Coffee

Part Sixty-Three: Silent Night

After dropping off the car to Iggy, Max and I catch a cab home and the whole ride is quiet. I hold his hand and look out the window in hopes to distract my breaking heart.

I feel his stare.

I know he wants to say something to me.

And once we get home, I have no doubt he will.

As we pull up in front of the house, I pay the cab driver- despite Max trying to, but fumbled with his wallet and dropped it on the floor before he could get the cash out for the guy. We wish him Merry Christmas and head inside where the dogs are fast asleep, having worn themselves out. Pulling off my items, I help Max with his- kiss his lips and then head to the kitchen to pull out a frozen pizza. Preheating the oven, I hum to myself as I grab the pan out and start making hot chocolate in my Keirig.

"Here, warm up, Darling. You look pale." I pass him a mug of hot chocolate and put some mini marshmallows in it. He just sits there staring at them floating in his cup, expanding slightly and slowly melting away. Grabbing my own cup, I go and sit next to him, but I feel like we're miles apart.

"So, I was thinking, if we do the lights and tinsel tonight, tomorrow morning we can do bulbs. I'm not sure if I want to do the whole house up this year- I haven't in a long time, but we can get festive. Ooo...that reminds me. I need to get the letters in the mail and send Lauren her gift. Not that she'll respond to me- she hasn't responded to a single letter I wrote..."

"Are you mad?" He quietly interrupts my rambling.

"As a hatter." I joke and sip my drink with a small smile on my lips. He doesn't look at me and I know he doesn't have to to know exactly how I'm feeling- whether I'm truthful or not. "No, Darling, I'm not mad."

"You're upset then." He says and looks at me with big blue eyes, all glassy and slightly puffy from being upset and overworked. His cancer is kicking his arse lately and though he refuses to slow down and take it easy, he has been pushing the envelope just to spite Stauton and more likely myself.

"No, I'm not." I clearly state and he shakes his head. "What?"

Getting up, he heads towards the downstairs door and goes down, accidentally- or may not- slamming the door behind him.

I startle from the slamming door echoing through the house. It reminds me of Mo- slamming doors as he disappeared in a drunken rage. A tear slides down my cheek at all the memories flooding back to me and I get up and go stand next to the basement door. I listen quietly and all I can hear is him pacing back and forth down there and breathing heavily. He's been having mood swings lately- partly because he's upset Stauton out a feeding tube in his stomach and partly because the champ and radiation are taking their toll on him. The last few days, he's had tiny tantrums with staff and short fuses with people at stores. But he has yet to have a tantrum with me.

I don't know if it's because he doesn't want to scare me or if he doesn't have a problem with me.

Whatever the case, he's having one now and I'm contemplating going down there and trying to talk to him- or if I should just leave him be for a bit and hope he comes out in a better mood.

Putting in the pizza, I pull out the Christmas decorations from the den and untangle the lights.

I haven't celebrated Christmas in my home in years. Mo never celebrated the holiday- but helped me decorate regardless. After the third year of him drunkenly attacking me and strangling me with the Christmas lights one year- I never decorated again. Even after he died I found it pointless and a sad reminder. Why would I decorate when it's just me? What would be the point?