That conversation—it wasn’t good. But it was honest. It was a start. And we’ve talked more. Not much, but a little. And never about anything very important. She doesn’t talk about the assault, and I don’t talk about Chandra. There’s so much she doesn’t know, but right now things between her and me are…well, they are what they are.
I got a text from Carson last night. He wished me a Merry Christmas. I’m pretty sure he was drunk. It was a picture of him out with his brother at some bar, their shirts off, and beers in their hands. He said he missed me, whatever that means. He misses me. Right. That’s why he shares private videos of me with my enemies. You know...to get over missing me so fucking much.
I glance one more time at the picture he sent. His abs are nice, so at least there’s that. I slide through a few more texts, and I’m back to the short string of messages between Houston and me. Somehow, I hit his contact button, and my phone dials him. Maybe there’s a part of me that meant to call.
By the time it’s ringing, it’s too late to hang up, so I let it go. On the fifth ring, I’m looking at my phone screen, ready to hang up. I’ll blame a purse dial if he sees this. I’m about to bail when he answers.
“Hey! Happy Christmas!” His immediate answer, his overly holly-jolly voice—it makes me smile at first, but I catch myself, force my lips back to serious.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I hope I’m not interrupting family time,” I say, looking at the clock. It’s almost six here, so that makes it almost eight in Oklahoma. I didn’t need to talk to him now; this could have waited until tomorrow. Or the next day. I don’t know why I called now really.
“No, it’s good. Leah just went to bed, and my mom is still at my aunt’s house—we do a big Christmas thing over there…lasts all day,” he says.
We spent the day here, exchanging gifts we already knew we got one another. Cass made me a bracelet, something she said she made months ago—back when she wanted to make me things. I gave her a gift card to her favorite Pilates place. I bought it three days ago. I’m kind of envious over Houston’s Christmas.
“I thought if you had a second we could take care of that lease thing. Is now okay?” I ask.
“Uh…now?” he says, and I can hear him laugh a little under his breath. “Sure…uhm, give me a second. I kind of don’t have anything out. But, I can log on to my computer. Just…”
My cheeks are hot and my chest feels tight. I think maybe I’m embarrassed. It’s Christmas, and I’m calling him to take care of lease paperwork. I’m calling him because I’m lonely. Because my sister’s boyfriend is coming to stay with us in a few days, and she has someone who loves her—really loves her.
I have Houston—my knight and shining landlord.
“I’m sorry. I guess it’s Christmas. I just like to take care of things. We can do this later this week,” I start to backtrack, but he interrupts.
“No, no. Here, I got it. Hang on, let me sit down,” he says. I hear his door close behind him, and I wonder where he is. Is he in his room? In his bed? I bet he wears one of those old-man pajama sets, the flannel kind with a matching shirt and pants.
“Current address? Did you hear me?” He must have asked once before, when I was mentally making him less attractive.
“Oh, right. I guess…do you want the Delta address?” I ask.
“Your parents’ address is fine. It’s just so my mom is comfortable. Really, whatever works,” he says.
We go through a short list of questions, filling out my address, various income things, which all point back to my parents. After about ten minutes of me talking, and Houston typing, we’re done.
Done. I can go back to flipping through celebrity magazines in the living room with my mom, spending Christmas trying to chip away at the ice I’ve formed between my sister and me.
“Did she like her horse?” My question takes him a little off guard. There really wasn’t a segue. I just didn’t want to hang up yet. Even not talking to Houston is better than not talking to nobody.
“The horse?” he asks, but quickly following my question. “Oh! Yeah! You were so right on with that. She’s sleeping with it.”
“Good,” I say, and I let myself smile, a little proud. I’m like a Christmas elf.
There’s a long silence that settles in again, and I start to get that sinking sensation in my stomach. I’m intruding, and he’s just being polite. Me calling—on Christmas!—this weird conversation, it’s going to make it weird when I move in.