My Beautiful Mind

12.

The front lawn of the house is a tiny neat plot, the grass shriveled up to a dark brown in the wake of winter. Contrasting the dull hues, vibrant garden statues of birds and frogs line the remains of flowerbeds by the windows and the rainbow pinwheel by the front door turns lazily in the gentle wind. I've pulled up my favorite armchair to the window of the living room and watched the cars go up and down the stretch of road in front of the house. Earlier, I helped Mom and Dad put up the Christmas tree by the fireplace and hang on the branches our whimsical assortment of ornaments–courtesy of Mom, of course. "We would've done all the decorating before you came home, but it didn't seem right to do it without you," Mom says over the faint hum of holiday tunes playing from the portable speaker on the mantle as she places the star on the top of the tree. Dad's attention is now on untangling the string lights that are going to wrap around the tree.

I tear my eyes away from the window to give Mom a sad smile, "I wouldn't want you both to do it alone either." Something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye and I press my face to the window once more, both palms of my hands pressed against the glass. There, dusting the blades of grass is a layer of snow. Gradually, the pristine whiteness of it all conceals the dullness and death of vegetation. "Well would you look at that," Dad says, coming to stand to the right of the armchair. "We're finally going to have a white Christmas this year." He pats my shoulder to get my attention, "Come, let's make some hot chocolate for the three of us. I picked up a salted caramel mix at the grocery store on Wednesday." Mom and Dad chuckle when I'm instantly out of my seat and practically run into the kitchen for a big mug of warm, chocolatey, caramely liquid goodness.

I'm finishing my second steaming mug of hot chocolate when Dad announces he's going outside to shovel out the driveway and walkway before it gets too dark outside. As I watch him go into the garage to unearth the shovels, I figure now's my chance to start passing out the gifts I've picked out for the girls. I leave Mom washing dishes in the sink with the excuse of starting study abroad applications. When I close the bedroom door behind me, I summon Mila first. I close my eyes and picture the violinist's face just as I made her. Come to me, my mind whispers down the steel cable connecting me to each girl. The cable pulls taut as Mila enters my world in a burst of darkness. She's dressed in comfy loungewear as if she spent the day at home like I did, her wool beanie resting comfortably over her ears. Her pale face brightens at the sight of me and rushes over to give me a hug. "You needed me?" she asks in her quiet voice. "Is this a good time?" I ask hesitantly, hoping I didn't wrench her away from something. Mila senses my hesitation and gives me a reassuring smile, "I'm all yours."

I turn to the closet and take out her Christmas present. Mila looks at the garment bag curiously as I nervously unzip it to reveal the dress underneath. Her eyes widen as she takes in its beauty. "I-I w-want you to have it," I stutter out, always the awkward one in these situations. Mila graciously refuses over and over again but I manage to hold my ground and press the garment bag into her sweater-clad arms. "Let the spotlight transform you into anyone you want. Wear this to escape." I murmur, remembering her exact thoughts, a moment that seemed like months ago. Mila and I share a long look, one of immense gratitude and love. "You're too kind, thank you," she whispers through her tears. I shake my head, "No, thank you. Juilliard's lucky to have you." We talk for another ten minutes or so before we bid each other a Merry Christmas. Mila confirms that both Adela and Emy are free. As if on cue, the two girls materialize into my room and Mila returns back home to help her parents prepare for tomorrow's annual Christmas Eve dinner with family.

When I present Emy with the portrait, she carefully takes the frame in her hands and studies her wolf form with joy shining unapologetically in her green eyes. She tells me she's never seen a full image of her wolf before, only partial, blurry reflections in streams and puddles of rainwater on the forest floor. "She's a strong one, isn't she?" I gently tease her, echoing Edwin's words. Emy laughs and kisses my cheek, "Do not tell me Cordelia has convinced you to join her life's endeavor to torment me to no end?" I reassure her that she hasn't. With a relieved sigh, another kiss on the forehead, and wishes that Adela and I have a 'Happy Christmas Day,' Emy melts into the night to give the two of us moment to ourselves.