“You could just wear that shirt.” He points to his T-shirt on the floor.
I smile and pick it up, pulling it over me and putting on sweatpants. I don’t remember hanging out with Noah in sweats, ever. I didn’t wear much makeup until recently, but I was always dressed nicely. I wonder what Noah would have thought if I’d shown up to spend time with him dressed like this. It’s funny, I always thought I was comfortable around Noah, thought I was myself around him because he knew me for so long, when in reality he doesn’t know me at all. He doesn’t know the real me, the me that Hardin has made me comfortable enough to show.
“Ready?” Hardin asks.
I nod and pull my hair back into a messy bun. I switch my phone off and leave it on the dresser, then follow Hardin out into the living room. The delicious scent of coffee fills the apartment, and we find Trish standing in front of the stove flipping pancakes.
She smiles and turns to us. “Merry Christmas!”
“It’s not Christmas,” Hardin says, and I shoot him a glare. He rolls his eyes, then smiles at his mother. I pour myself a cup of coffee and thank Trish for making breakfast. Hardin and I sit at the table while she tells us the story of how her grandmother taught her how to make this type of pancakes. Hardin listens intently and even smiles a little.
As we start to eat our breakfast of delicious raspberry pancakes, Trish asks, “Are we going to be opening gifts today? Since I assume you’ll be at your mum’s tomorrow?”
I don’t know how to answer her exactly, and I start to fumble for words. “I am . . . actually I am . . . I told—”
“She’s going to Dad’s house tomorrow. She promised Landon that she would, and she’s really the only friend he’s got, so she can’t cancel,” Hardin interjects.
I’m thankful for the assist, but calling me Landon’s only friend is kind of mean . . . Well, maybe I am. But he’s my only friend as well.
“Oh . . . that’s fine. Honey, you don’t need to be afraid to tell me things like that. I have no problem with you spending time with Ken,” Trish says, and I can’t tell which one of us she’s speaking to.
Hardin shakes his head. “I’m not going. I told Tessa to tell them we said no.”
Trish stops midbite. “ ‘We’? They invited me?” Her voice is full of surprise.
“Yeah . . . They wanted both of you to come,” I explain.
“Why?” she asks.
“I . . . don’t know . . .” I say. Honestly, I don’t. Karen is so kind, and I know she really wants to mend what is broken between her husband and his son, so that’s the only explanation I have.
“I already said no. Don’t worry about it, Mum.”
Trish finishes her forkful and chews thoughtfully. “No, maybe we should go,” she says at last, surprising both me and Hardin.
“Why would you want to go there?” Hardin asks and scowls.
“I don’t know . . . the last time I saw your father was almost ten years ago. I think I owe it to myself and to him to see how he’s turned his life around. Also, I know you don’t want to be away from Tessa for Christmas.”
“I could stay here,” I say. I don’t want to cancel on them, but I don’t want Trish to feel like she has to go.
“No, really. It’s fine. We should go—all of us.”
“You’re sure?” The worry in Hardin’s voice is evident.
“Yeah . . . it won’t be so bad.” She smiles. “Besides, if Kathy taught Tessa how to make those cookies, imagine how good the food will be.”
“Karen, Mum—her name’s Karen.”
“Hey, she’s my ex-husband’s new wife, who I’m spending Christmas with. I can call her whatever I want.” She laughs and I join her.
“I’ll tell Landon we’re all coming,” I say and go to grab my phone. I’d never have imagined that my Christmas would be spent with Hardin and his family—both sides of his family. The last few months have been anything but what I expected.
When I turn on my phone I have three voicemails, from my mother, I’m sure. I ignore them and dial Landon.
“Hey, Tessa, Merry Christmas Eve!” he greets me, cheery as ever. I can picture his warm smile.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Landon.”
“Thanks! First things first—you’re not calling to bail, are you?”
“No, of course not. Quite the opposite, actually. I was calling to make sure it was still okay if Hardin and Trish came over tomorrow?”
“Really? They want to?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Does this mean you and Hardin . . .”
“Yeah . . . I know I’m an idiot . . .”
“I didn’t say that,” he says.
“I know, but you’re thinking it—”
“No. I am not. We can talk about it tomorrow, but you aren’t an idiot, Tessa.”
“Thank you,” I tell him and mean it. He’s the only person who won’t have a negative opinion on this subject.
“I’ll tell my mom they’re coming. She’ll be thrilled,” he says before we hang up.
When I join Hardin and Trish back in the living room, they already have their presents on their laps, and there are two boxes on the couch that I assume are for me.
“Me first!” Trish says and tears the snowflake-printed paper off of a box. Her smile is huge as she takes out the tracksuit I got her. “I love these! How did you know?” She points to the gray one she’s wearing.
“I’m not very good at buying gifts,” I tell her.
She giggles. “Don’t be silly, it’s lovely,” she assures me while opening the second box. After she has a moment to see what’s inside, she squeezes Hardin tight and then holds up a necklace that says Mom, just like he told me. She seems to like the thick scarf he bought her as well.
I really wish I’d gotten Hardin something. I knew all along that I would go back to him, and I think he knew it, too. He hasn’t mentioned that he got me one, and both of the boxes on my lap say they’re from Trish, so that’s a huge relief.
Hardin is next, and he gives his mother his best fake smile when he opens the clothes she bought him. One piece is a red long-sleeved shirt; I try to picture Hardin wearing anything other than black and white, but I can’t.
“Your turn,” he says to me.
I smile nervously and pull the sparkly bow off of the first gift. Clearly, Trish is better at choosing women’s clothing than men’s; the pastel-yellow dress in the box proves it. It’s a light baby-doll style, and I love it.
“Thank you—it’s beautiful,” I say and give her a hug. I really appreciate her thinking of me. She just met me, but she’s been so loving and welcoming that I feel as if I’ve known her much longer.
The second box is much smaller than the first, but the amount of tape used to wrap it makes it very difficult to open. When I finally tear through the packaging, I find a bracelet—a sort of charm bracelet unlike anything I’ve seen before. Trish is so thoughtful, just like her son. I lift it up and run my fingers along the rope-textured string to look at the charms. There are only three, each bigger than my thumbnail, two made from what looks like pewter, the other solid white . . . porcelain, maybe? The white charm is an infinity symbol, the ends shaped like hearts. Just like the tattoo on Hardin’s wrist. I glance up at him, my eyes moving immediately to his tattoo. He shifts and I look back to the bracelet. The second charm is a music note, and the third, slightly larger than the other two, is in the shape of a book. When I turn the book charm in my fingers, I notice something written on the back. It says:
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
I look up at Hardin and swallow the tears threatening to form. His mother didn’t get me this.
He did.
chapter thirty-seven
TESSA
Hardin’s cheeks are flushed. His lips hold a nervous smile as I stare at him quietly for a minute.
Then I practically jump over to where he sits on the easy chair. I nearly tackle him with my enthusiasm and my desire jus
t to be close to this wild, crazy boy. Luckily, he’s strong enough to keep us both from falling over. I hug him as tight as I can manage, causing him to cough, so I loosen my grip. “It’s so . . . it’s just perfect,” I sob. “Thank you. It’s so thoughtful, and just unbelievable.” I press my forehead against his as I nestle into his lap.
“It’s nothing . . . really,” he timidly states, and I wonder at his casual tone—until Trish clears her throat from where she sits nearby.
I hurry off his lap. For a moment I forgot that we are not alone in the apartment. “Sorry!” I tell her and move back to my spot on the couch.
She gives me a knowing smile. “Don’t apologize, dear.”
Hardin stays quiet; I know he won’t talk about the gift in front of Trish, so I change the subject for now. His gift was so incredibly thoughtful. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect quote from any novel to engrave on that charm.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”—it’s so perfect for the way I feel about him. We are so different, yet we’re exactly the same, just like Catherine and Heathcliff. I can only hope that we don’t share the same fate as them. I would like to think that we’ve learned from their mistakes, somehow, and that we won’t allow that to happen.
I slide the bracelet over my wrist and slowly rock my lower arm back and forth, letting the charms sway. I’ve never received anything like this before. I thought the e-reader was the best gift ever, but Hardin managed to outdo himself by giving me this bracelet. Noah always gave me the same thing: perfume and socks. Every single year. Then again, I gave him cologne and socks each year. That was our thing—our boring, routine thing.
I stare at the bracelet for a few more seconds before I realize that both Hardin and Trish are watching me. Immediately I get up and begin to clean the small mess of wrapping paper.
With a chuckle, Trish asks, “Well, lady and gent, what shall we do for the rest of the day?”
“I feel like taking a nap,” Hardin tells her, and she rolls her eyes.
“A nap? This early? And on Christmas?” she mocks.
“It’s not Christmas, for the tenth time,” he says a bit harshly, but then smiles.
“You’re obnoxious,” she scolds and swats at his arm.
“Like mother, like son.”
As they gently bicker, I get lost in thought and take the small pile of crinkled and torn paper and push it into the steel trash can. I feel even worse about not getting Hardin a gift than I did before. I wish the mall were open today . . . I have no idea what I’d get, but anything would be better than nothing. I look down at the bracelet again and run my finger over the infinity heart charm. I still can’t believe that he would get me a charm to match his tattoo.
“Almost done?”
I jump in surprise from the sound and the tickle at my ear. Then I turn and smack Hardin. “You scared me!”
“Sorry, love,” he says between chuckles. My heart leaps when he calls me “love.” It’s so unlike him.
I feel him smile against my neck, and he wraps his arms around my waist. “Join me for my nap?”
I turn and face him. “No. I’ll keep your mom company. But,” I add with a smile, “I will tuck you in.” I don’t really like to take naps unless I’m too exhausted to do anything else, and it would be nice to hang out with his mom and read or something.
Hardin rolls his eyes but leads me to our bedroom. He pulls his shirt over his head, and it falls to the floor. As my eyes travel over the familiar designs inked into his skin, he smiles at me. “You really like the bracelet?” he asks as he walks over to the bed. He tosses the decorative pillows onto the floor and I pick them up.
“You’re so messy!” I complain. I put the pillows into the trunk and Hardin’s shirt on the dresser before grabbing my e-reader and joining him by the bed. “But to answer your question, I do love the bracelet. It’s really thoughtful, Hardin. Why didn’t you say it was from you?”
He pulls me down and lays my head on his chest. “Because I knew you were already feeling bad about not getting me something.” He lets out a laugh. “And that you would feel even worse after my amazing gift.”
“Wow, so humble,” I tease.
“Also, when I had it made for you, I had no idea if you would ever speak to me again,” he admits.
“You knew I would.”
“Honestly, I didn’t. You were different this time.”
“How so?” I look up at him.
“I don’t know . . . you just were. It wasn’t like the other hundred times you said you wanted nothing to do with me.” Hardin’s voice is light as he pushes my loose hair from my forehead with his thumb.
I concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest. “Well, I knew . . . I mean, I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew I would come back. I always do.”
“I won’t give you reason to leave again.”
“I hope not,” I say and kiss the palm of his hand. “Me, too.”
I don’t say anything else; there’s nothing to say at the moment. He’s sleepy, and I don’t want to talk about me leaving him any longer. Within minutes he’s asleep, breathing heavily. Hardin calling me Daisy this morning made me want to reread The Great Gatsby, so I scroll through my e-reader’s library to see if Hardin already loaded it on there. And find that, of course, he has. Just as I’m about to get up and join his mother, I hear a woman’s angry voice.
“Excuse me!”
My mother. I toss my e-reader to the end of the bed and get up. Why the hell is she here?
“You have no right to go in there!” I hear Trish yell.
Trish. My mother. Hardin. This apartment. Oh my Lord. This isn’t going to go well.
The bedroom door crashes open to reveal my mother, looking sophisticated yet menacing in a red dress and black heels. Her hair is curled and pinned up to resemble a beehive, and her red lipstick is bright, too bright.
“How could you be here! After everything!” she yells.
“Mother . . .” I begin as she turns to Trish.
“And who the hell are you?” she asks, their faces close together.
“I’m his mother,” Trish says sternly.
Hardin groans in his slumber and opens his eyes. “What the fuck?” are the first words out of his mouth when he spots the devil in the crimson dress.
My mother snaps her head back in my direction. “Let’s go, Theresa.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Why are you even here?” I ask her, and she huffs, putting her hands on her hips.
“Because I have already told you. You are my only child, and I will not sit back and watch you ruin your life over this . . . this asshole.”
Her words light a fire under my skin, and I immediately go on defense. “Do not speak of him that way!” I shout.
“That ‘asshole’ is my son, missy,” Trish says with hooded eyes. Underneath her humor is a woman clearly ready to go into the ring for her son.
“Well, your son is ruining and corrupting my daughter,” my mother fires back.
“Both of you—get out,” Hardin says and stands up from the bed.
My mother shakes her head and gives a toothy smile. “Theresa, grab your things, now.”
Being ordered about makes me snap, “What part of I am not leaving do you not understand? I gave you the opportunity to spend the holidays with me, but you couldn’t get over yourself long enough to allow it.” I know I shouldn’t be speaking to her this way, but I can’t help it.
“Get over myself? You think just because you bought a few slutty dresses and learned to put on makeup, you suddenly know more than I do about life?” Although she’s yelling, it’s like she’s laughing, too. Like my choices are a joke. “Well, you’re wrong. Just because you gave yourself to this . . . this filth doesn’t mean you’re a woman! You are nothing but a little girl. A naive, impressionable little girl. Now grab your things before I do it for you.”
“You will not touch her things,” Hardin spits. “She isn’t going anywhe
re with you. She’s staying here with me, where she belongs.”
My mother wheels toward him, all humor gone. “ ‘Where she belongs’? Where did she belong when she was staying in a damned motel because of what you did to her? You are no good for her—and she will not stay here with you.”
“Mrs. White, these two are adults,” Trish interjects. “Tessa is an adult. If she wants to stay, there is nothing—”
My mother’s enraged eyes turn to meet Trish’s equally hardened glare. This is a disaster. I open my mouth to speak, but my mother beats me to it.
“How can you defend this sinful behavior? After what he did to her, he should be locked away!” she screams.
“She has obviously chosen to forgive him. You need to accept that,” Trish says coolly. Too coolly. She looks like a snake, one that slithers by so slowly you never see its attack coming. But when it does, you are done for. My mother is the prey, and right now I can’t help but hope that Trish’s bite is venomous.
“Forgive him? He stole her innocence as a game—a bet with his friends. And then bragged about it while she was here playing house!”
Trish’s gasp overrides all sound in the air and silences everything for a second. Mouth agape, she looks at her son. “What . . .”
“Oh, you didn’t know? You mean—surprise—the liar lied even to his own mother? Poor woman, no wonder you’re defending him,” my mother says, shaking her head. “Your son bet his friends—for money—that he could take Tessa’s virginity. He even kept the evidence and flaunted it around the entire campus.”
I’m frozen. I keep my eyes on our mothers, too afraid to look at Hardin. I can tell by the shift in his breathing that he hadn’t thought I’d told my mother the details of his deceit. As for his mother, I didn’t want her to know the terrible things her son has done. It was my embarrassment to share or not share with people.
“Evidence?” Trish’s voice is shaky.
“Yes, evidence. The condom! Oh, and the sheets with Tessa’s stolen virginity on them. God knows what he did with the money, but he was telling everyone every detail of their . . . intimacy. So now you tell me if I should make my daughter come with me or not.” My mother raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrow to Trish.