#bbgirl i am so sorry i cursed you with the Gay AND the anxiety my bad

[knownangels]

merry

“It is so proper festive in here.”

“Will you relax?”

"Right? Festive. Uh, Christmas-y. That's what people say."

"Saha."

“No, really. I assume you had Xavier put up the trim lights? That’s real cute, honestly. It’s so festive. All like. Green and red.”

“You’re going to burn a fuckin’ path into my new floor, could you—”

“And it’s Christmas, yeah. So it’s meant to be festive. Because it’s Christmas. The gift giving bit is like the most important part.”

Benji slips in front of her before she can pace back the way she came. He puts a hand on either side of the cabinets, barely reaching each because they’d gutted and fixed up the kitchen nice recently and its big, there’s room for a person to cook and another person to hover and it’s a family home, where family gathers, where their family gathers and another family is about to start gathering, it’s about to be a whole fucking melding of families and probably a tradition and Saha will have to see —

“If you get sick on my floor I will ditch you out in the snow.”

Saha wraps her arms around her stomach. Like she can hold the nervousness in and pretend exactly that is not about to happen. “It’s really cute that it’s snowing on Christmas.”

Benji rolls his eyes, but doesn’t take for granted the gift of her anxious focus shifting elsewhere. “Shoulda seen that one, the other day. Not an untouched bit in the back, he ran out and just fuckin’ rolled about like the dog.”

Saha makes an oh fuck that’s cute sort of face, feels the affection and fondness twist her mouth into a wounded pout. “That’s so sweet I’m going to puke about that instead of my awful gift.”

Benji sighs now. There’s an edge of actual wariness to the noise. 

She throws her arms into the air. “Not really, for fuck’s sake! I do think if you want me to be normal you should pour me another of those coffees Xavier’s making.” 

“Her little brother snorts. “The spiked ones? You know how heavy handed he’s been — nah, Saha, just settle down. You’ll be ass over if you get another.”

“Gonna be ass over my head in t’fucking grave if you don’t refill my cup right now, Benj.” She shakes him, both fists tight in his garish green sweater before picking her mostly empty coffee mug from the counter and waving it in his face. Benji laughs all the wild, hands tight around her wrists as he’s jostled. They’re warm from being in the kitchen, handling all the dishes he’s got going at once. And when he tips his head back to laugh, eyes pinched happily and mouth open to show the green Christmas cookie icing stain on his tongue, Saha feels that little twist in her chest.

It’s a swell of emotion she can’t quite place — the anxiety is the only thing missing; happiness and relief and joy and envy and rage, for some fucking. She lets go of him abruptly and steps around, excusing herself towards the bathroom in the hall. 

“Hey —”

“I’m fine!” She calls over her shoulder. Balled fists, face-forward. She doesn’t want to ruin the nice evening, and she’ll do exactly that if Benji catches a glimpse of the tears. 

*

It’s simple as to steel herself and pretend nothing’s wrong. Privately, sat on the comfortable sofa with a steaming mug of coffee warming her palms, Saha wonders if this is just part of Christmas. She’s had plenty of friends who celebrated, even if they weren’t religious. And while their family hadn’t done much, except mum picking extra shifts up for bakery-related business around the end of the year, a little gift here or there wasn’t out of the question. Maran and his mum had accustomed their childhood more towards the eight days of Hanukkah, which really seemed to her a warmer holiday overall. None of consumerism that she was shocked Benji wasn’t ranting about — although she assumed it was to keep the pout off Xavier’s face. 

Frankly, he seemed to enjoy the holiday so much that it might be impossible to get him to frown at all. 

Saha takes a sip from her mug as she watches Xavier launch into the next leg of a childhood celebration tale involving an unprofessional Boston mall Santa Clause. He doesn’t seem to have any sort of the Christmas malaise some of her friends talked about. Or if that was a private mourning, if he was good at hiding it.

Maybe you leeched it from him this year. Shouldered it. That’s nice, at least. Right? He deserves to relax. Maybe he hasn’t got time for being down when Benji’s letting him bounce around to the point of exhaustion. Maybe the sad gets kept away by ice skating and tree hunting and decorating and shopping and and seasonal playlist curating and movie marathons, biscuit baking, sled riding.

Saha thinks that might be the grand secret to Christmas — it just keeps everybody busy through the tiresome, dreary, fucking awful end of the year. No time to be lonely if you’re constantly doing the next required thing, right?

Holy shit, offers a much less woe-is-me voice in the back of her head, you need to get back on that antidepressant yesterday, girl.

*

Their final guest is running late, so Xavier doles out one gift for each of them as a consolation. He settles on the floor between Saha’s knees, rubbing his flushed cheek against the velveteen fabric of her bell Christmas-tree patterned bellbottoms.

“This is so cute.” He mumbles, settling cross-legged with a gift bag in his lap. 

“I wanted to be festive.” Saha laughs, running a hand through his messy hair. “Benji’s got a few under his belt now, thanks to you. But I’ve never really done a whole big business like this before.” She shrugs. “Few corporate-y business parties here and there, but. Yeah. Nothin’ official like. Nothing that counts.”

This is, apparently, not the right thing to say. Or maybe it is. Xavier tilts his head up more to look at her, his eyes flooding with tears.

“You’re spending it with us,” he tries to whisper, but ends up croaking a bit emotionally. “That’s special.”

Saha’s throat gets tight, then. She glances up at the television, which is set to a holiday playlist. In the top left corner of the screen, a profile picture bounces along to the beat. Xavier has set it to be a picture of the two of them, their cheeks pressed together to properly fit in frame. She smiles nearly as wide as Benji is in the snapshot. 

And still, that gently tugging thread pulls at the center of her chest. 

*

Benji’s freebie gift is a set of stickers tucked into a red envelope, alongside a gift card to a music shop in the city. He’s sat in front of the tree across from Xavier, his legs outstretched so at least their knees bump. When his eyebrows pull in, Saha scoffs at him. 

“C’mon. We are never gonna get through this if you boohoo over some stickers and a gift certificate.”

“It’s really thoughtful, you clown.” Benji defends. He’s several cups of egg nog in, himself; he gestures loosely at Xavier, who somehow correctly reads the motion. He twists from his spot against Saha’s leg to lean up and give her a proxy hug, long arms wound tight around her shoulders.

“You’re welcome.” Saha huffs breathlessly, patting Xavier between the shoulders.

“Thanks.” Benji snarks.

The doorbell goes then, and directly into her ear, Xavier whoops in excitement. 

Saha falls back a little against the cushions with the energy he expels pushing upright to his feet. Distantly, she hears Benji’s laughter and the swell of the next song and the crackle of the fireplace, Anika’s gentle snoring where she naps in a new dreidel-print dog bed near the door. She hears the heavy thud thud of Xavier’s running, slipper-clad feet, the ancient door’s tell-tale creak, and the excitedly noisy reunion of two siblings who clearly love each other very much. Who have missed each other that much more. 

Saha stares at Benji. He tilts on one hand, braced to the floor, to peer down the hallway. He’s grinning in the way she remembers only from the distant past and the immediate now; their wedding, this celebration, Maran’s occasional visits, family dinners. 

The feeling comes again: joy, relief, sadness, envy. Anger.

Fuck Christmas, actually, Saha thinks. Bah humbug, or whatever. Stupid fucking holiday and its stupid fucking general depression.

“I’m getting another drink.” She announces. Perhaps a bit too loudly, because Benji even hears it over the chatter of the siblings at the front door. She crosses the mouth of the hallway towards the kitchen as quick as she can; not only because the open front door is leaving a draft, but —

“Fuckshitpissfuckbastard.”

“I have not heard that particular carol in, like, years.”

Saha twitches and presses a hand to her chest as she turns, nearly upending the coffe all over her blouse. For a moment, she avoids eye contact with the other transient visitor in the kitchen. It brings her focus to a pair of nicely tailored slacks — nice, because they don’t look too well done. Still a bit of mess, oversized in a fashionable way. The button-up is not oversized; Saha finds she wants to avoid the particular clinginess of that article of clothing only slightly more than the eye contact. 

The eldest Wolffe’s eyes area slightly different shade than those of her only brother. If the light hits Xavier right, his are a gorgeous, earthy green. Tess has pine needles on rich brown dirt — little flecks of hazel here and there, if Saha looks too close.

Saha looks far, far too close.

“Made it up just now.” She admits, turning back to the counter for another mug. The decaf will need rebrewed, once she pours a cup and properly spikes it for the latest guest. Tess takes the mug and lifts it slightly in thanks. “Think I could go for Mariah’s throne?”

Tess’s pretty eyes sparkle at her over the rim of the mug as she takes a sip. “You’d chart, at least. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She replies. If the woozy, stupefied look is obvious across her face, she’s going to off herself. “I mean— oh, right. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks.” Tess parrots, her voice lilting with a clear tease. “I’ll grab the tray, you take the bottle?”

“Fuckin’ hell, really shouldn’t.” Saha breathes heavily, the air lifting her bangs away. 

Tess laughs loud. Nearly the same as Xavier’s, just with less chest to it. “I meant take the bottle in? I’ll grab the food.” She leans over to peer closer at the array of appetizers Benji’s slaved over and whistles. “Looks so good, Benj. Damn.”

As she bends forward to observe the food (with an air of professional interest that is so wildly endearing), a little bunch of shiny necklaces slip from the neckline of her shirt. Saha’s tipsy, lidded eyes blink at the glimmer. Her mouth goes a bit dry.

*

They all catch-up and converses nad joke for far too long; the food disappears before it can go cold, but by the time Xavier excitedly doles out presents, the sun has already set over the horizon. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tess hiccups as he adds to her pile. “It’s totally my fault. I got caught up—“

“Don’t care!” Xavier singsongs, rapping a knuckle against a pentagonal shaped, candy cane-wrapped gift near her knee. “Christmas. Open!”

“Do we need a system?” Saha wonders aloud. “Is there, like, a system for who opens what? So nobody runs out first and it’s —“ she glances around the circle, three pairs of  equally sloshed eyes on her. “Okay. Sorry. Nevermind, I just…” She snorts, and then to a chorus of cheers, tips back the rest of her bitter coffee with a flourish.

*

Not an hour later, Benji and Xavier doze surrounded by a combined pile of gifts on the couch. Xavier, face buried in the crook of Benji’s neck, still wears his silly elf hat and ears. Saha knows from stories he can sleep pretty heavy; she carefully plucks all the accessories off and leaves them on the coffee table with the rest of the night’s rubbish. Wrapping paper, crinkly bows, sparkling fistfuls of tinsel and thin, festive tissue. 

The soft clink of glasses and plates echoes from the kitchen, so she meanders towards the sounds. Vertigo — certainly from the amount of carbs and sugar and way, way too much alcohol — forces her to lean her head against the archway. 

“Like them, isn’t it?” 

Tess hums and shuts off the water. “Hm?”

Her cheeks burn with strange humiliation. She knows its unwarranted. She hates repeating herself; for so long she’d been accused of mumbling, or being soft-spoken. The alcohol, again. 

“Said: like them, isn’t it.” Her head shifts against the wall, tilting vaguely towards the sleeping lump of boy on the sofa. “Proper younger sibling behavior, crashin’ and leavin’ the cleanup for us.”

Tess laughs in agreement. “They know they look too cute to be bothered.”

“Bastards.”

The eldest Wolffe shakes off her hands over the sink, wipes them on her nice trousers. Saha smiles. Her bleary head focuses on that as attractive.

“I don’t want to offend—“

“No, we really did not celebrate Christmas growing up—“

“No!” Tess laughs again, then slaps a hand over her mouth at the volume. Her eyes widen, but the soft noises from the living room don’t stir. “Jesus, no. I was going to say…I was going to step out, but I didn’t want you to think I was running off or something.” 

She fishes in her pocket, holds up a matte rectangle and waves it. 

“You oughta stop.” Saha blurts without filtering the thought. She slaps her own hand over her mouth. “Fuckin’ hell, I cannot turn it off sometimes. M’sorry.”

Tess offers her a shrug and beneficent half-grin. Her teeth are charmingly crooked. “Come out with me?”

Saha freezes for just a moment. Her fingers are a little cold right at the tips, like she’s been leaning on her hand too long; the pins and needles have set in. She thinks immediately of an email sat, read but unanswered, in her inbox. A canceled flight, mailed note of condolence with the excuse of an imaginary schedule conflict.

“Alright.”

Tess’s grin hasn’t faded, but when she receives that affirmative it doubles in wattage. Saha walks away first, because like the cutely intertwined bodies in the living room, the profile picture, the lights trimming the house…that smile is a little too bright to look at. 

*

“I liked the knife set.” Tess says, once they’re bundled and comfortable on the porch. 

Saha feels awful, in that moment. Not just because the chairs they sit in are angled together, the moonlight slips in ribbons of gorgeous silvery tinsel across the pond. Not just because she lied, she hasn’t kept in touch, and that she bought the gift Tess thanks her just two days ago.

“I saw it and thought of you,” Saha admits, biting her tongue for its honesty. “I’m really glad you didn’t think it was daft.”

Tess is silent a moment. Then she chuckles. “They have adorable little cartoon animals on the blade? What’s not to like about them.”

“They’re not professional!” Saha laughs, waving her hand between them. It accidentally buffets some of the fumes from Tess’s vape towards her, and she coughs. “I thought — honestly, why would a professional use those. You’ve probably got fancy custom bits from, like, a Japanese knife company.”

“A lot of the good expensive ones are Japanese, actually.” The blanket over their laps shifts as Tess turns more towards her. Saha doesn’t move. “Kinda impressed you knew that.”

“I did a sponsorship.” Saha says. She winces. “Eugh. I am so sorry —“

“Oh my God, a sponsorship —“

“Please.” 

“A sponsorship! You’re famous.”

“I hate my fucking job.” Saha spits. With feeling. 

A lull of silence settles over them, after that sudden outburst. It’s heavier than the fleece shielding them from the (admittedly mild) December air. 

“That’s partially why I — I lied to you. It wasn’t a brand meeting with my manager. I lied. I say it was, but I was —I hate this job. And I didn’t want to make it part of…that.” She fumbles over the words, head still fuzzy from the drinks and come-down of perhaps a little too much socialization for one evening. “That’s your passion, yeah? And for me it’s not that. Absolutely at all.”

And I’m mid-thirties still not sure who I am. Or what I’d like to do. Or where I want to be. And I’m still lying to you. I do hate my job. I fucking hate it. I want to be doing anything else — something that matters. But that’s not why I ghosted your invitation. It’s because I’ve always been a sister or a daughter. I’m mid-thirties and that’s all I really know about myself. That’s all I know how to be? I really, really like you and that’s scary by itself. But everything about me has orbited Benji. Still does, in so many ways. And you’d be another thing in that column — because of Benji.

I want things, she doesn’t say. I want things for myself. I want things and I can’t ask for the things that I want.

“Fuck Christmas. Bloody fuckin’ holiday,” Saha mumbles, head dropping down to her hands. She feels a warm palm span her shoulder, curve into a gentle hold, for just a moment.

And then she spills sick — gingerbread cookies and Irish cream coffee and cute holiday appetizers and way, way too much alcohol — all over Benji’s newly painted deck. 

*

When she wakes up the next morning, tucked snug beneath the comforter in their guest bedroom, there’s a glass of water and a pill on the side table. Saha falls back against the toss-turn mess she’s made, groaning and shoving an arm over her face to shield from the morning sun. The pillows are comfortable, but unfortunately not nearly enough to smother herself with.

#writing #sp #sp x tw #core au #bbgirl i am so sorry i cursed you with the Gay AND the anxiety my bad