SOPHIE BROOKS:
Party, hook-up, hangover, repeat.
I don't do rules, responsibility, or monogamy.
So when the chance to sleep with the hottest Olympian swimmer in the country presents itself, you can be damn sure I take it.
And sneak out before he wa...
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I have a love-hate relationship with Christmas.
Growing up, I loved Christmas, like all other kids. It's a holiday centered around presents and good food; what's not to love?
Christmas used to be my dad's favorite holiday, and after he died, that time of year always brought about a tension, but my mom made sure we remembered him. His name was never a source of discomfort in our home. She would talk about him freely and hold me when I missed him.
Every year we enjoyed Christmas because it's what my father would have wanted.
Even after my mother's death, I did my best to ensure Ollie had a good holiday. For the first three years, while we lived together, I would sing carols for him and leave things from Santa, even when he was too young to understand.
When they separated us, though...
It was hard for me to find joy in Christmas again. Every year reminded me of the people I'd lost.
My dad, my mom. Ollie.
When Ollie got placed with Antonella, she would invite me for Christmas dinner every year. And while I was happy that I got to spend it with Ollie, it just served as yet another reminder that my little brother lived with someone else.
That someone else was raising him.
I was sixteen when he moved in with Antonella, so I was too young to get custody. I'd just left the system myself, I was in no position to take care of a six-year-old, but it was still hard.
Today, it's not just hard. It's unbearable.
Because not only will this be the last Christmas Ollie spends with Antonella. It will also be the day that we finally tell him.
I squeeze Sophie's hand as we walk towards Antonella's house.
The snow is finally sticking, covering the ground in a thick, white layer. It crunches under our feet, the only sound.
I know Sophie's nervous too, but for other reasons.
She had her first therapy session earlier this week. I think it went well. She hasn't wanted to talk much about it, and she'd been entirely wiped out when she came back, her eyes red and her face blotchy, like she'd been crying.
All she said was that they spoke about her childhood and that she'd felt comfortable with the therapist. Then she kissed me and thanked me for making her go.
I'm so proud of her. I'm so proud of her for tackling her trauma head-on, trying to heal herself after running from it for so many years.
I'm proud of her for fighting for our relationship with me, even though I know it scares her half to death.
And I'm so freaking proud of her for coming here with me today. She went to the skatepark on Monday with Ollie and me, and he's warming up even more to her and her to him. I can see it in the way she smiles at him: all dimples and golden eyes.
