my brother and I would take turns sneaking bites of, spitting out the stale remnants that dried out our mouths. I remember the smell of my mom baking cookies in the oven, and I would help her decorate them for Santa and his reindeer. I remember it being a fun time. We didn’t have a fireplace, so we settled with hanging the stockings along a piece of twine on the wall beside the TV unit. I know now that as I think back to these things, I am romanticising about most of it. Good memories pave over the bad ones of the Christmases when my dad was out of work and we struggled to have any sort of Christmas at all.
Then my parents died, and things got worse for a while. My grams, who had taken over the care of my brother and me, tried to get us into the spirit of the season, but I was filled with such anger and resentment. Braden would try and cheer me up, but I just didn’t want to listen.
I have been forced to do a lot of growing up since then, and I am now facing the prospect of a Christmas with a group of guys that make dick jokes a majority of the time, but I figure it’s almost childlike wonder in a way. Maybe I can bring back some of the old, good feelings for Christmas, instead of the bitter and lonely ones that have been plaguing me for the longest time. This year, I have decided I want to focus on my brother and the band. I want to give us all a “family” Christmas. Here’s to thinking of others, instead of myself for a change.
“Come on, Mac. We’re going to be late!” Lola says, moving past me in a blur to the dresser, looking for a missing earing.
“Can’t we wait five more minutes? I’m not at the end of the chapter,” I say, trying fervently not to be distracted by her manic rushing around.
“Nope. Come on. You know Braden hates when we’re late to a performance,” she says again, trying to reason with me.
I can feel the pangs of guilt begin to rise within, and I let out a defeated sigh. I fold the edge of the page I am on, and set the book down on my pillow. “Okay, fine,” I groan, slowly walking over to the dresser, pulling open one of the pine drawers to look for some clothes I can wear out to the club.
“Attagirl,” Lola says with a triumphant grin.
“What club is it?”
“The Drake,” she answers. I let out a little disgusted grunt as I pull my top over my head.
“What? To mainstream for you?” she teases.
“No. It was where Jason, the creep kept taking me.” Jason, for all intents and purposes, was a fucking slimeball.
“Jason…?” Lola asked. Either she was only half listening, or she was playing, as she was the one who introduced him to me.
“Gates, Lola. Jason, who sticks his tongue down waitress’ throats, Gates.”
“Oh… Well… It’s not like he is going to be there tonight, right?”
“I dunno. He might be.”
“This close to Christmas, I’m sure he is going to be prowling the mall, hitting on Santa’s helpers.”
“I don’t give a shit if he is!” I say defensively.
“Sure… You sound totally over him,” Lola says, rolling her eyes.
Before I have a chance to breathe fire, or throw a pillow at her at least, her phone vibrates in her pocket. She reaches in and answers. “Hey… Uh-huh… Yeah. We won’t be long… Yeah, she’s coming… Okay. No worries, babe.”
“Braden?” I ask dryly. Like she would be on the phone with anyone else. Hell, I am surprised she has found time for me in her busy stalker-esque relationship she has with my brother. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, she seems to know about it. It’s funny. He is my twin, so shouldn’t I be the one with the psychic connection?
“Of course!” Lola beams. “Bray wants to know if we’re coming.”
“From what I have heard, Lola, if it goes well for them tonight, they might get a regular slot at the club!”
Lola’s eyes widened. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Braden told me.”
“Oh…” She couldn’t hide the hint of pain in her
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