Cosy Christmas ✓

9 / please come home for christmas

Connor stood in the middle of Posy’s sitting room, staring at his reflection in one of the shimmering silver baubles on her tree with his hand on the back of his neck, scratching that same patch of skin. It was in that spot that Cameron had had a birth mark, the only mark by which they could be easily distinguished, and Connor found that his hand went there whenever he thought of the brother he missed with a heart-wrenching ache. Talking to Posy was the first time he had spoken about Cameron out loud in three years, avoiding even sharing anecdotes with his sister, and while he didn’t feel good, his lungs didn’t hurt as much with each breath.

He wasn’t really looking at the tree, his eyes unfocused as his mind tripped over itself to come to terms with the day. For the first time since he had met Posy, she was the one making the drinks despite his protestations, as she had insisted that the least she could do for him was pour a cup of tea and lend him her ear. She had done the latter, and she was in the middle of doing the former, and Connor struggled to snap himself out of the mist that had settled over his vision.

“Here,” Posy said, padding through to him with soft footsteps, and she handed him a floral-patterned mug of milky tea. “Come and sit down.” Her hand rested on his arm. “Please.”

He stepped back to the sofa and let himself down beside her, and he lifted the mug to his lips to inhale the scent of tea that he had grown to love. “Thanks, Posy,” he murmured, and he knew that for the next few minutes, he didn’t need to do anything except enjoy his drink and her company, and that soothed his mind a little.

“No problem,” she said, and she gave him a warm smile that never failed to melt an ounce of his worries. “So, are you going to drive over tonight?”

He looked over at her, catching up with her train of thought. “To my parents?”

She nodded and he took a deep breath.

“I don’t know. God, I don’t know if I can do this.” He dropped his head into his hands and let out a long sigh that sent ripples across the surface of his tea. Posy put her hand on his knee, letting it rest there for a couple of seconds until he met her gaze.

“You can. You need to see your parents. I know I don’t exactly know you and your family, and I really don’t want to step on your toes, but I think it’d help.” She raised her eyebrows with a hopeful smile. “I know Cass would love it if you were there.”

Connor knew that. He knew that every year his sister prayed for him to come home for Christmas and every year, he was absent at the table she sat round with their parents. Right now, she would probably be tucking into the traditional Prentiss Christmas supper of leftovers, mostly cold slices of chicken with the last of the gravy and perhaps a roast potato if she was lucky. Then they would play a game and toast to another merry Christmas, and his mother would share memories of Christmases past.

“We were chatting yesterday,” Posy said, pulling him out of his reverie. “Cass and me. She was talking about how much she misses you around the holidays. If I were her, I think it’d be a pretty awesome present if you turned up.”

Connor could imagine his sister’s face if she opened the door to see him on the other side, in time to spend a couple of hours as a whole family for the first time in eight years, and the thought alone sent a shiver of nerves and anticipation through him. It would make her year, and yet his body and mind seemed to be at odds. He couldn’t bring himself to stand, to walk out to his car and face the forty-five minute drive to his parents’ house. They still lived in the home he had been raised in: his bedroom was still his, slowly evolving as he had. All of his old posters and games were still there as though the space had immortalised him as a teenager.