Lying Out Loud

Chapter 15

Bah, humbug!

Between the gift drama with Ryder, the lingering awkwardness between me and Amy, endless shifts at the bookstore, and my general lack of a family to spend the holidays with, I had become a scrooge. Every commercial featuring a happy little kid opening gifts with their loving parents made me want to karate chop the Rushes’ flat-screen TV. Every Christmas song on the radio gave me road rage. And I was no longer allowed to answer the front door for fear of what I might do to some unsuspecting caroler who might come knocking.

I’d even gotten reprimanded by Sheila for scowling too much at work. Dealing with the general public day in and day out while forcing a cheery attitude was torture. And even though I needed the money, I’d called in sick a couple of times just to keep myself sane.

Suffice it to say, I was not particularly eager to go downstairs on Christmas morning.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew the Rushes would be nice. They’d probably even gotten me a small gift — some assorted lotions or a new sweater, all of which I would have been incredibly grateful for — but I wasn’t the person they wanted to see today. They’d invited me into their home and never let me feel unwelcome for a moment, but in the end, I was their guest. And Christmas was a day you wanted to spend with family.

Amy and I would exchange gifts later that day. I would let the Rushes have the morning to themselves.

At least, that was my plan.

Until Wesley threw open my bedroom door at eight in the godforsaken morning.

“Merry Christmas!” he bellowed. “Time to get up.”

I groaned and smushed my face into the pillow. “No.”

“Come on, now. Where’s your holiday spirit?” I heard his heavy footsteps move quickly across the floor, then my curtains were thrown open and blinding sunlight filled the room. “Rise and shine, Sonny. Come downstairs and see what Santa brought you.”

I sighed and rolled onto my back, squinting against the light. “If you honestly think I still believe in Santa, we need to have a conversation, Wesley.”

“Let’s have it downstairs,” he said. “Come on. Everyone’s been waiting on you to open presents for almost an hour.”

I frowned. “Waiting on me? Why?”

“Because they didn’t want to wake you up. Thought it would be rude. I, on the other hand, have no such reservations.”

That wasn’t what I’d meant, though.

Before I could clarify, Wesley grabbed my wrist, pulled me to my feet, and began dragging me toward the door. Thank God I was wearing Amy’s frog pajamas.

“Okay, okay,” I said, having to jog to keep up with his long strides. “I’m coming. No need to use brute force.”

“I get aggressive about presents.”

“Clearly.”

He released my wrist and I followed him downstairs. The rest of the family was sitting around the huge living room, all in their pajamas. Mr. Rush had a mug of coffee in his hand and Amy was munching on a frozen waffle. They looked up when Wesley and I entered.

“We told you not to wake her up,” Mrs. Rush scolded.

“If we waited for Sonny, we wouldn’t be opening presents until noon,” Wesley argued.

“So?” Mrs. Rush asked.

“Mother, that is unacceptable. Even you know that.”

“Sonny, I’d like to apologize for my son. His manners are obviously lacking.”

But I barely heard her. I was too busy staring at the mantel over the fireplace, where five stockings had been hung. They hadn’t been there when I’d gone up to bed the night before. But there they were. Five.

One for each member of the Rush family.

And, right in the middle of them, one that said Sonny in glittery, hand-painted letters.

It was a small thing, on the surface, but it felt huge. I had to swallow a lump that had risen in my throat. I had never had a stocking with my name on it. Mom had never hung them. Hell, we hadn’t even had a Christmas tree in at least five years.

“Sonny,” Mr. Rush said, calling my attention back to the family. “Come sit down. We have to pass these presents out before Wesley’s head explodes.”

I nodded and migrated over to the couch to sit between him and Amy, who offered me a warm smile.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

“Merry Christmas,” I replied, beaming back at her.

Wesley passed out the gifts, but none of us opened them until every package under the tree had been given to its rightful owner. Then we were free to tear in, though no one did this with quite as much enthusiasm as the eldest Rush child.

“You’re nearly twenty-one years old,” Mr. Rush reminded his son as Wesley impatiently shredded the paper on one of the gifts — the game console Amy and I had picked up.

“The Christmas spirit doesn’t have an age,” Wesley assured him.

As for me, I had a small pile of gifts, pretty much as I’d expected. A new red sweater from Mr. Rush (was that cashmere? I didn’t even know what cashmere felt like) and a box of lavender-scented lotion, body wash, and perfume from Mrs. Rush. Wesley had gotten me something, too, though the present itself confused me a little.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, looking down at the smartphone case that had clearly been custom designed with my name in pink, swirly letters. I didn’t have a smartphone, but I did have the ability to fake enthusiasm. “It’s really cute.”

“That actually goes with another gift,” Mrs. Rush said. “Go check your stocking.”

“Uh, okay.” I stood up and walked over to the mantel. Carefully, I reached my hand inside the Sonny stocking and pulled out the only item. And gasped.

A smartphone.

A brand-new, working smartphone.

“That’s from all of us,” Mr. Rush said.

“But it was Amy’s idea,” Mrs. Rush informed me. “We know your phone’s been broken for a while, and we figured it was time for an upgrade.”

“We added you to our phone plan, too,” Mr. Rush said. “We transferred your old number and everything.”

That lump was back again. Persistent bastard. I just shook my head, barely managing to choke out the words, “I–I can’t accept this.”

“You can, and you will,” Wesley said.

“It’s a little selfish on our parts,” Mrs. Rush added. “We want to be able to keep in touch with you while you’re living here, and you and Amy can’t always be attached at the hip. So this is for us, too.”

“I’m sure it’ll also make it easier for your mother to get ahold of you if she needs to,” Mr. Rush said.

“Do you like it?” Amy asked. She was grinning at me, her eyes wide and bright.

I nodded. “I do. I do — thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Mr. Rush said. “And thank you for spending Christmas with us. We’re glad to have you here, Sonny.”

I smiled at him. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

I may not have been as filled with holiday joy as Wesley (I doubted I ever would be), but if I was going to spend Christmas with anyone, there was no other family I’d rather be with.

Except, maybe, my own.

The only call I got that day wasn’t on my new cell phone: It was on the Rushes’ house phone, and it was collect.

“Yes, I’ll accept the charges,” I said, feeling a little guilty despite their insistence that they’d be okay with paying the fees when I’d originally asked them about it.

I had a feeling this was the first time the Rush house had received a call from a prison.

“Sonny?”

I hadn’t heard his voice in years, but I recognized it immediately. It was deep, but light. You could hear the smile in it. In all my memories of my father, he was always smiling.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, my own voice a tad shaky. “Merry Christmas.”

“You sound so grown-up,” he said. “You’re probably too old for me to call you Sonny Bunny now, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” I said. I was surprised by how normal he sounded. How confident and pleasant. Somehow, I’d expected prison to rob him of that. He just … didn’t sound like a criminal. “It’s been a while.”

“I know. I was so happy to get your letter.”

“You were?”

“Of course, Sonny Bunny. I’ve tried to call and write before, but I could never get in touch.”

“We moved a few years ago,” I said. “Into Granddad’s house. And Mom never got a house phone. And her cell number has changed a few times, so …”

“Your mother,” he said, a slight laugh in his voice. “She’s a piece of work.”

“Yeah … So that’s why I gave you this number. I’m at my friend’s house right now. Her parents said I could take your calls here.”

“Oh,” Dad said. “Well, tell them thank you for me.” He paused. “How is your mom, anyway?”

Time to lie.

“Great,” I said. “She’s got a good job right now and she’s seeing someone, so that’s good for her. We had a great Christmas this morning, and then I came over to my friend’s house for dinner.”

“That’s great,” Dad said. “I miss you, Sonny Bunny.”

“I miss you, too.”

I didn’t know the words were true until they left my mouth. Despite everything I’d said about him over the years, despite all the anger and hurt I felt, I’d missed him. Especially now.

“Listen,” he said. “I know you’re busy, but I’d love to see you if you ever want to come for visitation —”

“I will.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know when, but I’ll come soon.”

“That would be great, Sonny. You can come make fun of me in my very fashionable orange jumpsuit.” And even though his voice was still confident, I could sense that little touch of relief. No one else would have caught it, but I did.

I had to remind myself of that. My dad might not have sounded like a criminal, but he was one. There was no disputing that. Maybe he’d changed over the years. Maybe he wasn’t the asshole my mother had once claimed. But for all his charm, he was a liar.

Just like me.

The question was, how much was he lying about?

There was a chance that letting him back into my life was a mistake. But Ryder said Dad might surprise me if I gave him a chance, and he already had just by calling.

“You still there, Sonny Bunny?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m here. But I can only talk for a few more minutes. The phone charges are kind of …”

“I understand,” Dad said. “But, if you have a few more minutes, I’d love to learn a little more about this grown-up you.”

I smiled. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he said.

I wouldn’t give him that. I couldn’t give anyone that. But for the next five minutes, I told him as many true things as I could.