Raveling You
Page 10

“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure why I feel the urge to apologize over something that has nothing to do with me.
“Sorry for what… it wasn’t you’re fault.” He twists around, causing my chin to fall off his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be apologizing for anything.” He sketches a finger across my cheekbone.
An evanescent contact of skin to skin, but my body still flushes with heat. I lick my lips—I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’m about to kiss him in the living room in front of everyone.
His breath hitches in his throat. “Maybe we should—”
“Hey, it’s my turn to put the star on the tree!” Fiona shouts, causing Ayden and I to blink. She plants her hands on her hips and glares at Everson. “You did it last year.”
“Liar. You did it last year.” Everson is holding the silvery star and reaches his arm up high. Fiona, being on the short side, jumps to get it, but misses by at least a foot.
“Everson! Give me that star.” Fiona moves to tackle Everson and he dodges out of the way, laughing.
“Everson, you did put the star up last year,” Ayden intervenes without looking away from me. “Give the star to Fiona.”
Everson curses under his breath, shoves the star at Fiona, and stomps toward the doorway. “Whatever. She’s too short anyway. She’ll never get it up there.”
“I will, too!” Fiona shouts after him, glancing from the star to the tip of the tree.
Ayden sighs, sets the computer down on the coffee table, and gets up from the sofa. “I’ll go get you a stool,” he tells Fiona. “Hang on.”
After he leaves the room, Fiona reels around and faces me with a haughty bob of her head. “So, what are you guys doing on the computer anyway? Just seeing what was up with Ayden’s brother.”
“Sort of.”
“Well, you’re not going to find anything on the computer,” she says, chipping at a chunk of glitter on the base of the star. “Ayden’s just going to have to remember.”
Fiona’s always been on the strange side, so I don’t put too much thought into what she said. Instead I reach across the sofa to steal a handful of popcorn from the bag on Kale’s lap because I’m starving. With how tipsy the adults are, I’m guessing this night is going to end with takeout.
Kale’s eyes instantly pop wide as I bump his leg on my way back to the side of the sofa.
“Whoops. Sorry.” Curious to why he looks so terrified, I add, “You okay?”
He mutters a “yes” then tosses the bag onto the table and bolts out of the room like it’s on fire.
“What was that about?” I stuff a few pieces of popcorn into my mouth.
Fiona shrugs. “He’s just weird. Like Ayden. We all are really.” She ravels a strand of her long hair around her finger as she gazes at the lights flashing on the tree. “I’ve always kind of wondered if Lila and Ethan did it on purpose.”
“Did what on purpose?” Ayden inquires as he enters the room carrying a stool, along with two cans of soda.
“If Lila and Ethan purposefully adopted weirdoes.” When Ayden places the stool in front of the tree, Fiona climbs on and stretches her arm toward the top. With a slight sway of her balance, she gets the star on then jumps backwards off the stool. “There. Look at how pretty it is.” She admires the tree with a tip of her head.
Ayden returns to his place beside me, but doesn’t pick his computer up. He hands one of the cans of soda to me then pops the tab on the other. “I think I’m getting tired of researching.”
I tap my finger on top of the can before opening it up. “We can take a break, if that’s what you need.” I take a swig of soda, the fizz tickling my nose. “Anything you want to do in particular?”
“Want to go get your guitar?” he asks. “Then we can go upstairs and play for a little while.”
I grin a goofy grin. “You know the way to my heart, Shy Boy.” He really, really does.
I just wish I knew the way to his.
The next morning as I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the sun begins to rise and warm up my room, I try to think of a good present to get Ayden, one that will cheer him up.  Last Christmas I got him a signed album, but this year I want to get him something special. Something that will make him smile like he made me do yesterday when we’d spent over four hours last night jamming out to our favorite songs. It was a nice. I wish we could do that more often.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Lyric, I need to talk to you,” my mother says through the door with another soft rap. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah, you can come in.” I sit up in bed and stretch out my arms as she opens the door and enters.
She’s sporting a holey pair of jeans and a faded black shirt splattered with neon pink, yellow, and green paint. Her auburn hair is pulled up, and her phone is clutched in her hand.
“Man, since when did you become an early bird? You know that’s a sign of getting old,” I joke, glancing at the clock on my nightstand.
She smiles tiredly. “I have to get some pieces done for the art show in a few weeks. And I’ve been up all night, so technically, that doesn’t make me an early bird.”
I plant my feet onto the floor. “Nope, it just makes you a crack-head.”
She sighs her oh Lyric sigh.
“What?” I ask innocently. “Too early for jokes?”