Accidental Notes: A Novel

Chapter 18

Elephants

Not sure what this story is? The synopsis is available here.

Catch up on chapter 17 here.

The day passes and I spend all my energy trying to heed Meghan’s advice to not ask about Brennan. Mimosas turn to wine at lunchtime and cocktails in the afternoon, while the volume on the television gets louder and louder as the kids try to combat their parents’ conversations. I am out of place no matter where I go, now that Liam’s engrossed in a Christmas special.

I slump in an armchair in the family room, scrolling through an Instagram bullet journal hashtag full of plans for the new year. They all seem so vast and important and beautiful, but right now I’m not even sure how I’ll make it through until tomorrow. The new year feels ages away, part of some alternate universe I’ll never make it into.

By mid-afternoon, the house is overtaken by the smell of oyster stew, a traditional Christmas Eve dish on my dad’s side of the family. The last time I was here, it turned my stomach, and I shied away from the bowls of stew in favor of the pizzas made to appease everyone but Dad and his siblings. But now, after five years by the ocean, the stew smells like home. Like Mom.

When dinner time comes, I grab a porcelain bowl lined with dancing snowmen and find my dad at the stovetop. “May I?”

“You want some?”

I nod. As much as it reminds me of home, it reminds me I belong here, too. Dad smiles, uncertain, and dips in the ladle. I sit with the adults and join in their conversation the best I can, but Uncle Jeff is already slurring his words while he nurses yet another beer. Meghan and Aunt Patricia try to include me. They ask me about school and music and my friends and actually seem interested in my answers.

When dinner is over, we gather in the family room, grabbing dining room chairs and spots on the floor until we’re crammed in. I sit on the floor by the Christmas tree, which has hardly any presents under it now that the white elephant ones have moved to the coffee table for our game. My family decided it made more sense to include me in the adults’ white elephant gift exchange than the kids’ presents. I’m sure it was easier for everyone this way. “Just let her play the game,” I can imagine Uncle Jeff mumbling when they found out I’d be here. “She’s old enough.”

I draw the third number, so I don’t have long to wait for my turn. Kyle goes first, grabbing a rectangular package. He opens it and shows off the bottle of wine from inside. Uncle Jeff quips about him needing it with the new baby around. Everyone laughs as Kyle sits in the dining chair beside me.

His posture stiffens and he takes his baby out of her carrier to hold instead of the bottle. “If it bugs you, why not say something?” I whisper while Aunt Patricia makes a show of choosing her present.

“Uncle Jeff is who he is, especially with alcohol. It won’t do any good,” Kyle whispers as he strokes his daughter’s back. “It’s better to ignore him than to give him a chance to clap back.”

I want to ask him more, but it’s my turn. I choose an innocuous box, something I hope is a board game. But there are six samples of alcohol inside instead. I blush, unsure what to do. My eyes meet Dad’s and he forces a laugh.

“Just keep it for now. I’m sure it will get stolen by someone who’s allowed to drink it,” he says.

So I balance the gift pack on my legs, trying not to lean back against the tree. My cousin Lauren is next. She walks over and grabs them with a wink. “Go find something a little better for you,” she says as she takes the present.

I stand, again, and face the middle of the room. I choose a gift wrapped in blue and silver — my favorites — and pull out a bottle of whiskey. “This is going well,” I say, half laughing, but it isn’t funny anymore. The next person takes away the whiskey and the game turns into me opening packages the adults don’t want me to have, them taking it away, and me choosing again, hoping to find something I’m actually allowed to keep.

This stupid game takes so much longer when I have to reopen a present every time someone takes one from me. I don’t even notice the alcohol anymore, just everyone’s uncomfortable laughs and awkward stares. More than one of them opens the bottle they’re given for a taste, even though the rules say to wait until the end. I should’ve just sat at the kids’ table playing with slime. I’m not the child of Eric’s who should be here.

Excruciating minutes later, it’s finally over. Every single package except the one I brought had alcohol of some kind inside it. I clutch a bottle of red wine. Dad got my gift, a Santa Chia pet I thought was more along the lines of how white elephant gift exchanges were supposed to go.

I follow Dad into the kitchen when he opens the Chia pet. “We could see if it grows before you leave! What a great idea. Your gift was perfect.”

His deflection only makes me angrier. I’m shaking and can’t keep my grip, so I set the wine bottle down on the counter by our gingerbread house, a redwood tree in a fairy tale forest, and turn toward him, crossing my arms. “But what about everyone else? Did no one think of me? Not a single person — ” I won’t say it, but it screams in my head: not even you, Dad. Even the gift from you.

Dad stops filling the Chia pet with water, but holds it low in the sink, staring at me so intently I think he’s trying to not see me at all. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal out of it. It’s a joke.”

“Yeah. It was really funny. Everyone could see how funny it was as I kept getting reminded that no one wants me here. Am I the reason everyone’s drinking so much today, too?”

The Santa Chia pet slips out of Dad’s hands into the sink so suddenly I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Dad looks older now, wears all fifty-four of his years. He carries burdens beneath his eyes, tells stories with the sunspots that dot his hands and forearms. With how he slumps over the sink, I’m taller. Dad seems fragile and I get the impression I’m supposed to protect him from something I don’t even understand. But even though the space between us is smaller than it’s been since I got here, it feels impossible to bridge.

Chatter in the family room goes silent, like the whole world is waiting for us to fight. But neither of us will say the words that need to come between us, because that’s exactly what they will do. The heavy silence breaks with heavier footsteps that stutter toward the kitchen. Uncle Jeff, I know, before I even turn around. He’s drank almost as much as Dad and held it less well.

“You’re blocking the booze, Brennan,” he slurs, shoving against my shoulder.

“I’m not — ” I say, but when I turn around it’s obvious Uncle Jeff can’t see me at all. His eyes are glazed over and bloodshot.

“After everything you put this family through the least you can do is make sure we can reach the whiskey.” He’s mumbling now. Dad’s staring, too; his eyes bore into the back of my head. Aunt Patricia rounds a corner to say something, but doesn’t when she sees me.

We’re stuck on the edge. We’re tumbling over.

“Sorry,” I say, because someone needs to say something.

“You’d better be. Do you know how hard that next Christmas was? We didn’t have a clue, boy. Not a clue. If we’d known on Christmas Eve it would be the last — ”

“Jeff, that’s enough,” Aunt Patricia finally says. “Maybe you don’t need another round.”

“Like you’re one to cut me off. How many have you — ”

She cuts off his alcohol and his sentence, dragging him back to the family room. I stare around the corner but stay in the kitchen with my dad. Soon the television is on again, too loud. I peek my head into the living room.

Meghan and Heather grab the kids and make a show of getting their coats to play in the snow in the dark. Kyle and Micah curl against each other, fully focused on their daughter. Lauren holds a drink in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling through with her thumb. Everyone is trying to numb themselves from Uncle Jeff’s outburst, to pretend like it didn’t happen. With entertainment, and alcohol, and children, and snow.

But it seems like more than that, too. Whether intentional or not, it seems like a cover so Dad and I can talk.

“Dad?” I ask, one hand on his shoulder. “Brennan… died on Christmas? What happened?”

“Not Christmas,” he says. He’s busying himself preparing the Santa Chia pet again. “A few days later. But Christmas Eve was the last time we were all together before — it was a horrible accident. We never could have guessed — ”

I can’t believe he was so forgiving after I wrecked his truck.

Meghan runs inside then, snow jumping off the back of her boots. “Where’s the Kleen — ” she says, then pauses long enough to look at us. “Never mind. I’ll find it myself.”

“Wait.” Dad’s still here, but it’s easier to ask Meghan. “Brennan died in a car accident?”

She turns away and stares at my dad. “That’s what you told her?”

“I haven’t told her anything,” he says. He sounds defensive, and Meghan scoffs.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I understood why you’d wait, when she was little. But now?” She crosses her arms and turns back to me. “Brennan died of suicide, Adaya. A few days after Christmas.”

My whole body freezes. I can’t move, can’t breathe, don’t even have the stomachache I think I should. Not yet. I need out of this house. Now. Before it collapses around me. “I’m going for a walk.”

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