December 20th

[spectacularly]

I know why they call it the most wonderful time of year, but it's been a long time since it felt like anything but a theory. A fantasy. I remember my father dressing up as Santa Claus and how we'd ignore the smell of whiskey on his breath when he handed us our presents, his fake, snow white beard covering up however many days of stubble. I guess in hindsight maybe that would sound a little sad, but the memories are warm, if distant.

After he died, though, everything changed. I'm sure we still got gifts, but it was like there was a shift in our world as we knew it, everything rearranged. I was still pretty young when he left, I must have still believed in Santa. I know that I didn't after that. Maybe mom spoiled it in one of her temper tantrums or maybe it was just hard to believe in much magic once he was gone. Then Randy came into the picture and the gambling addiction kicked in and I lost another parent, right there in plain sight.

So it's never been very wonderful for me. Not for a while. An enormous part of me wants for it to be different in Darrow, but I feel like I've already messed so much up. Just a few days ago I found myself in a bar again, staring at the counter like it could stare back at me. And then there's T.J., of course, who I can't stop thinking about. I'm starting to wonder if maybe I'm just destined to be drawn to people who are hellbent on destroying themselves from the inside out. If I'm doomed to be a part of that very club myself.

When he comes by, I'm staring at a window display that's too close to a liquor store for my liking, telling myself that I'm trying to find gifts for the few people I need to buy for – even if I know that all I can focus is on is my own reflection.

 

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[inablur]

It's hard not to worry. A few days short of a year ago, he'd overdosed and nearly died, woken up in the hospital on Christmas morning to a boyfriend who, remarkably, had stayed by his side in spite of everything, then gone off to rehab for three months. Historically, it's never really been a good time of year for him, and he's not sure anything will ever be worse than the year Sean ended things and he sat in his mother's garage with the car engine running, but it's the events of last Christmas that have him wary.

If it were a full year of sobriety he was coming up on, it might be a little easier to see himself coming out on the other side of this in one piece. Instead, he's got less than three months under his belt. If he could give it up then, who's to say he won't fuck up again this year?

As such, he's trying not to pay too much attention to all the holiday bullshit in stores and windows, coasting as best he can, though that's easier said than done. Still, it's not the display in the window that gets his attention, but Aimee standing in front of it, not looking like she's especially full of holiday cheer either. "Hey," he says, nudging her shoulder with his as he stands beside her. "What's going on?"

[spectacularly]

I can't help but smile when I see T.J., even if all I can think of is how I'd found him not that long ago. Think and worry, I guess, about whether history will repeat itself again.

But I nudge him back lightly, nodding towards the display. There are books and CDs and small toys, something I wouldn't have anyone to buy for. Even back home, I know that Shane is old enough that he'd roll his eye at a wooden puzzle and demand a video game in its place. I always was the most sentimental person in our house.

"Just browsing, I guess," I say. I don't gesture towards the nearby liquor store, I don't want to call attention to it and if he figures it out on his own, it's probably better left unsaid. "Trying to figure out what to buy people. You included, actually."

[inablur]

"Aw, you don't have to get me anything," T.J. says, and ducks his head to press a kiss to her hair. He always feels a little bad for it, but shopping for gifts is never really his priority during the holiday season; simply surviving it is. Too many times he's come too close to not doing so. He can't deny that it's pretty sweet, though. Around this time of year especially, it feels all the more important to remind himself that there are people in his corner, that whatever he and Aimee might have in common, she's also been there when a lot of people wouldn't have, has seen him just about at his worst.

For a split second, he considers saying that letting him bring her to a meeting would be the best gift she could give him, but he doesn't. That shit isn't fair, and he knows it, no matter how much he wants to see things go better for her than they have for him.

"You can help me shop, though. Maybe if we brainstorm, we can figure something good out."

[spectacularly]

"Do you have something for Thomas, yet?" I ask T.J. I can't help but smile at the gesture as he kisses my hair. He's got a tenderness about him that I don't think I've experienced since my father died. At least not without somebody wanting something in return. That's one of the nicest things about T.J. I know he'd never hurt me the way that Randy's son or even Sutter did.

Although I guess there is a different kind of hurt, one that he has in common with my dad. It's nothing I can judge him for, though, as I stumble down that path myself with each passing day, each temptation I avoid a meagre stay. It seems inevitable that it'll happen again, but I can't let myself think of it. Not now, at least. If an addict always lives in fear of their next relapse, isn't that its own disease?

[inablur]

"Nope," T.J. says, the word almost a laugh, as he shakes his head. "I'm kind of at a loss. Last year he got me a fucking piano, so I don't want whatever I do to be too... underwhelming." Especially given what happened last Christmas, though he doesn't want to just say that. Aimee knows enough about his history without him dwelling on the particulars of it now. The fact remains that he owes it to Thomas to do something really nice, and he hasn't got the first idea what that might be. "I barely even know where to start, you know?"

[spectacularly]

"Well, it doesn't have to be a piano," I say, and then smile, flushing red when I hear myself. "I mean, obviously not literally. But the gesture. It doesn't have to be that big."

I shake my head because what do I know? I didn't know T.J. even played the piano. I don't know how people love as wholly and hard as he and Thomas do. There were times when I thought maybe I was in love but I know now that was wrong. I was too young. Too naive. I just wanted to please. "Books are always a good gift," I clarify. "Do you have a favorite one you'd want him to read? That you'd want to share with him?"

[inablur]

"I never did a whole lot of reading," T.J. says with a slight shake of his head, a little rueful. More often than not, he couldn't have been bothered with whatever was assigned in school, and there were other things he did for fun. Anything else would probably be reaching back too far, nothing that would really work for one thirty-something to give another. "Though I might be able to find something at the bookstore."

He still hasn't mentioned his side job to Thomas anyway, so maybe it wouldn't be too obvious if he were to come up with something there, or even get something in the way of a recommendation. At least it's a start, a lead.

[spectacularly]

It's hard to imagine not reading as much as I do, although I guess it's not uncommon. For me, it's always been an escape, a way to leave my world for an hour or two while never being daring enough to drop all of my responsibilities and live my own literature-worthy life. I guess I write a lot for the same reason. Or wrote. It's been a while. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"You're still working there?" I ask. "How's that going?" I try to think of a million better ways to ask, ways that don't sound so awkward and don't bring back memories of the last time I visited and saw T.J. so vulnerable, but maybe this is just one of those things that will always be awkward. That will always feel strange and intrusive and not my place. I'd hate myself if I didn't ask him, anyway.

[inablur]

"It's alright," T.J. says with a shrug. "I could probably quit, now, if I wanted to, but it's usually pretty quiet and it's some extra money, so..." Even with as long as he's been here, it's difficult sometimes to keep in perspective that that's even a concern now, nothing he ever had to worry about before this place. Even now that Thomas is working again, it can't really hurt to be bringing in a little more than they otherwise would have, something to have on hand in case it comes to that. "Weird, right? I've barely ever held down one job before, let alone two."

[spectacularly]

He doesn't mention the incident and so I won't either, nodding along with what he says though I can't say I know what's so weird about it. I guess T.J.'s still kind of a mystery to me. Most of my friends are. I still haven't figured out whether it's right to ask about where people came from before, what kind of life they lived. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to miss mine more. "I never had a real job before coming here," I tell him, fully aware it's kind of boring. Most of me is. "I mean, I delivered newspapers. But that was really for my mom."

[inablur]

"Hey, it's something," T.J. says with a shrug. It's a hell of a lot more than he would ever have done. Something like that, he doesn't think he would even have been allowed to do, too much of his childhood and adolescence spent surrounded by security. Delivering papers would just have been inviting trouble, especially given some of the country's reaction to his coming out. He can't help wondering what he would have been like if his life had been normal, if he'd been able to have a normal job like that. Chances are, he'd still be just as fucked up, but it's hard not to think about. "More than I did."