Brave by The 12 NAs of Christmas, Zoe Dawson Page B

adrift in that tiny boat, like I had made a completely
boneheaded mistake by doing something I should never have even
contemplated. Like I shouldn’t have left the comfort of my
bland, unencumbered life. But shame washed over me again. Charlie was
always there for me. Even now I felt the warmth of his friendship and
his belief in me. I just felt that I didn’t deserve it. That he
had somehow seen more than there was to see because maybe he wanted
to see it. Maybe he was desperate to see it.
    And,
maybe I was desperate for him to see it, too.
    I
pushed the plate away and pressed my fist to my mouth.
    For the
first time in a long time I thought about the razor blade, the cuts
and the pain. But that was in the past and I didn’t need that
kind of wakeup call to know that I was struggling with my parents’
apathy. I faced that head-on right now. They wouldn’t forgive
me for doing this and I was okay with that.
    I got
up and limped into the living room where my backpack leaned against
the sofa. “Charlie,” I whispered. “I need you now.
I don’t think I am strong enough for this. You put all your
hope into me, but what if I don’t have the strength? What if I
don’t have the courage to be brave?
    “I’m
not like Dakota. I’m not like him. So brave and strong to
battle his memories.
    “My
memories are terrible and empty. Except for you, Piglet. Except for
you.”
    I
covered my face with my hands and my voice broke, “I’m
sorry, Charlie. I’m so, so sorry.”
    I
clamped my teeth together to keep the emotions at bay. I could not
lose it now. I went over to the window and looked out. It had finally
stopped snowing. I wondered if the blizzard was over. Where we had
our snowball fight and had wrestled in the show was completely
covered over. The tears streamed down my face and I wished that this
damn blizzard was over. I wanted to leave.
    I
wanted a man who couldn’t want me back, who was too hurt to
open to me fully. And, after all that I went through with my parents,
I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t handle anything less
than true, unadulterated emotion. I wanted it. I had to have it. I
would not live my life without it. Not ever again.
    I wiped
the tears from my face and gave the cold winter’s night one
more evil glance, and then I turned around and went to bed.
    It was
on the second day in the evening before I saw him again. I’m
not sure what he was doing all that time, but I fed myself and worked
on my senior project.
    I heard
the microwave open and the distinctive beeping sound.
    “You
ready to string garlands?” he asked.
    When I
entered the kitchen, he had the cranberries already set on the table,
along with two needles and a long coil of thread.
    He
looked so tired and worn. But I didn’t think he wanted me to
make a fuss over him. I sat down and we strung cranberries and
popcorn. I was beyond words at this point. His two days of silence
and distance had made his point. I just wanted to go to bed and
sleep.
    “I
dug your car out yesterday. As soon as the pass opens, you can
leave.”
    “Oh,
thank you.” My stomach dropped and flipped over. I guess that
was clear. He did want me gone.
    When we
finished and walked to the tree, Dakota went to his CD player and I
heard “What Child Is This?” begin to play.
    “Are
carols all right?” he asked.
    I
nodded, too emotionally drained to say anything more.
    Clearly
he and his sisters had made most of the ornaments. When I pulled a
carved reindeer out of the box, my heart lurched. I turned to him.
“Awwww, so cute. How old were you when you carved this?”
My emotions were hovering at the very surface and I knew it wouldn’t
take much to push me over. Now that my departure was only a day or so
away, I fought against my stupid emotions. Finding something to
distract me was my only chance of getting through this without making
a fool of myself.
    He
looked up and took the carving out of my hand. He smiled, probably at
the memory it evoked. “It’s