Our Secret Moments (Drayton Hills Series)

I HAVE no fucking clue who decided to call Christmas the ‘most wonderful time of the year,’ because all it brings me is stress, depression, and a tummy ache. Nothing stresses me out more than the thought of small family gatherings and a faulty Christmas tree that my dad pulls out from the garage two days before Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas movies, shopping, all the festivities and everything that comes with the joy of the cold weather. What I don’t like is the way time suddenly slows down and people now have the energy to start being nice to people they didn’t care about a few weeks ago. I don’t like that I’m supposed to act like everything is fine when it is very far from it.

Take my dad for example. The same man who cancelled Thanksgiving plans with me now wants to spend Christmas day together. Just the two of us, he said. We’re a week away from Christmas and I can’t wait to get it over with. I couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the day with him.

Before I can wallow and complain about that, I’ve got to finish off my final interview with the football team before the playoffs in January.

From what I’ve shown Coach Mackenzie, he says what I’ve pulled together is the best the newspaper has seen in years. The small comments he makes make my dream of writing a column for the New York Times seem somewhat achievable. I know I’m a long way from that, but it feels more tangible now.

Being recognised for being able to change something and giving it my own spin is the exact feeling I’ve been chasing since I started this degree, and to finally be appreciated that way feels fucking fantastic. Euphoric almost.

The only downside is trying to tame a portion of the team for their last interview. I finally got them to start listening to me without Connor’s interference, but since we came back from Thanksgiving break they’ve been harder to tame than usual. This week especially. I want to get this over with, so I can spend the rest of the day doing last minute gift-shopping with the girls.

I decided to split the team into groups of three or four, so I’m able to round up their experience and find out what they want people to learn from them. Connor’s progress has been insane. He might take a bit of time to really dig deep and give a better answer than usual, but he gets there in the end, which is what matters more than anything.

Luckily for me, Wes has absolutely no trouble talking in front of people, so when I tell his group to come to the front, he will not stop talking.

He leans back in his chair, Connor and Sam both sighing as he goes on his third rant of the day. “You know what, Cat? You’re exactly what this team needed. You’ve been so good to us even when we give you a hard time and you’re perfect eye candy for Connor and–”

He stops when Connor elbows him in the ribs, causing him to wince. I press my mouth into a line, trying not to laugh as I say, “That’s very kind of you, Wesley, but I’m actually trying to ask Sam if–”

Wes’s eyebrows furrow. “Wait. Can I just double check that you’ve actually not used the name Wesley on any of the reports, because you do know my name is–”

“She knows, Wes. Just shut up for two seconds,” Connor mutters, saving me.

When I mouth the words ‘thank you’ to him, he shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal, but I see the way he blushes slightly. He looks fucking adorable – his hair is messy, his cheeks are puffy and each time Wes says something stupid, his nose scrunches slightly. I just want to tackle him to the ground and kiss him all over his face.

“Okay,” I say, punching in the last of Wes’s rant into my laptop before turning to Sam. “So, what did you think about this experience? Did you find it hard or challenging in any way? Is there something I could have done better?”

Sam sighs a little, running his hand through his hair. “I think it was okay. Sometimes I didn’t know what to say. You know, when you asked us what the most irrational superstition I have is. Mostly because my family are very superstitious and they’re all irrational,” he explains and we all laugh. I’ve added in a section to the blog where it’s just a ton of random questions followed by all the boys’ answers. It’s been one of my favourite things to work on so far. “So, the only thing you could have done better is–”

“Nothing,” Connor cuts in, shooting Sam a look before turning to me. “There’s nothing you could have done better, Cat. Everything you’ve done has been perfect and there is absolutely no criticism for you whatsoever.”

I can’t help but laugh at the seriousness on his face as he says that.

“None?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Zero.”

“I guess that answers my question I was going to ask you then,” I get out through my laughter and Wes and Sam snort.

Connor tuts, leaning in slightly. “No, you’re missing one thing,” he whispers. I tilt my head at him, silently asking him to continue. “I think you need to add something about how proud I am of you. I know it sucked a little at the start, but this is exactly the kind of thing that you needed and what you’ve managed to make out of some random kids from Colorado is incredible. You should be really proud of yourself.”

My eyes instantly welled up with tears. I always cry when people say nice things to me. It’s a part of me I’ve never been able to change and sometimes I don’t think I want to.

I always feel those kinds of words of encouragement right down to my core. It weighs on me and it becomes the only thing I can think about for hours – sometimes days. And when the words come out of Connor’s mouth, that feeling increases tenfold.

“Yeah, that too,” Wes mumbles and then we’re all laughing again.

CHRISTMAS DAY

Home.

Home.

Home.

I haven’t been back to my old neighbourhood across from the Bailey’s and the Mackenzie’s house in months.

My dad is always at the office and never home. I know I have a spare key and if I ever wanted to feel closer to my mom, I could have gone back home. Since she’s passed, nothing has ever felt right about coming into the house knowing she won’t be in here.

For months after her death, I kept having the same recurring dream that one day I would turn up and she’d be back in the kitchen making her famous rum cake. I’d walk over to her, ready to steal a bite, but she’d swat my hand away and tell me to wash my hands. I’d turn back around towards the sink, wash my hands and when I turned back around she was gone. Again.

It was more of a nightmare. I would wake up in sweats, or I would scream so loud that my dad would come into my room and hold me until I fell back asleep. Then one day he just stopped doing that. I would scream and cry and wait for someone to hold me, but no one ever came. I’d somehow have to soothe myself back to sleep and pray that the nightmares wouldn’t come.

When my dad answers the door, I don’t know why he looks so surprised to see me. His black hair is slowly greying, his dark brown skin is ageing, and he isn’t dressed up like he usually is. Frankly, he looks a little lost and messy. I can’t tell if he’s staring at me because it’s been a while since he’s seen me or if it’s something else.

I quirk my head to the side. “Dad,” I press and I wait for him to meet my eyes. “Are you going to let me in?”

He nods before shaking his head. He opens the door wider. “Yes, love. I’m sorry- I…” he stutters as I make my way through the door, undoing my layers, ready to hang them up behind the door. “You just… You look so much like your mom.”

His words make me stop in my tracks. It’s not what he said – I get that all the time, especially when I’m in the neighbourhood. I see her in me whenever I look in the mirror, I don’t need people to tell me. But my dad only says that when he’s really missing her. He is always put-together. Mostly because he has to be. He’s the mayor. He has responsibilities. But it’s extremely rare that he is that out of control with me.

I just smile at him, not sure what to say. “Is there anything I should help with for dinner?” I ask, walking into the kitchen. I hear his footsteps pause behind me before he slowly starts to make his way in here.

No matter how busy my dad got, he always loved to cook, so I’m not surprised that the oven is stuffed with food even though he’s only cooking for us two and some to bring to JoJo.

“I think I’ve covered everything,” my dad says, looking over me as I open the lid to the pot of steamed vegetables. “You can set the table.”

We move around each other silently as we get the table prepared. It shouldn’t be this hard or awkward trying to have a conversation with my dad. Over the phone, he would have the excuse of needing to do something with his assistant, but he can’t do that now it’s the holidays.

Once the table is set, neither of us have said anything until we’re sitting across from each other, our plates full of food. I slice my fork through the mashed potato.

“How are things at work?” I ask quietly before stuffing my face with some of the food, whilst I wait for his answer. I avoid eye contact and continue pushing around my food.

Dad clears his throat. “Things are good. We’re hoping to get through the new improvements to the school district in the new year, which is our main priority right now,” he answers. Our gazes clash and I hold his stare. “Speaking of… How is college?”

I swallow, nodding. “It’s good. If you remember one of the last times we spoke over the phone, I was telling you about this project I was doing with the football team.” I brace myself for an interruption, but it doesn’t come. He’s actually listening to me… “Well, I’m still finishing it up. It’s, like, this huge blog piece with the team and some explanations for people who don’t know anything about football. It’s been fun to do besides regular classes.”

I could have continued, but I hate feeling like I’m talking too much so I stop and wait for my dad to say something. He nods once. Twice. “That sounds good. I’m glad you’ve got something fun to do.”

There’s a pause between the two of his sentences and again, I don’t know how to respond. Something has changed in our relationship and I always knew there would be a time where I’d get older and we’d eventually grow apart. I’ve seen it done in a million films and in books, but when I saw the way Elle and Nora have such good relationships with their parents, I thought my dad and I would always be close.

I wish I knew if it was something I did that drove us apart. If there was something I could fix with my two bare hands and put us back together.

We both know why we’ve drifted apart and neither of us want to talk about it, but it’s been years. I want us to go back to how it was.

I want us to have Christmas dinner like a normal family and open presents together and joke about how my mom would hide presents around the house. We’d spend all day searching and if we didn’t find them, we’d have to wait until we actually found them for us to have them. Sometimes I wouldn’t find one for months and it would end up being one of the best presents I’ve ever received.

A smile tugs at my lips just at the thought of it. “Do you remember when–”

“Look, Catherine, I don’t–”

We both speak at the same time and I shake my head at whatever I was going to say. “No, you go,” I whisper, stabbing my fork into some chicken, mumbling as I add, “it wasn’t anything important.”

“Okay,” he replies, pushing his plate forward slightly as he crosses his arms against his chest. “Look, Cat.” He repeats before sighing. “I apologise for not being in more contact with you and I know things are tough between us, but you should know that I don’t want it to be like this.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my eyes immediately stinging at his words. “Then why is it?”

He runs his hand down his face. “Because…” He takes another deep breath and I wait for him. It’s been five years since mom passed and we’ve been in this weird purgatory ever since. “Work has been busy and it’s not like you’ve tried to reach out either.”

“That’s because whenever I do, you either cut me off, or we end up arguing,” I retort, my face suddenly feeling hot.

“And why do you think that is?” I open my mouth, ready to respond, but nothing comes out. “I know you think I’m the bad guy, but things have been hard for me too. I didn’t just lose your mom, I lost my wife, Cat. And I don’t think you’re fully understanding that.”

I do understand that. I’ve spent months grieving my mom in different ways. The ones that hurt the most were where I looked at it from the point of view of my nana who lost her daughter and my dad who had lost his wife.

“Do you seriously think I don’t think about that? I think about it all the time. Understanding your situation has nothing to do with our relationship,” I argue, tears fighting my eyes to fall.

“Then why are you making this so difficult?”

“Because you don’t care about me, dad. Not anymore. Sometimes it feels like you never did. Like it was some sort of show you put on for mom. Because if you did, you would have called me on her anniversary or texted me or something. You would have made more of an effort to see me on Thanksgiving, or try to have a conversation with me that isn’t about school or work.”

He kisses his teeth. “Of course I care about you. You’re my daughter.”

“No, you care about me because I’m your daughter. You care about me out of guilt, out of the fact that blood is the only thing tying us together, not because you are actually interested in how I am doing,” I challenge, my voice growing louder. I can see the annoyance on my dad’s face and I just blink back at him.

“Don’t you dare say that, Catherine. Just because I don’t call you doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do, I just–”

“Have things that are more important than me,” I finish for him, pushing out my chair and standing from the table. “Thank you for dinner. Call me when you feel like being a dad again.”

I get out of the house as quickly as my legs can carry me. Dad doesn’t say or do anything to stop me. He lets me leave.

When I’m practically sprinting towards the end of the estate, I stop, considering turning around and interrupting Connor’s family dinner. The Christmas tree in his front yard glistens and their living room light is on.

I could walk up to their door, knowing that they would answer, but that only makes me feel worse. They’ll just feel sorry for me, stuff me with food and beg me to stay the night.

When I make my way to the end of the road, accepting the fact that I’ll have to walk the twenty minutes to campus, I pull out my phone and call Connor. He answers immediately.

“Hi,” I say shakily, slowing down my walk. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Catherine,” he replies, and for whatever reason I can just hear his smile. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I say. So much, I want to add. There’s so much I want to tell him. So much I want to let him know, but I bite my tongue. Today is supposed to be a happy day. A celebration. Not a day to complain about how broken my family is to a person who wouldn’t understand.

“Hey, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself,” he murmurs and it sounds like he’s moving from one place to the next. “Talk to me.”

I sigh, annoyed at how he can see right through me. Or, well, hear. “I just missed your voice. Christmas dinner with my dad wasn’t… fun. I just want to go home.”

“Home?” he repeats. “What do you mean? You’re already at home, aren’t you?”

I swallow, trying my hardest not to cry. “No. I mean, home with you. Wherever you are, that’s where I’m home. That’s where I want to be.”

For a second I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing. Am I coming off too desperate? All I hear is the soft sound of his breathing as I walk through the cold winter air, pushing forward.

“Then come home to me, Cat,” he says finally. My chest deflates with emotion.

“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice shaking.

“Why?”

“Because that’s not fair on you,” I admit.

“What isn’t fair is the fact that you feel like you’re not important to me and you’re more important than anyone,” he replies.

“I don’t want to ruin your Christmas.”

“You’re not ruining anything. My family love you. You know they do. It can be like old times. We’ll play board games and—”

“You’ll all feel sorry for me,” I say, cutting him off. “I can’t do that today. I can’t.”

He lets out a frustrated breath. “You’re not listening to me. I’m telling you that it’ll be okay. They won’t ask any questions and—”

“You’re not listening to me, Connor,” I say, my temper rising. “You don’t get it, okay? You can say they won’t ask, but that doesn’t matter, because they’re all thinking it. They’ll wonder why I’m by myself and your dad will call my dad it’ll be a whole thing and I just can’t do that right now.”

I don’t even realise that I’m crying until the tears spill down my cheeks and dribble on my chin. I take in a sharp breath, stopping at the end of the road.

“Okay,” he says quietly and instantly feel bad for snapping at him. “Okay, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, running an annoyed hand across my face. “I don’t want to argue with you, I’m just having a hard time right now and… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says softly. “Just know that it’s not me that wants this. I want you with me all the time.”

“I know,” I whisper. I half expect him to respond with ‘Do you?’ but he doesn’t. I need to get in bed and reorganise my feelings before I start to go into overdrive.

“And Catherine?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my home too. You always have been and you always will be,” he replies, his words soothing me, running right through me like water. “When you want to make a real home, a small house or a big one, make one with me. Please.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Connie,” I whisper, knowing that I can trust him, knowing that he’ll help me make my dreams come true. “Have a good Christmas. I lo–” My heart almost crashes straight through my ribs. Was I just about to say that I loved him for the first time over the phone? That’s crazy. There’s no way I’ve already fallen that hard for him.

“Cat?” he asks, his voice low as I try to collect myself.

“I love the weather,” I blurt out. “You know the crunchy leaves, the dark sky, the way I can see my breath in the air, I love it all. So much.”

He laughs a little, and I can imagine him throwing his head back. “I love the weather too, Cat. So much you don’t even know.” We both know what he’s talking about, but he just adds, “Bye, sweetheart,” and he ends the call.

Even when the cold nips at me, I know I’m going back to a quiet dorm and in a couple days, both the girls will be back and I’ll truly be home again.