Something Borrowed

Chapter 17

***So you see, what had happened was I worked a 24 hour shift and then came home two hours ago, tired and hungry, and looked in my fridge and all that was in there was some rather high percentage beer. So I said to myself 'Lizzy, let's have a shower beer,' and so it came to pass that I imbibed. And then I emerged from the shower and said to myself 'What if I tried to write another chapter?' And so I had another particularly-potent beer and I tried to write, and this is what happened and it's a bit off-brand but y'know whatever. You're either into it or you're not and it shouldn't much matter to me either way, because it's not like it's my livelihood, right? Just a hobby, and a fun one at that. Right. So anyway... I present to you 'A Brief Study in Drunken Verbosity' -- Liz :-D***

Melissa

Normal women probably loved Christmas, because normal families probably came together in love and joy and exchanged symbols of affection.

Not the Tuckers.

Melissa hated Christmas, because her family came together in bitterness and woe and exchanged symbols of resentment.

Nonetheless, she tried to have some Christmas spirit for Amelia's sake. Her sister-in-law, despite her lonely upbringing-- or perhaps because of it-- threw herself into the Christmas spirit with dangerous abandon. In a rare display of stubbornness, she insisted that Josh have a tree brought in and, through some wheedling, convinced Melissa's father to allow it in the parlor. She sang carols night and day, crafted decorations, and wove threads of folk tales into one grotesque but delightful Christmas Story Amalgam. She insisted on presents. From everyone, to everyone.

"We'll draw names," Melissa had suggested. It's what they'd done in years past. Except they never actually drew the names. She rigged it. Josh always drew Brent. Brent always drew Pa. Pa always drew her. She always drew Josh. It was the only way to make sure everyone actually got something nice.

"No," Amelia had protested, frowning. "I want to get gifts for all of you."

Oh, how she suffered for the sake of her brother's happiness. Together, she and Amelia strode through town one miserable Sunday morning and picked out gifts for everyone except each other. They decided, instead, to pick gifts for themselves and let the other present it.

Melissa ordered a stethophone for herself, a bottle of Scotch whiskey for her father, and a new pair of gloves for her brother.

Amelia bought a pistol for herself, a fountain pen for her father-in-law, and a leather-bound journal for her husband. She had blushed furiously when Melissa raised an eyebrow at her purchases.

"Josh said he would teach me to shoot, after the baby comes," she'd explained as they sat on a bench outside the the general store, harsh wind toying with their hair.

"And the journal?"

She'd blushed even more at that, reaching up to scratch her cheek before lifting her face and staring absently at the buildings across the cobbled street. "He says he'll be away for long stretches, sometimes. I thought we'd keep journals so we can share our thoughts when he returns. I already have one, but he doesn't. So I thought..." she'd trailed off, looking chastened, and Melissa had given in to impulse and wrapped an arm around her friend-- her sister, and what a thing to have.

"I'm very happy you're married," she had said simply, because she was. She had gained a sister out of the whole deal and, soon, a little niece or nephew. Moreover, her dear, sweet, silly, impossible brother had gained a wife. He'd somehow, via Brent of all people, found someone who saw him for the stubborn, infuriating, beautiful soul that he was. Someone who might actually, with a little more time, love him half as much as he deserved.

"I am too," Amelia had said, and she sounded content. Perhaps not lust-drunk or enraptured. The sound wasn't a whimper of pleasure or an elated exaltation. It was a sigh of relief. A nice sound, against the backdrop of whistling wind and hurried shodden hooves on cobblestone.

Christmas itself was not without its trials. Her father got drunk, for one. The weather was terrible, for another. The gravy hadn't turned out quite right, the tree caught fire briefly, and a herd of cattle breached a fence around supper time, yanking Josh from the sanctity of the holiday and leaving her and Amelia to wrangle the elder Tucker on their own.

But in the end, Amelia's first Christmas almost made her re-think her position on the holiday altogether. Because the late evening found her with her two favorite people-- one old and one new-- huddled by the fire with the pleasant buzz of special-occasion-red-wine in her belly and the warmth of the flames on her skin. She dozed, staring absently at the tinsel-covered and half-charred tree, listening to her brother and her sister-in-law bicker.

"You said you'd teach me," Amelia scolded, toying with the pistol in her lap.

"Yes, after the baby is born."

"I chose this one because it's tiny. I can barely even feel it in my hands!" Amelia lifted the empty-- and it was certainly empty, as Melissa and her brother had independently, clumsily, and perhaps drunkenly verified this no fewer than a dozen times between them-- pistol and closed one eye, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she pretended to aim. "I've lifted heavier things than this every day of my pregnancy."

"It's not the weight," Josh sighed, sinking his face into his hands and mumbling at the floor. "It's loud and smelly and--"

"So is St. Louis, and I survived there on my own my whole life!"

"Ames..."

"Please, Josh. Just one bullet."

He sighed again, and Melissa forced herself to focus, trying not to smile. She liked this side of her brother. It reminded her of the kid whose heels she'd dogged in her youth. The mud-splattered little boy who grudgingly taught her to climb a tree. The soul-friend who'd stared at the stars and dreamt with her.

"Fine," he grumbled, taking the gun from his wife's hands. "One bullet."

Amelia squealed with delight and threw her arms around her husband's neck. Melissa sank deeper into her leather armchair and raised her new stethophone in front of her face, eyeing the way the firelight gleamed off its metallic surface.

Doctors in the cities used it to listen to their patients' hearts. Absolutely amazing. The particularly adept and well-trained physicians could diagnose conditions just by listening to a person's heartbeat. Melissa thought she might be able to, as well. If she listened to Amelia's she'd probably hear it clitter-clattering about against her ribs and diagnose foolish hope. If she listened to her brother's she'd hear it pounding against his sternum like a sledgehammer and diagnose yearning love. If she listened to her father's she'd hear a rushing, sucking, drowning plea for life and diagnose defeat.

She wished the device was curved so she could listen to her own heart. She figured it would be thumping slow and steady and patient, because that was what she was. She was patient. Waiting. Forever standing at the edge of a cliff and staring longingly at the wondrous chaos of the stormy sea beneath her. She could leap and, if she did, where would she land? In frothing waters, battering her toward some new and exciting future? On jagged rocks, breaking her bones and setting her soul free before she had even begun exploring what mother earth had to offer?

She bent awkwardly and pressed the trumpet-shaped bell of the stethophone to her stomach, lowering her ear to the other end. Her gut gurgled and groaned in her ear, alarming and loud, and she straightened.

"Hey," she said abruptly, and Amelia and Josh both startled away from their quiet conversation to look at her, wearing twin expressions of concern and curiosity. "Me and Amelia made cookies," she declared, shifting forward to perch on the edge of the armchair. "There's enough snow, now. We could sled down the hill and then come inside and have coffee and cookies."

Josh scowled. Amelia grinned. Melissa sighed.

Life was perfectly alright. And sometimes she wished-- really, truly, genuinely wished-- that she was the kind of girl who could be happy with perfectly alright.