Black Diaries

20. The Best of Gifts

Okay, so it wasn't quite as horrible as I had expected. I had expected to be met with cold glares from all sides, just as cold as those Chuck's mother still regularly shot at me. Instead, I was being smothered with niceness. Not a minute went by in which someone didn't ask me whether I was too cold, pressed a cup of tea into my hands, wrapped a quilt around me, read me from their favorite book or deposited their beloved teddy in my lap. True, my pockets were routinely submitted to sneaky searches for sweets and hidden presents, and I had to keep a tight grip on the handle of my knife, but other than that, everything was actually pretty cool.

At least as far as the people were concerned. Now, regarding the surroundings – those could have done with some improvement.

Have you ever tried squeezing more than three dozen people into a house designed for a maximum of three people to live in?

No?

Good. My advice: Don't. Ever. Try.

Especially if the lock on the bathroom door is broken.

"Occupied! Occupied, Caleb! Out!"

"Don't worry, Cassy," the blond hunk told me, sticking his head in the door, one hand barely covering his eyes. "I just want to grab my grab my toothbrush and..."

"Caleb! I'm under the shower!"

"Really?" One of Caleb's eyebrows rose, his interest piqued. "Want me to join you?"

Wrapping the shower curtain around me with one hand, I reached with the other for my knife lying on the porcelain sideboard. "I want you to get the fuck out of here, or I'm going to kill you!"

"Hm... feisty." He chuckled, and tried his best to wink seductively at me with his eyes covered. "I like that."

Flipping the knife around, I prepared to throw, aiming for his most precious parts. "I doubt you'll still think so in a moment. Last warning! Out!"

"Okay, okay, Cassy. Keep your hair on." He began to retreat, then hesitated. "You couldn't hand me my toothbrush before I go, by any chance, could you?"

"Out!"

His eyes still covered, he pulled his head back, chuckling – just in time. The moment the door closed, my knife thudded into the door and remained stuck there, trembling.

"And in the future," I yelled after the still chuckling Caleb, "knock before coming in!"

As for sleeping, my romantic dreams of spending Christmas in a private place, tightly clutched in Chuck's passionate embrace, couldn't have been further from the truth. We spent Christmas on his parents' living room couch—and we were the lucky ones! There were people sleeping on the floor, in chairs, under the dining room table, on the dining room table, in the hallway, on top of each other and in the broom closet. I was rather surprised they didn't try to stick one of the smaller children in the oven for the night.

Not very romantic, right? But, still... Somehow, when I saw Chuck surrounded by his family, laughing, bouncing one of his little nieces on his knee, and then suddenly looking over, smiling a smile at me that nearly knocked me off my feet, I was suddenly happy. Unbelievably happy.

And then, Christmas Eve arrived. The house had already been decorated with lianas of Christmas garlands twisting and crossing like the wildest jungle of Borneo, with bright, sparkling glitter balls dangling everywhere. Squeezed in around the dining room table, which had been enlarged by adding an old ping pong table from the basement, we all enjoyed a sumptuous Christmas dinner provided by courtesy of Mrs. Benson. She even went so far as to hand me a slice of gingerbread with something that came close to an actual smile.