"baby, please don't cry"
Candice "Candy Cane" Marshall hasn't seen or talked to any of her friends in a long time. Dallas and Johnny are gone and she's terrified to face the fact that Steve and Sodapop may have met their fates in Vietnam. But when t...
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"No, put that ornament over there," Claire told Greg. "It's got all three of us, it should be at the front."
"Candice, I can't believe you kept all our old ornaments."
"Well, I wasn't gonna throw them away. We handmade all of them." I sent my brother and sister a smile.
Claire continued to reprimand Greg for putting ornaments in the wrong spot until, finally, he just gave up and she got busy perfecting the tree herself.
"Well now what do I do?" Greg complained.
"You can help me make lunch," I suggested. He gave me an "are you serious?" kind of look. "Or don't. Whatever."
"What are you making?"
"I was just gonna make grilled cheese and soup." Greg and Claire both perked up. "You both okay with that then?" I asked.
"Of all the things we disagree on, the one thing we have in common is our love for grilled cheese," said Claire.
"Aren't twins supposed to be alike?" Soda laughed.
"They've never been alike," I said. "Even when they were babies. It was like they tried their best on purpose to be polar opposites."
Greg and Claire both shrugged. "Not all twins are perfect," said Greg.
"I am," Claire chimed, making our brother roll his eyes. Soda and I just chuckled and I got up from the couch to go and start on lunch.
"Perfect princess, more like."
"Glad you agree, Gregory."
I could imagine Greg glaring at Claire. He never liked being called by his whole name.
After lunch, we all were lazy on the sofa. There were a bunch of Christmas films playing on TV, so we sat around and watched and ate popcorn. I leaned my head on Soda's shoulder. Before I knew it, I was passed out.
Christmas was the next Monday. The four of us slept in until nine before we even got up and opened presents.
"Wait, Candy, I want you to open that last," said Soda, stopping me from opening a questionable-looking small box. I gave him a weird look and he just shrugged, that same shit-eating grin on his face that he'd get when we were younger and he and Steve were about to plan a practical joke on me.
I carefully set it down next to me and went for a large, flat parcel from Claire.
"Ooh, I hope you like that," said Claire, setting down her half-unwrapped present from Greg.
I unwrapped it, excited to see what it was.
"Oh my god, Claire," I said, gawking at the canvas. It was a painting of the three of us from when we were little. I was maybe fourteen while they were five. Down at the bottom, Claire had signed her initials CBJ in tiny, neat letters. I hadn't seen the real picture in years: I had thought it had been lost when my mother had burned a bunch of stuff in one of her Jack-induced fits of rage. I felt tears brim my eyes.
