eleventh
4 January
The eleventh day of Christmas
‘Noooooo.’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. You’re already awake, I don’t know why you’re complaining.’
‘Because it’s the morning and I should still be sleeping.’
‘It’s Pine Ridge game day! You love Pine Ridge game day!’ Perry stares as Tobin sits bolt upright and hurtles out of bed. ‘Wow. You really love Pine Ridge game day?’
‘I just need to -’ Tobin fumbles with the curtains and breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Sun. Is it cold?’
‘Tropical. Have you been here the last couple weeks?’
‘You’re so mean to me before breakfast.’
Tobin pulls the curtains shut again and retreats back under her blankets, groaning as Perry sits down on the bed. ‘Are you still here?’
‘Who’s being mean now? I just want to see what’s going on with my little sister.’
‘Well, first I was asleep, and then I was rudely awakened, and I need you to tell me what I’m doing now.’
‘Tobs.’
‘What? Why should anything be going on with me?’
‘Well, first of all you can tell me why you’re so excited about the game.’
‘I’m literally renowned in this town for my love of sports. Next question.’
‘Okay, shall we start with the thirty French hens?’
‘I guess I asked for that,’ sighs Tobin, sitting up and smoothing her hands over her eyes. ‘Fuck, I shouldn’t have let Kelley bring shot glasses. I think I just wanted to do something different, you know? Something Chris would remember.’
‘Something she’d remember, or something to distract her?’
‘Does it matter?’
Perry shrugs and scoots back on the bed, reaching out to put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. ‘You’re a sweetheart, Tobs.’
‘But?’
‘No buts.’
‘No, I can tell. You were leading up to a but.’
‘It’s not a but,exactly. I just… You really love Christen, don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’
‘No, I mean - you really love her.’
Tobin feels herself stiffen in her sister’s arms. Caught. ‘Perry…’
‘God, it’s not a bad thing, Tobin. At all. I just want to make sure you’re being honest with yourself about what you actually want from all this.’
Tobin’s face is burning suddenly, and she’s not sure why. She decides it’s probably outrage. ‘I’m not doing it because I want anything!’
‘Not in a selfish way. I just think you need to be prepared in case this Christmas has changed the way Christen feels about you. Or - well - if it hasn’t.’
They’re so quiet after that that Tobin can hear Katie singing in the shower down the hall. Tobin feels oddly tense, has been feeling that way for days, first because she was excited and then because she’d fucked up and now - damn it, Perry - because she’s so on edge she can barely breathe. Whenever her mind wanders, which is often, even on a good day, she remembers falling asleep in Christen’s bed and the little jolt of electricity whenever the bare skin of Christen’s thigh brushed hers. She remembers how close they’d been, surely, to kissing on New Year’s Eve. That’s the agonizing thing about it all: it feels like it could happen between them, it feels like it really could be right there for the taking, like she could have leaned over any time in the last two weeks and kissed Christen just like that, as easy as breathing.
But she hasn’t. And, more importantly, Christen hasn’t. So maybe she’s imagining the whole thing.
She sighs and leans into Perry’s shoulder. ‘Do you ever just wish you could skip scenes?’
‘All the time.’
‘I wish I could just go back to sleep and wake up and everything be decided. I - I want to know. How I feel, how Chris feels, if she feels, I guess. I just don’t want to have to find out.’
‘It’ll be okay, you know,’ says Perry firmly, and Tobin is still enough of a younger sister to be reassured by it despite herself. ‘You and Christen are part of each other’s lives, whatever happens. You just have to see what that looks like.’
Tobin tugs the blanket up over them both and wraps her arms around Perry’s waist. ‘Love you, Per.’
‘Love you too, Tobs.’ There’s a pause. ‘So have you organized a pre-game flypast of eagles, or -’
‘Get out.’
***
The day is bright and cold, and the town breathes a collective sigh of relief. That particular weather report has been a source of anxiety ever since some bright spark selected the first Saturday of the new year for the annual Shallow Lake versus Pine Ridge football game. Christen wakes up to a text from Kelley offering to bet on the outcome, a text from Alex asking to borrow her blue cashmere scarf, and a text from Tobin that merely says ‘SPORTS’.
Her stomach flips the moment she sees Tobin’s name on the screen, and her sleep-addled brain is halfway to replying I love you, you dork. Skip the stupid game and get over here and kiss me.
Fortunately - maybe unfortunately - Christen has a deeply ingrained sense of civic responsibility and knows that her duty is to support the Shallow Lake Celtics in their decade-long quest to overcome the Pine Ridge Huskies. Not to get her best friend on her back in her childhood bed and fuck her until she can’t remember her own name.
This is not the optimal direction for her thoughts to be taking right now.
‘Good morning,’ says Mrs Heath cheerfully, the entire family assembled on Christen’s doorstep as arranged to walk her to the school field. ‘Did you sleep well, dear? Weren’t kept up all night?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ says Christen. There is no reason for her to blush. Tobin smirks at her over her mother’s shoulder. The blush intensifies.
Cindy has brought a magic Mary Poppins bag of extra scarves, cardigans and even blankets, but Christen still shivers as she watches the Celtics cheerleaders hustle out of their dubious tartan warm-ups for the pre-game ceremonials. Every year she marvels at how they manage not to die of frostbite.
The game is… fine. It’s difficult not to enjoy sports with the Heaths because their excitement is a spectator event in itself. Even if they were all just sitting there in silence staring into space, Christen’s attention would be fully occupied by the fact that Tobin is sitting really, really close to her - for warmth, possibly, although they’re both so bundled up that Christen is feeling positively hot.
The whistle blows and she stands up hastily, the rush of cold air blissful on her scarlet cheeks. ‘Coffee?’
‘Chriiiis. You’ll miss the halftime show.’
Christen rolls her eyes. ‘It’s Shallow Lake versus Pine Ridge. There is no halftime show.’
‘This year there is.’
‘Tobin.’
Tobin smiles innocently. ‘Mmm?’
‘Did you do something?’
‘It’s not much, I promise. And it’s not, um. Public.’
‘The whole town is here.’
‘Yes, but no one knows it’s anything to do with you.’ Tobin looks at her appealingly. ‘Stay. Please. I promise I’ll go fetch you all the coffees you need afterwards.’
‘Fine.’
Christen sits back down beside Tobin, hands wedged under her legs. Sure enough, the cheerleaders are back, dancing and leaping as though their lives depend on it, which may well be true if they hope to stave off hypothermia. Three of the high school seniors sing a song Christen doesn’t recognize and are applauded politely. Christen feels a little flash of irritation. Something is going to happen, and she doesn’t like this feeling of not knowing what it is.
‘And now,’ bellows the announcer, ‘let’s celebrate… our Celtics!’
The crowd whoop obediently, and it’s a second before Christen hears the other noise through the cheering. And even then, she can’t believe what she’s hearing.
It’s bagpipes.
Everyone around her is cheering and laughing, because it’s ridiculous - real pipers, in Shallow Lake, which hasn’t had an actual Scottish settler since 1793 - but Christen is back in that Christmas years ago in Edinburgh. She remembers it so distinctly: standing on the medieval castle ramparts, the whole city spread out beneath her in the winter sunshine, her mom’s arm through hers, her dad’s hand on her shoulder.
Their little family bubble, so unique, so precious. Gone.
She knows then that Tobin has arranged this, and she knows it’s for exactly that reason, to keep her parents part of the holidays. It’s just the kind of thoughtfulness Christen has come to expect, characteristic of that little girl she first met at Sunday school who insisted Christen take the nicest colors from the pencil pot, and it deserves a kinder response than Christen can manage right now. She wants to hug Tobin. No, she doesn’t; she wants to throw her arms around Tobin’s neck and kiss her breathless and never let her go again.
Instead, she’s already burst into tears.
It’s not just the memories; it’s the hopeful, tender look in Tobin’s eyes, suddenly too much and not nearly enough. It's a look that narrows Christen’s entire world down to a single face. She knows she’s staring, probably intently enough to make it weird, but it’s like she can't look away: she’s so aware of Tobin, the little scar on her forehead, her lashes, her barely-there freckles, every detail she knows so well and still feels like she's seeing for the first time. But she can still hear the pipers playing on the field, and there are so many memories and emotions crowding at the fringes of her subconscious that she instinctively puts her hands over her ears as though it will protect her.
Tobin looks utterly stricken. ‘Chris -’
‘No, don’t - it’s not -’
Don’t worry, she means. It’s not you. You haven’t done anything wrong. You couldn’t.
But she’s so overwhelmed she can’t finish the sentences, and she can’t sit there watching Tobin’s face fall like that.
‘I have to go.’
‘Chris, please -’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll text you, okay?’
And she runs.