sixth
30th December
The sixth day of Christmas
‘Back up,’ says Tobin wearily. ‘Who said what?’
Kelley takes a deep breath on the other end of the phone. ‘Emily told me that Lindsey told her that her mom - Lindsey’s - was told by Crystal’s mom that Becky and her mom saw a trailer full of geese pulling up behind your house, and then I said to Emily, who but Tobito would buy Old MacDonald’s entire farm to impress a girl.’
‘That’s hilarious, Kelley. Really makes that story.’
‘I know. I am. It does. So is it true?’
‘Is what true?’
‘You know exactly what and you’re being deliberately difficult, but I’ll forgive you this time because you can just explain in person.’
‘And how am I going to do that,’ mutters Tobin, massaging the back of her neck as a horrible suspicion begins to form in her mind.
‘I’m outside your house.’
‘Give me strength.’
‘You’ll need it if you’re going to corral livestock and haybales for Christen.’
***
‘Tobin.’ Kelley looks half-awestruck, half-horrified and ultimately hugely entertained. ‘You do realize that there are forty-two geese here?’
‘They were a job lot,’ growls Tobin.
‘Who just up and sells forty-two geese?’
The geese hiss at them furiously from the pen on the back of the trailer, perhaps sensing food, or weakness. Tobin gazes at them resignedly. ‘Geese get slaughtered after Christmas if no one buys them. Like turkeys after Thanksgiving.’
‘Is that what they told you.’
‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’
‘Grammatically, sure.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Kelley sees Tobin’s end-of-tether folded arms and sighs, dropping the joker act. ‘You must know by now. You’re a soft touch.’
‘Kell, I’m not in the mood for therapy right now, so spit it out or go away. I’m not kidding.’
‘Jeez, don’t jump down my throat. It’s not a criticism. It’s a good thing, mostly, unless you can’t rein it in.’ Kelley kicks a stone down the path. ‘You’re a goddamn puppy, Tobin. Always have been. You have the softest heart, and it’s lovely, except you’re only human and you can’t fix everything, and you just - you can’t protect yourself until you realize that.’
‘I’m not sure how we ended up staring quite this fucking intently into my soul given that all I’ve done is buy a few more geese than I maybe needed.’
‘I’m not really talking about the geese.’
Tobin feels stubbornly defensive without really understanding why. Maybe it’s the comedown from how perfect Christen’s birthday was. Maybe it’s because in fact there was something not quite perfect about it - something unfinished, something slightly out of reach - and she can’t work out what it is.
She could ask what Kelley is talking about, which Kelley is visibly desperate to tell her, or she could take a stand against the indignity of being unexpectedly psychoanalyzed in the shadow of a trailer full of geese.
She chooses the latter.
‘Are you going to help me with these or not?’
Kelley sighs. ‘Only because I can see how much you need it.’
***
Originally the plan was to secretly install the geese in their new accommodation and herd a couple to Christen’s door by way of example, but geese are not naturally stealthy animals.
‘I think they’re suspicious,’ pants Kelley, trying to corner the nearest hissing, screaming bird by a fencepost. ‘They probably think we’re taking them away to eat.’
‘I thought you said you were going to help?’
‘Can’t you hear them quacking ‘avenge me, my brothers’?’
‘Or are we psychoanalyzing geese now too?’
‘Do geese quack? Is that just ducks?’
‘I swear to god, Kell.’
‘I don’t see you having better luck.’
Like a crumb of approval from an otherwise uncaring god, one of the geese chooses that exact moment to flee directly into Tobin’s arms. Tobin makes a mental note to do more good deeds. ‘Suck it. You have ten seconds to win over that bird or I’m going in.’
‘That’s what she said. Ow, okay, I’m trying. They’re very bitey, aren’t they?’
The geese honk enthusiastically as they approach the house and Christen opens the door long before Tobin has any hope of ringing the bell. It says something about the last few days that she doesn’t scream or freak out or even really look surprised; she just blinks. ‘Are those geese? Is that how you’re meant to hold them?’
‘Tobin was going to pick it up by the neck like a handbag but I stopped her.’
‘That is not even slightly true.’ Tobin waves weakly with the hand that isn’t cradling a wriggling bird. ‘Hey, Chris. Happy sixth day of Christmas.’
‘Thanks. Um, I understood the hens and the partridges and the doves, but I am kind of confused right now.’
‘They’re back-up egg-layers. In case you have, er. Chicken problems.’
‘You’re something else, Tobs, you know that?’ Christen’s smiling, but her eyes are almost too calm, like she’s not really taking it all in. ‘It’s lucky I like omelettes.’
There are a number of things Tobin could say to that - affectionate agreement, a snappy one-liner, a cheeky offer to eat said omelettes if they’re on offer - but none of them really match Christen’s face right now. The goose in her arms goes miraculously still as she stands in silence, gazing at her best friend as though she can fix whatever’s wrong just by looking. Christen just gazes back.
Kelley’s looking back and forth between them, until finally there’s a crunch of gravel as she turns halfway on her heel. ‘Um, Tobin, this is definitely not a sentence I ever expected to say, but do you want to give me your goose?’
‘I’d love to but I think they might team up and kill you.’
‘Here.’ Kelley shifts her own goose under one arm and gestures impatiently. ‘Just...oh no you don’t, flappy fucker. Ow. There we go. Sooo, I’m gonna put these guys back in the pen but I’ll see you both tomorrow?’
‘Bye, Kell,’ says Christen - politely, that’s the word. No feeling behind it.
When Kelley has made her way gingerly back down the path, Tobin finally steps forward and rests a hand carefully on Christen’s elbow. ‘You okay?’
Christen nods automatically, then nods again like she can convince herself of it, then finally shakes her head.
‘Okay,’ says Tobin quietly. ‘That’s okay. Let’s go inside.’
It takes every ounce of self-control not to wrap Christen up in a giant hug the second the door closes, but Christen’s never been a physical communicator the way Tobin is, and Tobin doesn’t want to suffocate her. Instead, she settles for ushering Christen to the couch and tucking her up with one of the knitted blankets from the old linen chest. Christen’s eyes follow her anxiously as she heads to the kitchen to start some tea, and it’s obvious when Tobin returns with the mugs that she’s been waiting for her to come back.
‘It’s just a bit of a wobbly day,’ promises Christen as Tobin settles down at the other end of the couch.
‘I know.’
‘It won’t last.’
‘It’s okay if it does.’
‘It just feels so… extra shitty to feel this way at Christmas. It’s such a waste of the holidays.’
Tobin sighs. ‘I think it’s easy for Christmas spirit to turn into pressure. It’s just a time of year like any other, but for some reason we’re supposed to be super joyful and put on a different festive activity every hour and make every moment special, and if we don’t it feels like we’ve failed.’
Christen scrunches her nose. ‘But you love Christmas.’
‘I love Christmas because of the people I get to spend it with. That time is important to me whether they’re happy or cranky or sad. I mean, sure, I wouldn’t say no to an overall balance in favor of happy, but people are people, you know? You should never think that it’s a waste to feelwhatever it is you need to feel.’
‘But I don’t want to feel this way.’ The corner of Christen’s mouth wobbles, and it makes Tobin’s throat tighten. ‘I’m sick of it.’
‘Chris - I understand, I promise. I get it. But I think, I really think things will go better for you if you give yourself permission to have these shitty days. Christmas or not.’
Christen nods unhappily, hunching under her blanket. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘I know I am.’
It’s not easy for Tobin to be patient at the best of times, but it’s been particularly hard to accept that however hard she tries, however much she wants to, she can’t fix the fact that lately Christen has sometimes just been sad. This is a pain she can’t take away. It leaves her feeling stuck, rooted anxiously to her spot on the far end of the couch, waiting for some sign of what she should do next or how she can best help. Christen looks calmer for a moment, like she’s just focusing on her tea, but then she hiccups forlornly and Tobin sees the tears sliding silently down her face. Tobin abandons her mug on the coffee table, about to hurtle forward with arms outstretched, but she stops herself at the last second because she wants -
She wants to kiss Christen so badly it almost scares her. She wants to wipe the tears from her cheeks and hold her face in her hands and look into her eyes. She wants to wrap her up and keep her safe and never let her go.
But it’s not the right time for any of that.
She’s about to scoot across anyway, more gently, more appropriately, when Christen flaps her hand as though to wave her away. Tobin freezes, but Christen shakes her head vehemently. ‘I didn’t mean - ’m not - I’ll be fine. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to pull me out of this.’
‘Chris.’ This time Tobin can’t stop herself reaching out, gently putting Christen’s mug to one side and taking her hands. ‘It’s not about have to, okay? This isn’t an obligation for me, it’s a - an act of service. I’ll do anything I can to make you happy.’
Christen stares down at their joined hands. Tears drip off her nose. ‘You do make me happy.’
Tobin isn’t sure whether to laugh, or scoff, or start crying herself. She wants to ask how happy, exactly, or what kind of happy, whether it’s the same bone-deep, almost aching joy that Tobin feels whenever she hears Christen’s voice or touches her or sees her smile. She still wants to kiss her. She wants a lot of things.
She doesn’t do any of them.
‘Apparently I’m not doing a very good job.’
‘You are,’ says Christen. ‘You always do.’
So Tobin holds her; just holds her.
And that’s enough for now.