcome to Five Oaks sign, the one that still has one of the trees crossed out. The seconds tick down with every turn she makes, and then I see her house. It's decked out in glowing fairy lights, a handful of neon Christmas signs out front, and I spot her mom through a gap in the curtains.

Shit. This is, like, pre-finals kinda nerves. I'm probably building it up to be worse than it'll be, but I'd rather that than to expect the best and walk into a stony-silent room of people who hate my guts. At least this way, I'm prepared; I can steel myself in advance.

"Okay," Storie says, the slightest quiver in her voice. She must be nervous too. She glances at me. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." As I get out of the car, I can see through to the back garden, where the oak tree she planted for her dad four years ago is already taller than me.

Storie takes my hand and presses her lips to my cheek. "It's going to be fine. Don't worry."

I'm worried.

She lets us in, and the moment she has twisted the key in the lock and pushed open the door into a deliciously toasty hallway, the house almost tropically warm after the dodgy heat of Storie's car, her mom is right there. Right in front of us. Jen swoops Storie into a tight hug, and when she lets go, I expect her to give me evils.

But she hugs me too.

"Liam, honey," she says, her voice the same quiet, measured tone with the faintest hint of an accent. "It's nice to see you. It's been a long time."

Shit. She's a good actress. Her friendliness almost makes me cry. "Thank you, Jen. It's amazing to see you again," I say, and it is. I hug her back, half-expecting her to whisper something in my ear, but she doesn't. And when the hug ends, she's smiling. She looks so well. When I first met her, she was tired and grieving and ill, but now she's put on a bit of weight and her eyes are bright, her hair golden blonde.

"I have to say, I wasn't expecting this when Storie called," she says, stroking Storie's arm. They're total opposites. I've seen photos of Storie's dad, and I know she got all her looks from him.

"I know it must be a bit of a shock for you," I say. "I hope you don't mind me being here tonight."

She smiles that gentle smile. "It's what Storie wants," she says, "and that's what matters."

I try not to overthink that; I follow her and Storie through to the living room, where Tad is stoking a log fire and chatting to Navya, who gives me a wary smile when she spots me. Tad turns around when he hears us come in and he stands, brushing his hands off on his pants.

"Storie!" He pulls her into a hug and kisses her cheek. "How was the drive? Were the roads all right?"

While she fills him in on the journey, Navya unfurls herself from the sofa, like a cat stretching, and I can feel her weighing me up. We never talked much before, when I only knew her as Storie's coworker. Now the two of them are best friends, and virtually sisters.

"Liam," she says.

"Hi, Navya. Merry Christmas."

I can see her trying to decide how to treat me, and I silently beg her to indulge me in a little friendliness, even if only for tonight. If she wants to go back to hating me afterwards, that's fine. But please not tonight.

Her shoulders lose their tension. "Merry Christmas," she says. We end up in an awkward hug. She laughs to herself, a nervous kind of laugh. "I thought Gray was joking at first when he said you were coming."

"I'm afraid not."

She nods, lips pursed. "Well. Storie seemed pretty happy when we talked last night. So I guess we're letting bygones be bygones."

"Thank you," I say, a little too much relief in my voice. It makes her smile, and she pats my arm.

"That doesn't mean I'm not watching you, Alexander. One misstep and yo—"

"Trust me, I know," I say, cutting her off. "I won't."

"Good."

"Liam." Tad's voice comes from behind me. I swivel and come face to face with him. Well, not quite. I'm a couple inches taller than him. He holds out my hand; I shake it. It's a far cry from him manhandling me out of this house last time I was here. He has a strong handshake; his other hand touches my shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

"You too, Tad. Thanks for having me."

He smiles, but it's a guarded smile, and I can tell this is hard for him. He's stepped in as Storie's stepdad, someone to look out for her, and so far I've given him no reason to trust me. But now I have the chance to try, the opportunity to prove myself, no matter how long it takes.

And then, Gray comes in. He runs at Storie, throwing himself at her, and they almost fall into the Christmas tree when they hug; he's rabbiting away at a mile a minute, until Storie nods at me and he falls quiet. A quiet Gray isn't something I've had much experience with. He's the chattiest guy I've ever come across, whether he's raving about a book he's reading or inventing weird scales.

He nods at me. Not the kind of nod that says I see you. No, this is the kind of nod that says meet me outside. He comes towards me, but he doesn't stop walking. He just says, "We need to talk," as he passes, and I follow him to the kitchen. Somehow, even though he's tiny – he's not much taller than Storie, and he's skinny, no more than a buck twenty – he has the most intimidating presence. The way he stares me down. The way I know how fiercely he loves Storie. The way he hated me with such a passion.

"Liam," he says.

"Hi, Gray."

"I'm not going to lie, I was shocked when Storie said you were back together," he says. I've never known him sound so serious. "I thought it was a joke. But then we talked yesterday, and now you're here..."

"Not a joke," I say.

"I can't pretend I haven't hated your guts for the last four years."

"Understandable. So have I."

That seems to catch him off guard. His eyebrows twitch. "Storie said you've had a shit time since you guys broke up. That made me happy, I have to say. I really wanted you to suffer after what you did and how you made her feel, and it's really weird to see you here again."

"It's weird to be back." My hand goes to the back of my neck, awkwardly scratching. "You need to know that I'm serious about Storie, Gray. She is everything. She means the world to me, and I am not going to fuck this up. I love her. I love her so much, it's agony. I literally haven't stopped loving her since we were together, and I never expected her to want to give this another go, but she does, and I am the luckiest guy on earth."

Gray nods, appraising me. "Come on, a bit more. I like to hear you grovelling."

I open my mouth and he holds up a hand, laughing.

"I'm kidding. You don't need to grovel to me." He folds his arms and sighs. "On a scale of one to fifty-eight, how sorry are you? And how much do you love her?"

"Gray, man, there isn't a single scale you could give me that I wouldn't break with how sorry I am and how much I love her," I say.

He smiles. "Good answer. Now. As prepared as I was to hate you for the rest of my life, Storie loves you. And I know that you love her too, and you were a great couple. So I'm prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt."

My heart sings, but I stay quiet, letting him finish.

"You were in a frat, and frats are notorious for being full of culty dickheads who put frat life and brotherhood ahead of everything else; clearly, you got a bit tangled up in that. But it's also pretty clear that you know you fucked up. And it's pretty clear you're, like, totally head over heels for my sister. So..." He holds out his knuckles for a fist bump; I notice the silver wedding band on his left hand and it throws me. "I guess this is a truce. If Storie can forgive you, that's all that matters. And if she's prepared to make out with you, then—"

"She told you about that already?" I almost laugh. Gray nods, his expression serious.

"Storie tells me everything." He says it like a warning. I wonder how much of the last two weeks of me being a pathetic mopey lovesick mess he knows about. I'm guessing all of it.

Storie comes in, laughing. "Gray, come on. Stop interrogating my boyfriend." She slips an arm around my waist, resting her head against my shoulder, and Gray transforms into the ray of sunshine I remember him being. "Is he giving you the third degree?"

"More like the fifty-eighth," I joke. Gray laughs. Storie doesn't get it; she rolls her eyes at us.

"Are you guys getting on all right, then? I don't need to play intervention between my brother and my boyfriend?"

I look to Gray for the answer.

"We're all right," he says. "But"—he holds up a hand and slowly points a finger at me—"the moment you step out of line, you're out."

"I'm firmly on this side of the line," I say, tightening my grip around Storie's waist. "I don't know how much my word means to you, Gray, but you have it wholeheartedly."

He considers it for a moment, and then he hugs me. And, unlike Jen, he does whisper something in my ear.

"One strike, buddy," he says. But he doesn't quite have the tone to go with it, and it sounds funny coming from him. I fight not to laugh, and I pray that things really are this good. I really do have a place in Storie's family.

"Understood," I say.

Gray heads next door, leaving Storie and me in the kitchen. She stands right in front of me, her arms still around my waist, and tips her head back to look up at me.

"Okay so far?" she asks. I nod.

"They don't hate me," I say. "I was expecting, like, death stares and snide comments."

"God, no. They're not like that. Well, Gray could have been." She smiles and I'm putty in her hands. "I'm very persuasive when I need to be," she says. "I made your case. I think I made a pretty strong one." She stands taller, reaching up just enough to graze her lips over mine. "I want you back in my life, Liam, and that means my family has to accept you as part of my life, too. If they didn't, I wouldn't have brought you here."

I kiss her, closing my eyes.

"Ew," Gray says, coming back in. "Get a room, guys. You don't see Nav and me making out all over the place."

Storie laughs against my lips and breaks away. "Gray. You and Nav are always kissing. Like, an offensive amount of kissing. And do you really want me to recount everything I've walked in on you two doing?"

Gray goes red. My curiosity skyrockets. He backs out, and I wiggle my eyebrows at Storie.

"Details?"

"Let's just say I've seen far too much of Gray," she says. "He and Navya spent a lot of time here before they got their own place in South Lakes."

After all my dread, all my building up the worst case scenario, I feel good. I feel ... at ease. Maybe it's just because I have Storie's arm around me; maybe it's because her mom hugged me and Gray hugged me, but it's so much more than I expected and the weight on my shoulders is gone.

The group is complete once Jasper has been wrapped up in a coat, and he's giddy about staying up so late, and Kris shows up right as we're about to leave, hand in hand with a broad Black guy, who he introduces as his boyfriend, Isaac. Everyone else has clearly met him before; he's welcomed with hugs and how-are-yous. Kris greets me like he greets everyone else, with a hug and a merry Christmas.

"You're in Cleveland now, right?" he says as the nine of us start the walk to the buzzing church closer to the center of Five Oaks.

"Yeah, I am. I moved to Ohio City a couple years ago," I say.

"We should have a drink sometime," he says. "A catchup."

Kris may technically be Storie's uncle, but they pretty much grew up as brother and sister; they're crazy close. There may be eleven years between them, but I have no doubt he's heard in excruciating detail about what a shit I was, so the thought of just him and me, having a catch up, is kind of terrifying.

But I say, "Yeah, that'd be great."

Kris chuckles. "You don't mean that. But I'm serious. Storie's clearly serious about you, so I'd like to get to know you better, and you only live twenty minutes away. We can grab a beer, man to man."

Storie, who was walking with Isaac, sidles over and slips her hand into mine. "Setting up a date, are we?"

"Yup, your uncle and your boyfriend are setting up a secret date," Kris says, burying his chin in his scarf. The church isn't far – I can see it, less than couple hundred meters away – but it's damn cold out. Jasper's bundled up in so many layers, he looks like a little Michelin man, bobbing about on Tad's shoulders. Kris does jazz hands. "Plot twist."

The church is cool enough that I'm thankful for my coat, and it's thriving. Five Oaks seems small when you drive through, but all those houses add up, and there's a real community spirit about the place. It feels like every single household has tipped out for tonight's carol service, filling the pews and using up all of the preprinted lyric leaflets so there are only enough for each one to be shared between three people. Storie and her mom don't need one, though. They know all the words. I end up sandwiched between Storie and Gray, who's sharing a sheet with Navya.

"Give me a bit of Wham! or Mariah Carey and I'm golden," I say to Storie, "but I'm not so hot on the carols."

"I would pay good money," Gray says, "to see you rocking it out to All I Want for Christmas is You."

"Get me drunk enough and you might see that one day."

He's munching a mince pie that he must have snagged from some passing tray I missed. There are a few people walking around, handing out mini mince pies and paper cups of egg nog. "I'll hold you to that," he says.

"As long as you're buying. Not sure I can afford to get myself that drunk," I joke. Gray gives me a funny look, and he immediately wipes it from his face, but not before I spot it. I know that look. He knew Liam the frat boy, Liam the college student still sponging off his parents and living in the fancy frat house; he thinks I'm loaded.

"Sounds like a plan," he says.

And then the reverend starts her sermon, and the music starts, and I'm surrounded by people belting out carols, and Storie's voice is so good. I don't think I ever noticed that before. I'm not sure I ever heard her sing. But each note is so clear; she never slips off key or loses the tune, and even without the words in front of her, she never messes up a single syllable.

The whole service is a bit more than an hour, and it's nine thirty by the time we make it back to Storie's house, Jasper's energy levels flagging. Tad takes him to bed, chuckling as he promises to read seven stories, knowing full well it'll probably be more like two before the kid's out cold. Kris and Isaac head back to Cleveland by ten; Gray and Navya are staying in Gray's old room until Christmas morning; Storie and I are in her old room. It's so weird being back here. It hasn't changed much. Most of her books are missing, moved to her apartment, but there are still pictures on the walls, traces of her all over the place.

"Thanks for coming tonight," she says, changing out of her jeans into pajamas as I casually snoop around her room, touching everything in sight from the jewellery box on her dressing table to the framed photo of her and her parents – her mom and dad, not Tad – that sits beside her bed. She really does take after him. He's a big, broad guy with the widest smile, his dark brown skin a few shades deeper than Storie's.

"I really enjoyed it," I say. "Your singing is pretty damn great."

She blushes, switching her sweater and t-shirt for a thick, fleecy hooded top. When my snooping is done, my curiosity satisfied, I change into my pajamas too, eagerly awaiting tomorrow, when Mom will no doubt give all of us a fresh pair for Christmas Eve. My flannel pants have a few holes and the drawstring has got lost somewhere inside the waistband.

I've only just finished changing when there's a knock on the door. Storie opens it and Gray and Navya are on the other side; Navya's holding a six-pack and Gray has a pack of cards, both of them dressed in their finest pajamas.

"I know it's getting late," Gray says, "but it's been a while since the four of us were last together."

A long fucking while.

"We were thinking maybe we could have a drink, play some cards?" Navya holds up the beer; Gray fans out the cards, inexpertly shuffling them. "I know you guys have to be up early tomorrow, though."

Storie and I share a look. I raise my eyebrows. She smiles.

"I'd love to," I say. This is what friends do – they share drinks and games, and if Gray and Navya want to do that with me, then we're gonna be okay. "What're we playing?"

"Well, uh, I only know how to play snap," he says, laughing as he settles himself on Storie's bed, legs crossed. "So if you know anything cooler, go ahead."

"How about rummy?" I sit next to Storie as she brushes her hair, preparing to plait it for the night.

"If you're prepared to teach me how to play, then by all means," Gray says. "Whatever it is, it sounds a bit more sophisticated than snap."

"We play a lot of snap," Navya says, amusement dancing in her eyes. I still can't believe these two are married. It's still hard to believe Gray isn't, like, seventeen.

This isn't how I thought I'd spend tonight, playing card games in Storie's childhood bedroom with her and her brother and his wife, but it's perfect. Halfway through our third game, once everyone's got the hang of it and Storie's leaning against me, yawning and struggling to keep track of her cards, I realize I wouldn't have it any other way.

*

this one ran a bit long, sorry about that! i hope you liked it!