You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology (11 page)

“Where’s Uncle Greg?”

“He had to go to work.”
On his attitude
.

Kayla re-entered the dining room and looked at Jared thoughtfully. “What happened to, ‘Don’t let him get to you, he’s not worth it?’”

Advice he used to give Kayla when he was a nicer guy. He squirmed.

“Maddie.” She bent to their daughter. “Go get ice cream out of the freezer.”

The little girl’s eyes rounded. “But I
still
haven’t eaten my vege’bles.”

“Special occasion.”

“I’m sorry,” he said when Maddie had scampered to the kitchen. “I shouldn’t have interfered.”

To his surprise, she hugged him so tightly his ribs ached. “Kayla?”

“I appreciate you standing up for me.” She released him and wiped her eyes with the back of her palm, waving aside his murmur of concern. “Sometimes I need an outsider to say, ‘it’s
not
acceptable, how Greg talks to you.’ Because when you grow up with it, it’s too easy to think it
is
you. Overreacting, being too sensitive…”

“I always got the impression you wanted to fight your own family battles.”

“I do. But once in a while it’s nice not to have to.”

“What about Christmas?”

“He’s an asshole, but he loves Mom. They’ll be here. I think he’ll be better behaved, too. You really shocked him.”

“Good.”

Rocco squawked to get out of his highchair and she walked over to him and started wiping his small hands clean. “The other day when you looked at that photo of us in Musique magazine you said jokingly, ‘What did you see in me?’. I saw a guy who encouraged me to be myself, without ever thinking my strength diminished him as a man. A guy who helped me appreciate that all the qualities my father and brother called my faults, were my virtues.” She looked up at him and smiled. “Someone who saw marriage as an equal partnership—”

Jared couldn’t take any more. “Stop!” he said savagely. “That’s no longer true and you know it.”

Maddie bounced into the room holding a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. “Ice cream!”

Incapable of pretending everything was fine for his daughter, he walked out of the room.

*

“That’s great, honey.”
Unfazed, Kayla finished cleaning up Rocco and added the debris from his high chair to Maddie’s uneaten vegetables. In this, at least, she understood her husband’s behavior. It was nice to be the one with answers again.

The front door slammed.

“But doesn’t Daddy want some?”

“He’s got a couple of things to do first. How about we go eat the ice cream at the counter in the kitchen? We need bowls and spoons.”

Maddie looked at the plates of uneaten food. “But you haven’t finished your dinner either!”

“So, we’ll be rebels together.” She picked up Rocco. “C’mon, I’ll clean this up later.”

As it happened, she didn’t have to. An hour later, when she walked into the dining room after putting the kids to bed—not that Maddie would stay in hers, she was still trying to milk her cold for all it was worth—the dining table had been cleared. She found Jared in the kitchen, piling leftovers into Tupperware containers.

“Well, at least tomorrow night’s dinner taken care of,” she commented, taking the empty plates to the sink. “Feeling better?”

Jared put the leftovers in the fridge and slammed the door. “Ask me.”

Kayla glanced at his face, suffering and desperate. “Ask you what?” Turning on the faucet, she began rinsing plates.

“You
know
what, Kayla.” Grabbing a dishcloth, he wiped the island counter. “We’ve been avoiding this conversation since Zander’s voice failed.”

“You may have been.” She tipped Maddie’s vegetables into the waste disposal unit and rinsed her plate. “I haven’t seen anything to discuss.” They should get a compost bin set up at their next house. Maybe a worm farm.

“Haven’t you?” The dishwasher rattled as he pulled out the top rack. “Our life is all on my terms, with Rage’s future in doubt and the tour postponed indefinitely. Now would be the perfect time to move back to Bridgeton. The place you love, and would prefer to raise our kids. Where all our family and friends are. Where people know us as Kayla and Jared, not as Jared Walker rock star, and his wife.”

He started shoving the rinsed plates into the dishwasher. “And yet you’ve said nothing. Not when the shit hit the fan with Zander, not when the band starting discussing a Plan B. Not when you have every right to say, ‘What about what
I
want?’”

She moved to grab the wineglasses before he broke any and he caught her wrists. “Ask me,” he said gruffly. “Ask me to give it up, for you and the kids. No
, tell
me I need to put my family’s needs first.”

Gently, she freed her hands. “I think we have some lumber in the basement. Go build a torture rack. It’s not very Christmassy, but we can decorate it with tinsel.”

He gave a strangled laugh. “Kayla…”

Moving the wineglasses out of harm’s way, she faced him. “Recently, a man—let’s call him Bob—told me this lovely story about meeting his wife. I never told him about meeting my husband. This teenager—let’s call him Jared—was the coolest boy I’d ever met. He was oblivious to the popularity contests and high school politics that kept the rest of us so busy. He was always looking out through music to the bigger world. Whatever instrument he played, and he could play many, he transported everyone listening. I didn’t have a musical bone in my body. Hell, I couldn’t even keep time on a triangle, but I got it. This is what he’s on this earth to do. Play music. Make people happy.”

“Don’t you dare let me off the hook,” he said quietly. “How do I make
you
happy?”

She answered his first question. “I haven’t asked you to quit because, right now, you need this more than I need to live in Bridgeton.”

“I don’t accept you sacrificing your wants for mine. God knows, you’ve done enough of that over the past eighteen months.”

“I’m not being a martyr.” Turning back to the sink, she put in the plug and ran water. “With all our friends and family telling me how lucky I was, I felt such a failure struggling with the rock-star lifestyle. I’m not pretending anymore.” Squirting soap into the water, she handed Jared a tea towel. “In future, if your ego gets out of hand or I’m struggling, I’ll speak up.”

Doggedly, he shook his head. “I know living in L.A. is tough for you. It’ll get lonely when I start traveling to gigs again.”

Swirling the water into bubbles, she picked up the dish brush. “I have ideas how to improve things.” As she washed the glasses, she told him what she’d discussed with Dimity—finding a community, working part-time. “If you’re on tour for longer than a week, the kids and I will go stay with your folks or my mother.”

She handed him a glass to dry. “Remember when we discussed having kids? We decided we’d do what we had to, to make it work. Because we weren’t going to compromise my dream of a family for yours of a music career. And it
was
tough making ends meet, but we managed because we were working together for something important.” Her throat tightened. “I don’t mind doing hard, Jared, as long as I feel that we’re still in this together, that we’re a team.
That’s
how you make me happy.”

She saw he was still conflicted. “Our new life has given us one incredible benefit. I can be home with the kids while they’re small. So many young families can’t afford that luxury. I’m grateful for that. I can build a new life in L.A. for that.”

*

The terrible pressure
in Jared’s chest eased. With all that he’d done wrong, he was doing some things right.

“The day I signed a contract with Rage and you were able to quit work and stay home with the kids like you wanted was one of the proudest days of my life. It wasn’t until then that I understood how much I need to take care of my family.

“I’ve never thought of myself as ambitious, but I do want it all, Kayla. A career in music, recognition, the kids and you. I wouldn’t take this risk if I didn’t believe I could make it work.”

“Then let’s make it work.”

He took her into his arms. “If we’re baring our souls, I need you to be honest with me. What am I missing with you?”

“Nothing, why?” But he felt the tension in her muscles.

“You’re still wary around me, guarded.”

“I’m not,” she protested. She must have heard the defensiveness in her own voice, because she smiled. “At least, not since you admitted our tour issues were all your fault and we’ve cleared the air over Simone.”

“No?” He started unbuttoning her blouse. “Then let’s get naked and do it on the kitchen table, right here, right now.”

Laughing, she moved his hands. “The kids…”

“Are asleep, and Maddie’s probably already in our bed.” He cupped her cheek. “What’s going on? You don’t undress in front of me anymore, you turn down the lights when we make love, and you find it harder to let go when we have sex.”

He’d noticed it this afternoon when he’d made his move. The kids had both been napping and sunlight was streaming through the windows when he’d swept Kayla up and carried her into the spare room. She’d made excuses then, too.

With her cheek pressed against his palm, his wife took a deep breath. “
Hé, la grosse, ça va là, fous-moi la paix
. Do you know what that means?”

He shook his head. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, then kissed his palm and moved away. “I’ll tell Bob on our date next week.”

“Why not tomorrow?” They’d booked a babysitter, and a hotel, and were staying downtown for the Grammy party. And their wedding anniversary. He had her gift already packed with his tux.

“No, tomorrow’s for fun.” She crossed to the kettle and flicked the switch. “Hot chocolate?”

“Sure, thanks.” And that was clearly the end of that discussion. But he had no intention of waiting another week to find out what was bothering her. Excusing himself, he walked into the living room and looked up the phrase on Google, pretty sure it was French. Except nothing he put into the search engine came up with a match, because his spelling was strictly guesswork.
Stuck.

J
ared woke on
his wedding anniversary with Maddie’s calendar in his face, no Kayla beside him and an idea.

“You’re well enough to go back to your own bed tonight,” he told his daughter as they crossed off another day.

“But I always sleep in your bed when you and Mommy aren’t here.”

“Tomorrow, then. I’m serious, kid, get your brain around it.”

She skipped to the door. “Okay, Daddy.”

Rolling out of bed, he showered, dressed, then phoned Dimity. “You speak French. Any idea what
Hey, lagrosse car-va-la something
means? I can’t find a translation online.”

“Did Kayla suggest you ask me?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not at liberty to say…but you’re pronouncing it wrong. Grab a pen and write this down.” She spelled out the phrase for him.

“Thanks.”

“And Jared, I offered to get him fired. She wouldn’t let me. Said the asshole might have a family to support.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It will.”

He found the translation within thirty seconds.

Anger rising, he went to find Kayla, passing Maddie his cell en route. His wife was in the laundry room folding clothes, with Rocco sitting in the basket on the floor, playing with pegs.

“
Hé, la grosse, ça va là, fous-moi la paix
,” he said grimly. “Who said it to you?”

Her welcoming smile faded, and she picked up a small onesie.

“Remember the day at the theme park in Paris? You showed up late with Simone and a photographer, and we argued over how much the kids should be in the public eye. I refused to go with you to a function that night.”

“I remember.”

“Zander talked me into changing my mind, only I was in such a hurry I forgot ID.” The onesie had been folded so many times it looked like a washcloth. “The security guy didn’t believe I was your wife and wouldn’t let me in. He said…” She shrugged, sorted through the socks.

“Get lost, fatty,” Jared said in a hard voice. His son glanced up. He crouched to pat his head, and Rocco offered him a peg. Kayla concentrated on her work. “I didn’t understand what it meant until I met up with Dimity in a bar and she translated.”