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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

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Summer’s a Knife - Christmas Oneshot

If you haven’t already, read Summer’s a Knife here!

While it’s true Van was doing his part to make today worse for you, Christmas Eve is always stressful. There’s the delayed flights home, and dealing with your parents bombarding you with questions while you struggle with jetlag. And then there’s the hour drive in the snow to your aunt’s home, where you’ll interact with all of your aunts and uncles and cousins that you only see once for the entire year, and you’ll have to navigate awkward small talk for hours before making the snowy drive back home, where you’re staying at your parent’s.

Van wants to make a good impression.

Word count: ~8.4k

December 2020

“Van!” You shout from the porch, your freshly-styled hair being ruffled by the cold winter wind whipping around. “You don’t need to be doing that! Ben will be here soon!”

Van acts like he hasn’t heard, the crunch of the snow shovel colliding with the cement echoing around the neighborhood before Van heaves up a shovel of fresh snow, tossing it to the side.

“Van!” You call again, your voice bouncing off of the neighbor’s homes. “Get in the fucking house!”

Van stands up straight, the back of his gloved hand wiping his forehead. The light from the porch illuminates the snow in his hair. “Someone’s gotta do it!” He calls back.

“Okay, but not you! And not right now, when you need to get ready!” You gesture at him. “You’re soaked!”

“I’m already almost done!” Van argues, gesturing to the clean path of sidewalk behind him, even though it’s currently snowing and his work will probably be undone by morning. “Just gimme a min!”

You spin around, retreating into the warmth of the house. You hadn’t realized your mom was in the front room, and your cheeks are pink from a mix of the cold, your frustration, and embarrassment.

“He’s so stubborn!” You sigh to her in exasperation, trying to brush off the snowflakes that had fallen on your hair. Thankfully the awning of the porch had kept most of them away.

“You two are perfect for each other,” Your mom jokes, checking her reflection in the decorative mirror on the wall.

You offer her a joking glare, and she turns to you with a smile.

“He just wants to make a nice first impression,” She says, heading for the coat closet.

“Okay, well I think a great first impression would be him looking presentable to go to the family Christmas party,” You snap, your stress starting to bubble over.

You don’t wait for your mother to defend Van again, retreating back into the bathroom to continue getting ready.

As you sit there touching up your foundation and fixing a few curls that have fallen out of place you simmer over the fact Van was still outside getting pelted with snow. It had all started over a harmless conversation with your mom about how your dad was getting older, and that since Ben was staying over tonight for Christmas morning with the family maybe you two should ask him to shovel the snow tomorrow. But your mom was right; in the name of trying to impress your parents Van had suddenly set his mind on helping, throwing his winter gear on before you’d even realized what was happening. Now your brother was going to be arriving any moment as your ride to the family party, and Van was outside looking like he was at the end of a set.

“We’re leaving!” You dad calls, and you hear the front door opening, your mom trailing behind him. “Van? What the hell are you doing out here?”

“He’s shoveling, honey,” You hear your mom pipe up cheerfully, and you glare at your reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, Van, you don’t have to do that!” You hear your dad call, but can’t hear Van’s response. No doubt something charming.

Then the house goes quiet, your parents setting off ahead of you, your brother, and Van to your aunt’s house.

You’re fussing with your sweater dress, which is itchy and clinging to your body in all the wrong places when you hear the heavy thud of Van’s boots coming back into the house. Your phone vibrates on the sink with a text from Ben: be there in twenty.

The bathroom door opens cautiously to reveal a sopping Van leaving puddles of muddy snow water on the hall floor.

“Can you show me how to use your shower?” He asks, already starting to strip off his coat.

You take a deep breath, channeling all your willpower not to strangle him.

“I know you’re stressed,” Van pleads from the bathroom, where- as always- he’s rushing to finish getting ready.

“You’re the one stressing me out!” You exclaim from the kitchen. “He’s gonna be here any minute!”

“I’m almost ready!” Van cries, and then the roar of the blowdryer drowns him out. You bury your head in your hands.

The fact that Van was included in all of these plans only raised everything to higher stakes; your parents have spent the year bragging about their daughter’s amazing new boyfriend without having really met him besides a handful of Zoom calls to during the pandemic this summer. Now is the first time they’ll be able to form an actual opinion about him, and the pressure of it has made you sick to your stomach for a week. And now he’s got to meet just about every single family member on your mom’s side, and manage to impress them, too.

You’ve had multiple stress fantasies about Van whisking you two away to London, where you opt for a Christmas alone rather than with either of your families. You imagine how much more enjoyable the holidays would be without all of this pressure before you feel guilty imagining how hurt your family would be if they didn’t get this quality time with you. Curse you for being such a good daughter.

You’re trying to focus on your breathing to keep yourself from having a panic attack or dissolving into a fit of tears when your phone vibrates against the kitchen table, startling you.

“Sorry, there was an accident on the highway,” Ben says in lieu of a greeting. “But I’m pulling up right now.”

“Okay, we’ll be out,” You promise, the two of you hanging up quickly. You immediately get up to wait in the front room.

“My brother’s pulling up! C’mon!” You yell in the direction of the hallway, Van emerging right on cue.

You didn’t know how he would pull it off, but he has: The man standing in front of you now is worlds away from the one that just shoveled your parent’s snow. His hair is dried, parted nicely in its usual side part and falling in perfect waves. He’s got a crisp white button up on, not a wrinkle in sight, and the black blazer he just had drycleaned slung over his shoulders. And no Van McCann outfit is complete without the dark jeans and his trusty boots.

“Good?” He asks, giving you a quick spin.

“Wait, turn around again,” You direct him, leaning forward to pick a white fuzzball stuck on his blazer. “Perfect.” You break out into a relieved grin looking up at him.

It feels like ten pounds of stress have melted off your shoulders. Any annoyance that had been bouncing around in your chest immediately dissipates in the name of making this holiday drama-free. Van was ready, he looked incredible, and there was no reason to dwell on the last few stressful hours.

“Thank you for shoveling the snow,” You blurt out. Maybe it had been the most inconvenient timing, but it had made him look like the perfect gentleman in front of your parents.

“I just want them to like me,” Van confesses, leaning down for a quick kiss. “That’s all.”

“Everyone likes you,” You roll your eyes at him before heading back to the kitchen for your purse. When you come back there’s the yellow beam of headlights shining against the front of your house, Ben’s car idling expectantly.

Van’s hand comes to rest on your lower back as you two step outside, you taking a moment to lock the front door. He keeps his hand there the entire walk down the driveway to the car, determined to keep you steady in the slush starting to develop.

“Hi,” You greet your brother breathlessly as you slide into the backseat, Van holding the door open for you. “Excited for the party?”

Ben snorts. It’s a hypothetical question, of course. He felt the same way about the Christmas Eve party as you did. Van’s body slides into the seat next to yours before the door closes with a thud.

“Ben, this is Van, obviously,” You laugh, and Van leans forward through the space between the front seats to shake Ben’s hand.

“You’re dating someone?” Ben jokes, kicking the car into reverse. “Mom and dad never mentioned. Not once, this whole year. Especially not in relation to me still being single.”

Even Van laughs at that. You shuffle around in your seat, trying to get comfortable for the ride. Ben taking care of the drive to your aunt’s meant that you could drink, and you intended to have some wine to wash down the day you’ve had. It feels like it’s already been ten lifetimes since you’d gotten off the plane this morning.

“Now, your mother-” Your Aunt Sallie pauses as she swallows down the bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvre that had been sitting on the tiny paper plate in one of her shaking hands. “-She said you were bringing home a boy this year!”

“Oh, yeah,” You laugh nervously, glancing around. Van had said he had to use the bathroom and you’d been unable to spot him since. “He’s around here somewhere.”

“Now, what’s he do?” Sallie asks, leaving a dark lipstick stain on the rim of her plastic cup. When she’s done taking a sip of her punch she sets it back on the end table the couch is nestled against. She’s waiting for your answer, not noticing the way her cup knocks a small trinket off of the table and onto the plush carpet. You have no idea what it was or whether it’s broken, so you quickly push it from your mind.

You smile politely. “He’s a songwriter, actually.”

Over the course of your year dating Van you’ve struggled to navigate the ‘what does he do’ question with everyone: coworkers, family, the occupation dropdown menu on internet forms that need information about who you’re living with. Musician sounded strange; Yes, Van could always be found gravitating towards pianos in hotel lobbies or any guitar within sight. But that didn’t fully encompass the way he was performing and writing entire studio albums. And ‘he’s in a band’ could go either way; most people in L.A. were, and figured Van was some unsigned act. On the flip side, people wanted you to rattle off Catfish’s discography to see if they knew any of the songs, and started Googling them immediately. You’ve started to opt for songwriter, a way to honor Van’s favorite talent of yours without making too big of a fuss.

“Oh?” You aunt tilts her head in interest. “Is he an accountant too?”

You chew the inside of your cheek awkwardly. Your Aunt Sallie has never remembered you actually worked in marketing and was nowhere close to being an accountant. “No, I didn’t meet him in the office.”

“Meet who in the office?” Van pipes up in the doorway to the sitting area.

You had been sitting with your body turned toward your aunt, but at Van’s voice your body instinctually turns toward him, your shoulders draining of tension you hadn’t even known you’d been feeling. “You,” You smile up at him.

“Oh, no thanks. You’ll never catch me in an office,” Van grins, approaching you two and immediately extending his hand for a handshake. He’s gotten warm since being in the house, his blazer slung over his left arm. His white button up is a bit too transparent, and your eyes wander over the dark chest hair that’s slightly visible where the top buttons are undone.

Your aunt scrambles to set aside her empty paper plate before reaching a weathered hand out to grasp Van’s.

“I’m Y/N’s Aunt Sallie,” She introduces herself cheerfully. “I’m afraid your name’s slipped my mind, though.”

“I’m Van,” you listen to him repeat for the hundredth time tonight. “And Y/N has told me a lot about you,” He informs her politely. You struggle to hold back a sarcastic snort; what you’ve really done is warn him about her.

“Oh, Van,” Aunt Sallie smacks her lips together in thought as Van unclasps her hand. “That’s a lovely name.”

“It’s after Van Morrison,” Van boasts, his chest puffing out slightly. Your heart swells in endearment like it always does at his pride for his father’s nickname for him. You’ve even been sworn to secrecy about his legal name in front of your family.

Van and Aunt Sallie are just engaging in conversation about Van’s namesake when you hear commotion coming from the other room. Right on cue, your mother pops her head into the living room. “Ham’s done!”

“Finally,” You sigh in relief, smoothing your dress down as you get up from your seat at the couch. You were absolutely starving.

Sallie stands up as well, knocking a small portrait of Aunt Stephanie’s dog off of the end table. Van lets her head for the kitchen first, hanging back for a moment with you.

“Hungry?” He asks, rubbing his palm over your back in a comforting gesture. Your shoulders drop tension again.

“Yeah,” You tell him quietly. “Do you want to hang that up first?”

“Sure,” Van nods. “It’s sweltering in here.”

You take the long way to your aunt’s kitchen, leading Van to the coat closet by the front door before you two meet up with everyone else crammed around the kitchen counters loading up paper plates with Christmas Eve dinner.

You grab two plates that are stuck together, unsticking the bottom one and passing it over to Van. You two work in quiet harmony as you take turns spooning portions of different foods onto your plates, Van occasionally asking questions about ingredients. By the time you two are at the end of the makeshift counter buffet your plate is sagging with the weight of your cut of the ham, the steaming mashed potatoes and gravy, the two different casseroles you’d managed to fit, and some various finger foods you’d carefully piled on top of each other.

The dining table is a handful of seats short from being able to fit everyone, but your parents have graciously reserved two seats across from them that you and Van slide into, your younger cousin musing out loud about where she should sit with her girlfriend. You watch them head for the sitting room you had just left, which is empty now.

“So, Van,” Your mom starts, popping a forkful of ham into her mouth. “I see you’ve met Sallie.”

Van laughs quietly, nodding. “I did, yeah. For a moment.”

Aunt Sallie is quite tame now, but she’s forever been the troublemaker among your mom and her sisters, and gets louder and more obnoxious with each visit to the punchbowl. She also lacks any concept of privacy or personal space, something you experienced last year when she had you cornered in the hall by the bathroom, pestering you to tell her how much you make a year. You cringe to imagine Van experiencing the same scenario.

“No spot for me?” Ben asks behind your seat. Van twists to face him, a drop of gravy resting on the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, wait, babe,” You pause him without a second thought, reaching for your own napkin. “You’ve got something on your face.”

Van blinks at you in confusion, still chewing a bite of his potatoes as you reach forward to quickly wipe the gravy away. When you’re done Van has finished swallowing down his food.

“You can have this seat,” He insists, nodding to his plate. He starts gathering up his plastic silverware in one of his hands.

“Don’t do that,” Ben insists. “I’ll go sit over there.” He nods to a fold up card table looking out of place in Aunt Stephanie’s glossy and expensive home. Your grandma and grandpa are sitting at it alone, looking content to be holding their own conversation.

But Van isn’t convinced, standing up from his seat. Realizing he’s serious, you start to grab your things too, brainstorming where you two could sit now.

“Nah, have it,” Van tells Ben again, stepping away from the table. Ben hesitates but ends up taking the seat, scooting his chair in towards the table as soon as you rise out of your own chair.

“We can go sit with Maggie,” You leave the dining room with it’s glowing chandelier, navigate the polished hardwood and shiny marble of the kitchen, until you’re back in the sitting room you’d just escaped.

Your cousin is sitting on the floor with her girlfriend, their backs against the couch. You and Van take the floor against the loveseat across from them, the electric stone fireplace alive with flickering digital flames.

The rug that the couch and loveseat rest on is incredibly plush and has clearly just been cleaned; it’s pristine white with no stains despite the fact you know your aunt’s dog tends to have accidents on it. You set your glass of red wine down cautiously, but the glass doesn’t seem as stable as you’d like it to be.

“Hey!” Maggie perks up when she notices it’s you and Van that have set up camp with them.

“Hi,” You smile, instantly resting a hand on Van’s shoulder. “This is my boyfriend, Van,” You introduce him, and he offers a kind wave as he’s working his way through one of his bread rolls.

“Hi,” Maggie laughs as Van wipes crumbs off of his shirt. “I’m Y/N’s favorite cousin, Maggie,” She giggles at her joke, although it’s true. “And this is my girlfriend Sophie.”

Van looks pleasantly surprised at the mention of Sophie being Maggie’s girlfriend. “There’s two of ya!” He laughs, his eyes widening at you.

Maggie looks slightly confused, but you laugh, catching his drift. “Gay cousins? Yeah,” You nod.

With your clarification Maggie and Sophie laugh as well. You watch Van’s cheeks turn pink, most likely worried he’d just offended someone. But nobody’s bothered, and the conversation centers around how Maggie and Sophie met at the local university Maggie attends, the one you were planning to attend before you ended up ditching your hometown.

Nobody else comes to eat in the sitting room, and for the first time the entire night conversation flows easily, and you don’t have to count down every excruciating minute. You four keep talking well after your plates are empty, until Van and Sophie have to make a trip to grab drinks for everyone.

“He’s so fucking hilarious,” Maggie remarks as soon as they’ve left the room. “If I was into men I’d totally steal him from you.”

That’s the best seal of approval anyone could hope to get from Maggie, who is perpetually trying to convince anyone within a ten foot radius that being a lesbian is the superior sexuality. You don’t disagree, but falling for Van hadn’t been up to you. You beam at her compliment, and you’re still smiling when they return.

“For you,” Van stands over you, handing you down a freshly refilled glass of wine. He’s got a bottle of beer tucked under his elbow, and Sophie passes another beer to Maggie before cracking open the can of sparkling cider she’d grabbed for herself.

Van inquires about Sophie’s cider, which she graciously crawls forward to offer Van a sip of. Then Maggie and Van try to turn the conversation into how beer is the best alcoholic drink, which you and Sophie debate vehemently. The room is filled with playful debate until everyone is exhausted trying to argue their points.

“Hey,” Maggie starts quietly, before taking a long drag of her beer. “I’ve got a huge blunt in the car if you guys wanna come smoke with us.”

Your jaw drops. “Margaret Fields,” You grin, although you and Van are already standing up to follow her. “This is a family event!”

“All the more reason we need it,” Maggie raises an eyebrow at you. Everyone tries their hardest not to make a commotion at the coat closet as you all throw your jackets and boots on before slipping quietly out of the front door and tiptoeing down the driveway to Maggie’s car.

“Roll down the window a little,” You insist, burrowing into your coat further. Maggie turns the car on just long enough to crack the back window for you and Van.

“Now it’s gonna be freezing in here,” Van complains, poking at you.

“I know, but I don’t want to reek of weed when we go back in!” You whisper loudly, as Van takes the lit blunt from Sophie. “They’ll kill us!”

The only light in the vehicle is coming from the glowing windows of your aunt’s house and the embers of the blunt as Van inhales. You watch him exhale a shadowy cloud of weed, momentarily leaning closer to you so that he can aim it towards the cracked window.

“You’re gonna make me smell like it!” You protest, watching the smoke trail past your face and out of the car. Van snorts as he passes the blunt over to you, his fingers ice cold.

“You’re no fun,” He tuts, but you can’t reply as you’re too busy holding the weed in your lungs for as long as you can. It burns your throat on its way out, and you try your hardest to suppress your coughs.

Time gets a little fuzzy around the edges as the weed is passed around another time (or two, or three, who knows), and you don’t know how long you’ve been missing from the party when you all stumble back inside.

“Van!” Your uncle calls just as Van’s hung is coat up. “You said you played guitar?”

“I do, yeah,” Van nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Can you help me with something? Do you know how to restring one?”

“I do,” Van repeats, and your uncle gestures at the large staircase right by the front door.

“I’ve got it up here.”

Van shoots you a glance before he politely follows your uncle up the stairs, disappearing into the second floor.

You pray he makes a quick return as you make a quick stop through the kitchen, filling a new paper plate with some second helpings of whatever looked good.

“Have you seen Will?” Your Aunt Stephanie asks as she comes to get another brownie. They’re the star of the night, courtesy of one of your cousins, and there’s less and less of them each time you pass through the kitchen. You decide to take one while they’re still around, your mouth watering at the chocolate frosting on top.

“Van’s helping him restring his guitar,” You tell her, and she groans.

“I wish he wouldn’t,” She sighs. “He’s been putting off taking it to be restrung for months. We’ve finally had some peace and quiet around here.”

You laugh at that. “I haven’t seen James,” You realize, scanning the floor of the room.

“He’s around,” Stephanie shrugs, “Probably pissing somewhere.”

You giggle a little too loudly at that, and then manage to slip away back to the sitting room where Maggie and Sophie have already taken refuge again.

“Where’s Van?” Maggie asks, now slouched in the couch. Sophie is next to her, still sipping at her cider.

“Uncle Will needs him to restring his guitar,” You inform them. “It only takes him a minute, so hopefully he’ll be back soon.”

“That sucks,” Sophie sighs, before noticing the food you were carrying. “You brought snacks?”

“For me!” You insist, plopping down on the loveseat. “These are strictly for me.”

“No fair!” Sophie gets up from the couch, crossing the space to sit down in the empty space you’d left for Van next to you. “Mags and I supplied the weed, didn’t we?” Without waiting for a response she plucks one of the deviled eggs off of your plate before prancing back to her seat.

You zone out into your high, absentmindedly munching on your food, when you suddenly see movement out of the corner of your eye.

“James!” You exclaim excitedly, and the white miniature poodle that’s laying on the dog bed in the corner of the room perks up at his name.

“Hi, baby!” You baby talk him, hoping to lure him out of his bed. His eyes are open and his ears are twitching slightly, watching the strangers in his living room. But he’s still content to lay in his bed, his chin resting on one of the plush sides of it.

“C’mere!” You coo, patting the couch. Realizing you’re not going to let him rest, James starts to heave himself up.

As soon as he starts to cross the room towards you you decide to slip from the loveseat back onto the floor, ripping a piece of your bread roll as an offering to him. You don’t feel your hip bump your wine glass still resting on the floor until it’s too late, until you don’t feel the glass against you anymore because it has tipped, your red wine sloshing out of it and right onto the fresh white rug.

You gasp, watching the liquid seep into the fabric, looking like a blood stain as it spreads. You’re so frozen in your shock that you don’t even notice James has finally trotted over to you until he steals your entire bread roll from right off of your plate, ignoring the small portion clutched between your forefinger and your thumb. You jerk your head to see him make his way back to his bed, curling up to chow down on his prize.

“Oh my God,” You murmur, looking at Maggie and Sophie with wide eyes. “What do we do?”

You’re greeted with two silent stares, the two of them fixated on the stain.

It shouldn’t be funny, but suddenly it is. The dog has run away with your bread roll. Your red wine is currently soiling Aunt Stephanie’s extremely expensive carpet. And everyone in the room is frozen in a state of shock. There’s nobody around with enough sense to play hostess and grab a napkin or something that could absorb the spill. Without being able to control it laughter bubbles up from your stomach, ringing out through the room as it escapes your mouth. You just stare at the disaster that has unfolded in front of your eyes, laughing about it all.

“Help me!” You manage through your laughter, realizing that someone had to take charge. “I need something to soak this up!”

Maggie and Sophie jump up then, everyone searching desperately for something to mop up the wine. Sophie slips out of the room, only to return with one of the fresh white towels you recognize from the bathroom.

“It’s gonna ruin the towel!” You exclaim quietly, but Sophie still gets down on the floor with you and lays it on top of the wine, applying pressure with the palms of her hands.

“Better a towel than this rug!” She stage whispers, and you’re relieved to see the red soaking through the towel. At least some of it will be lifted from the carpet.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” You whisper, glancing up nervously to make sure nobody is about to enter the room. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea to get high at a family fucking party!”

“Oh, shut up, Y/N,” Maggie rolls her eyes. “Loosen up. We’ve got this covered!”

“It’s a huge red stain!” You hiss, Sophie folding the towel over itself and applying pressure again.

“We’ve almost got three degrees between us,” Maggie gestures to the three of them. “We can get a stain out!”

The absurdity of her sentence sends you into another giggle fit.

“What?” Sophie lifts her head to see what you’re laughing about, but she’s smiling, your laughter spreading to her.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath before you can tell your joke. “How many college graduates does it take to clean up a spill?”

You’re aware somewhere in the back of your mind it’s not even that funny, but the weed says otherwise. Maggie and Sophie find it as funny as you, and when Van comes back into the room you’re all in tears, blubbering about stupid mistakes you’ve all made through the years, how poor of an indicator higher education is when it comes to common sense.

“What the hell is going on?” He asks as he approaches you guys, a smile spreading across his face. You watch it dissolve in one instant when he catches sight of the wine stain that you’re all guarding from view with your bodies.

“We’re in a crisis,” You admit, wiping the tears from your eyes, exhaling another watery giggle.

“This is about as good as it’s gonna get,” Sophie says, pulling the towel up. The stain on the carpet is pink now instead of the vivid red it originally was, but it’s not disguised in the slightest.

“C’mon,” Van reaches a hand out to help you stand up onto wobbly legs. He leads you out into the hall, and you’re slipping in your socks on the hardwood floor.

“What are you doing?” You ask a little too loudly, and Van quickly makes a shushing motion. He turns the corner into the bathroom, tugging you in behind him and locking the door securely.

“We need peroxide,” He tells you, kneeling down to start searching through the cabinet under the sink. “Do you know where she keeps it?”

“No, I don’t know where Aunt Stephanie keeps her peroxide,” You scoff, but start helping him in his search. “I come over exactly once a year.”

You open up the medicine cabinet, your eyes tracing over the various bottles they keep in there. It’s clear this is the guest bathroom; it’s only stocked with generic headache cures, packaged toothbrushes, and some tampons.

“I don’t think they keep any down here,” You tell Van, who has finally given up his search, standing up. “This is just a spare bathroom. I’m sure they have some upstairs.”

Van nods, unlocking the bathroom door before heading out. You’ve resigned to heading back into the living room empty handed, and you’re surprised to see Van turn the opposite direction, towards the staircase he had followed your Uncle Will up.

“We can’t go up there!” You insist. “That’s weird!”

“I left my phone up there,” Van tells you, his blue eyes widening in silent emphasis.

“Right,” You swallow down your apprehension, following him around the corner and up the stairs.

On the second floor the noise of the party has faded away, leaving only the soft noise of you and Van’s footsteps as you navigate towards the master bedroom. You haven’t been up here since you were a little kid, sneaking around with Maggie and your other cousins in your nice Christmas dresses. You still intuitively know the layout, but Van gets to the master bedroom first. He must’ve restrung the guitar in there.

He gives a polite knock before finally twisting the knob and peeking in. He opens the door wider as he steps in, you lagging behind.

Your aunt and uncle have completely redone their bedroom in the fifteen-plus years it’s been since you’ve been in here. Gone is the soft blue carpet that everyone used to pretend was the ocean, leaping from the waterbed to the sofa that had been pressed against the wall near the bed in order to avoid drowning in it. It’s a crisp cream color now, just like everything else in the room. There’s no more art on the walls depicting french bistros during the different seasons, art you’d point at with your cousins and declare which small oil-painted figure everyone was. The space on the wall is now occupied by a family portrait, a framed photo of James peering up at the camera with his tear-stained eyes and trendy decorative mirror.

“Er… Which one is the bathroom?”

Lost in your reminiscing, you hadn’t noticed Van had opened up the first door to his right, which leads to a closet. He offers you a sheepish smile when you laugh.

“Over here,” You point, crossing the room to the open doorway of the bathroom. You step in, flicking the lights on. The bathroom looks the same as it always has; it must be their next renovation project.

Van starts to check under the sink, but you close the door behind you two so that the bathroom closet that was hidden from view is visible now. As soon as you open the creaky wooden door you spot the brown bottle of peroxide, presenting it to Van in triumph.

“Now we’re talking,” Van looks over the label of the bottle carefully before you two return the bathroom to how you’d originally found it, slipping out of the bedroom and back down the stairs, the chatter of the party becoming louder with each step down the staircase.

“Why peroxide?” You ask Van as you two walk at a brisk pace towards the living room where you two had abandoned Maggie and Sophie with your mess. You hope nobody’s walked in and placed the blame on them.

“It helps lift stains,” Van explains. “It’s a color safe bleach.”

“There you are!”

Maggie and Sophie are dutifully still guarding the scene with their bodies.

“Where were you?” Maggie asks.

“We had to go upstairs to get peroxide,” You explain, kneeling down with Van, who has opened the bottle up. “You know those oil paintings Aunt Stephanie used to have upstairs of the cafe?”

“The whole set, yeah,” Maggie nods.

“They’re gone now,” You inform her solemnly. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it feels strange to know that part of your childhood holiday celebrations no longer exists.

“No!” Maggie cries, placing a hand over her heart for extra drama. “Is nothing from our childhood sacred?”

“Right?” You laugh, comforted that she seemed to be feeling the same emotions you were.

Van has poured peroxide over the stain, the carpet fizzing with the liquid.

“Did you Google this?” You ask him, watching as he tends to the spill carefully.

Van shakes his head. “Been doing this my whole life at the B ‘n B.”

He grabs for the towel Sophie had sopped up some of the wine with, and carefully uses a clean section of it to dab at the peroxide. It’s a terse ten minutes while he continues to perform this ritual, everyone watching him with bated breath.

“There,” He breathes finally, pulling the towel away in satisfaction. The stain wasn’t entirely gone, but it was close to it. There’s a collective relief in the room.

“Now help me,” He nods towards you before getting up and approaching the loveseat. “Maggie and Sophie, you two push the stain under.” You line yourself up across from Van on the other side of the loveseat, helping to lift it when Van leans down. It’s heavy, and you struggle to barely lift the wooden feet off of the floor. There’s some commotion as Maggie and Sophie attempt to do their assigned job, and then the loveseat is lowering back onto the rug.

The stain is successfully hidden underneath the furniture. You grin at Van, a warm feeling of satisfaction spreading over you. Van grins back.

“Crisis averted,” Sophie declares, getting up to grab her cider off of the end table. “Here’s to Van!”

“To Van!” Maggie echoes, clinking her beer with Sophie’s can. Van laughs at their cheer, carefully bundling up the soiled towel and the now-empty bottle of peroxide.

“Help me get rid of this,” He requests of you, gesturing out into the hall.

You two manage to slip the evidence into the trash drawer without drawing any suspicion, and then Van nods to the sliding doors leading to the snow-covered back deck. “I need a smoke.”

“Me too,” You sigh wistfully, following Van to the front door so that he can slip his shoes on.

“Come have one with me,” Van insists, leaning over to pass your shoes to you.

“I can’t,” You tell him quietly, but still put your shoes on. Even if you can’t smoke, you’d like to get some air.

Your grandpa stops you on your way out onto the deck with a quick question about how to do something on his new iPhone, and you show him how to change the settings before you catch up to Van, who’s leaned against the side of the house, staring out into the darkness of the yard.

“I’m jealous,” You pout, the smoke he exhales illuminated by the warm glow coming from the sliding doors.

“Have a smoke!” Van laughs, holding his cigarette out in offering.

“I can’t,” You frown. “I don’t want them to see me!”

Your family still had no idea about the bad habit you’ve picked up, and you intended to keep it that way.

“Here,” Van pushes off from the house, nodding at you to take his place. “I’ll keep watch for us.”

He’s slipped his blazer on to come outside, and he reaches in the pocket for his box of cigarettes, quickly slipping one into the palm of your hand along with his lighter. His fingers are ice cold. You light up quickly before passing them back.

The introvert in you relishes in this quiet moment away from socializing, relaxing into the rhythm of your breathing as you smoke with Van in silence.

Van’s holding his cigarette in his left hand, his right hand safely tucked away in his pocket to warm up. He paces around the snowy deck, leaving footprints everywhere he goes. Every few steps he checks the doors to see if anyone’s coming.

The cold air feels good against your skin. You’ve opted to come out without your coat, enjoying the feeling of the slight wind slipping through the stitches in your dress and cooling your skin. You watch a small gust of wind flip a lock of Van’s hair the wrong way, ruining his part. You smile, endlessly endeared by him.

Van catches you smiling. “What?” He asks, returning it just as warmly.

You’re just opening your mouth to tell him to come closer so you can fix his hair when Van glances at the door, his smile dropping.

“Ben’s coming,” He alerts you, and you have no choice but to drop your cigarette onto the deck, wincing as you stomp out half of a perfectly good cigarette, using the toe of your shoe to delicately bury it in snow.

“Hey,” Ben greets Van when the door slides open, the noise of the party leaking out of the house. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Right here,” You speak up before Van can, emerging from the shadows. “I was just getting some air with Van.”

“Are you guys ready to head out when you’re done?” Ben asks. “I’ve been getting badgered by Aunt Sal for the last hour, I don’t know how much longer you two expect me to stay sober.”

“I’m ready to go,” You look to Van, and he nods in agreement.

“Lemme finish this,” Van tells your brother before inhaling another hit. “And we can get out of here.”

“Oh!” You exclaim suddenly. “Did Rachel and the baby ever get here?”

“Yeah, like a half hour ago,” Ben tells you. “Where have you been?”

Van snorts, but keeps your secret. “I’ve been catching up with Maggie,” You brush him off. “But I wanna see Lily before we go.”

“Hurry it up,” Ben demands, but he heads back in, sliding the door shut behind him.

“So bossy,” You roll your eyes, turning back to Van. You step in close, reaching up to fix the misplaced lock of hair.

“I love you,” You tell him quietly, tilting your head up for a kiss. Van meets you halfway, his mouth tasting of beer and nicotine and weed.

“I don’t smell, do I?” You ask, worried. “I don’t want to ask to hold Lily smelling like I just smoked.”

“You did just smoke,” Van points out. But he leans in and sniffs the top of your head, and then the spot where your shoulder and neck meet. “Smell fine to me, though.”

Van throws his cigarette down, snuffing it out before you two head back in.

You two find your cousin Rachel sitting in the living room reserved for special occasions, surrounded by family discussing motherhood with her. Her husband is sitting next to her, looking overwhelmed with all of the conversation. You try to remember his name. Jamie? Jacob? Joe?

“Hey,” You greet everyone as you enter, and your family turns their attention on you. “I wanted to hold Lily before we leave.”

“Come and get her,” Rachel grins, gingerly lifting the three month old baby in her lap. Lily is bundled in a festive blanket that features small cartoon reindeer leaping about, and she’s chewing on her fingers as she’s passed into your arms.

“She’s so cute,” You gush, watching her small eyes look over your face with curiosity. She has a red bow wound in her thin dark hair, and when she releases her tiny fingers from her mouth some slobber gets in her ponytail.

“Everyone says she looks just like Jack,” Rachel says, and the relatives in the room murmur in agreement. Ah, that’s his name. Jack.

“She does,” You agree, even if you don’t see it. “Van, wanna hold her?”

Van falters for a second, clearly unsure if that’s alright with Rachel. But when she doesn’t protest he nods, pushing up the sleeves of his blazer before he takes Lily into his arms.

“He’s a natural with babies,” You tell Rachel. “Everytime I hold them they cry, and then I hand them over to Van and they just stop. Every time.”

Rachel laughs, and you watch Van gaze down lovingly at Lily, your heart glowing. After he’s rocked her for a moment he laughs softly, starting to hand her back. “She’s about to cry.”

You see what he means when Rachel has her back in her arms; Lily’s face is starting to turn an angry shade of red, her nose scrunching in discomfort.

“I’ll go warm up a bottle,” Jack immediately springs into action.

“Alright, well, we’re gonna head out,” You announce awkwardly while there’s a gap in conversation. “Bye, everyone!”

Of course your family won’t let it be that easy, and you’re soon engulfed in hugs from whoever’s in the room. You watch Van out of the corner of your eye, shaking hands with your uncles and hugging your aunts.

After your goodbyes you find Ben chatting with your mom and dad in the kitchen.

“The happiest I’ve ever seen her,” You hear your mom say before you’ve entered the room. “Did you see her wipe his mouth? She’s a woman possessed,” She laughs.

Everyone is still chuckling when you turn the corner. “Ben,” You singsong. “We’re ready!”

“We’ll be following shortly,” Your dad waves you three off. “See you at home!”

The drive home takes twice the time that arriving did. It had continued to snow throughout the entire duration of the party, leaving the highways slushy and slippery, drivers inching along cautiously.

The wine, weed, and your flight that morning means that you can’t stay awake during the drive, your body heavy with exhaustion. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of the window and close your eyes, drifting off peacefully.

You’re woken by Van’s hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently.

“We’re home,” He murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Let’s get inside and head to bed.”

You practically trip over your own feet up the driveway and into the house, still half asleep. Ben yawns his goodnight as he sheds his damp jacket and shoes by the front door before heading into the spare bedroom. It’s less of a bedroom and more of your parent’s closet since you’ve both moved out, but they’ve kept your childhood bed in there for your occasional visits. Van guides you down the hall to the office, where you two would be sleeping.

The office is cold when you step inside, due to the french doors that lead to the backyard letting a draft in. Your mom’s been working from home since pandemic caused everyone into lockdown during the spring and summer, and her work area is piled with papers and binders. Various little lights on her computer flash, and the paperwork chaos spreads across the top of her bookshelf that houses all of her professional reference material, and the drawers to her filing cabinet are open and overflowing. The couch that you and Van are supposed to share has plenty of folded blankets resting on it, meant to help you two sleep despite the chill that’s lingered in here every cold season your entire life.

The cold is almost worth it with the view through the french doors. You hover on the other side of them, admiring the fresh blanket of untouched snow covering your yard, and the front row view of tonight’s blizzard. You yawn, your breath fogging up the glass in front of your face.

“What do you say we just, fuck the couch,” Van insists, gesturing to the blankets atop it, “And we just make a big bed on the floor?”

That’d probably be a lot warmer. And a lot more comfortable, considering you’ve grown used to sleeping beside Van, and to fit on the couch you two would have to rest your head on opposite sides.

“Yeah,” You agree sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

“Go get ready for bed,” Van tells you. “I’ll get this ready.”

As sleepy as you are, once you’ve washed your makeup off your energy levels perk up. It feels good when your skin can breathe again, even if your dark circles are back on display.

As soon as you’re back in the office you strip off your clothing, rummaging through your suitcase topless for your Las Vegas shirt.

Once you’ve slipped your shirt over your head you notice Van’s handiwork; he’s used the couch cushions to elevate your pillows, and created a carefully layered mattress of blankets. You crawl towards it, happily sliding underneath the top two layers.

“Hey!” Van protests from where he’s tucking his button up and blazer back into their garment bag. “That was supposed to be my side!”

“Shut up,” You scoff, but roll over in a show of generosity. While you wait for Van to climb underneath the blankets with you, you mentally replay tonight in your mind.

This is the most fun you’ve had at a family gathering in years. Since the days of leaping off of your aunt and uncle’s waterbed, really. Instead of stilted small talk and constant glances at your phone your night was filled with laughter, scheming with your cousin, and the pride of watching Van woo everyone in your family. You don’t think he could’ve been more of a gentleman if he’d tried. And you know he had tried, and hard. But you’ve met plenty of people like yourself, who are still anxious and clumsy and don’t get things right even when you put your best effort forward. You think of what you’d overheard your mom saying: A woman possessed.

Was it that obvious? Was the joy and love that Van brought into your life so clearly on display for everyone? Could he tell? Could he see how appreciative you were for the adventure that always followed him, and therefore you, wherever he went?

You hope he’s here for next year’s party. And the next. And the next. There’s nobody else who could embolden you to the point where you felt comfortable enough to sneak out to smoke weed in front of all your uppity family; Nobody who could keep your weed-clogged brain clear enough to fix the mess you’ve made without you spiraling into a crazy bout of paranoia. Nobody else you could trust to keep watch while you smoke a cigarette. Nobody else who made you feel so at peace with your childhood falling away, because what’s left in its wake was even better.

“I love you,” You murmur as soon as you feel his body slide next to yours. You blink at his tired face. “You were so good with everyone.”

The lines at the outer corners of Van’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I fucking hope so. I was busting my ass trying to get it right.”

“And you did perfect,” You assure him, cupping his cheek. “I love you so much.”

“Aw, Christ,” Van tuts. “I love you, too. Now go to bed, you’re going soft on me.”

“No, wait,” You urge him, but you can tell your voice is slurring. You’re right on the precipice of falling into a deep sleep. “Thank you for saving my ass.”

“You’re welcome,” Van laughs.

“And merry Christmas,” You continue, patting his hair. “I was gonna blow you tonight as a reward, but it’ll have to wait.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Van jokes. “Now go to sleep.”

You ignore his instructions. “Did you hear my mom in the kitchen? Saying I was a woman possessed?”

“Did she? No, I didn’t hear.” You can hear the amusement in Van’s voice, but your eyes have slipped closed. “That’s funny. I tend to feel like the puppy following you around.”

“I had so much fun tonight.” You feel yourself smile as the room around you starts to feel warm and hazy, Van’s body radiating a comforting warmth.

“I did too,” Van whispers, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on your slack lips. “Merry Christmas. I love you. Night.”

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