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Chapter Ten

The waiting game was overrated. I was never good at it. The lack of sleep from replaying her words in my head over and over was taking it's toll. Even then, the thought of closing my eyes, before my father's town car arrived at my building, wasn't an option.

I sat on my couch, my chin atop my palms. I bounced my knees restlessly. Manhattan. Fucking Manhattan. I'd become better at hearing it and hearing it, because it was splashed everywhere I walked, on newsstands and publications with our photographs in it. Manhattan surrounded me and devastated me, and tried so desperately to swallow us deep inside a front of what I thought we were.

And yet, I couldn't get away.

There were other ways to pass the time, other ways to make the waiting game tolerable. So, I answered the incoming FaceTime from Erica, whether I really wanted to or not.

I tapped the green button and held the phone up to see her.

I saw her dark locks before I saw her face. "Hey there, handsome!"

"Erica, hey, how you doing?"

She batted her lashes and smirked. "Missing that cock."

Oh. "Well, Merry Christmas to you, too!"

She laughed. "Listen, I know it's the holidays, but a few friends and I are meeting up in Brooklyn for a couple of hours after we do the family shit. You up for that?"

"Possibly."

"Free booze, and other substances, by the sound of it."
I rolled my eyes. "Erica, booze and cigarettes are the only substances I'm into, but maybe. I could call you once I'm done with my family?"

"Okay, it'll be fun, so you should come." She winked across the screen. "In more ways than one."

"Bye, Erica." I killed the call and jumped up from my chair as the buzzing of the intercom announced my ride had arrived.

My father's penthouse was undeniably beautiful this time of year. It was perfectly decorated and immaculately cleaned. Using his money to the extreme was my father's way of avoiding the painful reality that Mom wasn't with us. When I let myself in, Stella came crashing into me with more energy than a brand new puppy. I caught her, much in the same way, enveloped her in a twirling hug and dropped the gifts to the ground.

"Merry Christmas, Will." She stood on her tip toes, her arms still around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. She held me for a moment, because it was easier than showing me how painful holidays were for her too.

I kissed the crown of her head. "Merry Christmas, Pudding."

She crinkled her nose. "I'm not seven, you don't need to remind me of that god-awful nickname!"

I brushed her hair to the side and kissed her forehead. "Mom loved it. As do I. Can you take those bags and put them under the tree?"

She picked them up, shaking the pretty blue bag. Her eyes glittered with excitement and she beamed at me.

"This one for me?"

I shrugged. "No idea."

She practically skipped to the Christmas tree and after she put the gifts down, she straightened an ornament. It was decorated to perfection, not one ornament or garland strand was amiss. I smiled fondly at the angel at the top and wondered if Stella or my father had put her up this year, a job that was originally my Mom's.

My father, though an average build, had a presence that could fill a room. It came from having unforgettable blue eyes and jet black hair that should have greyed. He smiled at me from the door, straightened his shirt and squared his shoulders. He made his way over without speaking and enveloped me in a hard hug. I patted him on the back.