Chapter 27: Merry Christmas
The morning sun broke through the blinds of their shared apartment, painting stripes of pale gold across the tangled sheets and the cracked hardwood floor. Tessa stirred, the first conscious sensation the cool weight of the silver necklace resting against her collarbone. She smiled before she even opened her eyes.
Next to her, Hardin was already awake, propped on an elbow, watching her. His ocean blue eyes were quiet, the storm temporarily becalmed. His fingertip traced the line of the chain where it disappeared into her hair.
“Morning,” he said, his voice a sleep-roughened murmur.
“Morning.” She turned into him, burying her face in the warmth of his chest, her lips brushing over his shoulder. He held her, his hand a solid weight on the back of her head, and for a long while, there was only the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of the building.
The peace was fractured by the sound of a zipper from the living room, followed by the muffled clatter of someone packing. Trish.
Tessa pulled the sheet around herself and padded out. Hardin followed, pulling on a pair of discarded sweatpants.
In the main room, Trish was knelt beside an open suitcase, carefully folding a stack of sweaters. The Christmas tree in the corner, a lopsided thing they’d picked out together, twinkled feebly in the daylight.
“You didn’t have to get up,” Trish said, not looking up.
“We wanted to see you off,” Tessa said, curling into the corner of the sofa.
Trish’s phone rang on the coffee table, vibrating against the wood. She reached for it, then stopped. The name on the screen made her hand hover in mid-air. Her eyes flicked to Hardin, then back to the phone. She picked it up.
“Hi Trish, it’s Ken.” The voice from the speaker was clear, cultured, and uncomfortably loud in the still room.
“This is a surprise,” Trish said, her tone carefully neutral.
“My wife and I are having people over for Christmas. We’d love it if you, Hardin and Tessa could join us.”
Trish let out a slow breath, her eyes glued to a knot in the floorboard. “I’m leaving for London today, but the flight’s not till this evening. So I think we could pop over.”
“It would mean the world to me.”
“I guess we’ll see you later then.”
“Merry Christmas, Trish.” The line went dead.
She lowered the phone, placing it delicately back on the table as if it were a live grenade.
The drive to the Black mansion was a silent siege. Hardin gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles pale. Tessa sat in the passenger seat, the silver necklace a cool anchor against her skin. Trish stared out the window from the backseat, wiping her palms on her jeans.
When the iron gates came into view, she let out a soft, incredulous breath.
Hardin drove up the sweeping driveway and parked behind a sleek sedan. The stone façade loomed, impersonal and grand. He killed the engine. The quiet felt heavier than the car’s noise.
His mom got out. She was in blue jeans, a grey shirt, and a black leather jacket. She shook her head, staring up at the countless windows. “This is his house?”
Hardin got out in black slacks and a black shirt. “Told you,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection.
“Fuck sake, I didn’t think it was this big,” she said, looking at it. The scale of the wealth, the concrete evidence of the life they hadn’t been part of, seemed to physically press on her.
“Mom, we don’t have to do this,” he said, looking at her. His expression was unreadable.
“Look, the last time I saw your dad was ten years ago. It’s time,” she said, shrugging a shoulder with a forced casualness. “Come on.”
Tessa got out of the car in her thigh-high green dress, the fabric swishing against her legs. She moved to Hardin’s side, her hand brushing his. He didn’t take it, but he didn’t pull away.
Trish walked to the vast front door, a soldier approaching a fortress. Hardin and Tessa followed behind.
The door swung open before they could knock. Karen stood there, a hesitant smile on her face. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi, you’re Karen,” Trish said.
Karen held her arms out in a universal gesture of truce. Trish stepped into the hug, a brief, stiff embrace. Karen hugged Hardin briefly, her pat on his back maternal and careful. Then she turned to Tessa, pulling her into a warmer squeeze. “It’s good to see you,” Karen murmured.
Ken came down the stairs, then spotted Trish. He stopped walking, his hand frozen on the banister. Hardin looked at him, his face dropping then he turned to his mom.
She walked over to him, her steps measured on the marble floor. They hugged. It was awkward, two people remembering a forgotten choreography. They pulled back.
“Welcome,” Ken said, his voice a little thick.
Tessa walked over, and he hugged her briefly. “Thank you for having us,” she said.
Hardin closed the heavy front door himself, the solid thud echoing. Ken led everyone into a lounge adorned with tasteful, impersonal holiday decorations. A fire crackled in the grate.
Hardin followed behind, then peeled away. He walked into the kitchen, a vast space of stainless steel and granite. He picked up a spoon from the counter, feeling its cool weight, then put it down with a quiet tap.
He looked around. His eyes scanned the refrigerator door, covered in photographs. Karen, Landon, and Ken at a beach. Ken and Landon in graduation gowns. A family portrait, all matching sweaters and easy smiles.
He looked at the dining table, seeing a bottle of red wine