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Christmas Eve. Alone.
I wanted this, though, didn’t I? I mean, at least I think I must have, right?
It was almost exactly a year ago when I received that stupid fucking visit from Cory fucking Ellison. When he asked me—no, begged me—to come back. And ruined the last shred of stress-free living I had established in Maine.
Oh, Maine, how do I miss thee. Let me count all the fucking ways.
It’s so crazy to me, honestly, because you’d think everyone would be asking me why I came back. Why would I want to leave my glorious, beautiful, peaceful way of life? Where I had to answer to no one. Where no one bugged me. Where no one, and I mean no one , even dared to speak to me out of turn.
But nope! Mother fuckers always want to know why I disappeared in the first place. Like it’s not fucking obvious? Do I really need to spell it out? Why did I choose to head to Maine, where in the dead of winter it’s fucking cold as fuck? Was it because I was ashamed? Was it because I was getting divorced? Was it because everyone hated me yet loved me at the same time? When you’re in the spotlight, no one ever cares about you as a person. You’re a celebrity. Every single part of your life. So, when you choose to no longer allow them to see every single part of your life, that becomes a giant problem. They only care when you preemptively leave because you’ve had enough.
And honestly, the truth about why I decided to vacate my life was not nearly as exciting as the tabloids would like to make up. Isn’t that always the case, though? I disappeared, not because I was ashamed or because my marriage was over. I disappeared because I simply could and, also because, in the end, I needed to save myself.
And the snow upon piles of snow is ultimately what saved me. Snow has a way of covering up the horrible so you can start anew. I grew to love the snow and its ability to make me feel forgiven for the person I had become. I relied on that forgiveness, actually. And I relied on my dog. And on the visits from Lizzy. Of course!
Now, the cold? The cold, on the other hand, was never as forgiving as the snow. Unless you’re a goddamn mountain man, the cold is brutal. Absolutely fucking brutal. I truly believe the cold in Maine is colder than the cold in New York City. Maybe in the city it’s the warmth of the exhaust from the endless amount of traffic. Or maybe it’s the endless amount of people. Or maybe it’s the fact that there are people. Either way, the cold hits in a different way. Really fucking different.
Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that was what saved me. Not the snow, but the isolation. I went from being surrounded by people to being the only person in a twenty-five mile radius. I was alone.
And maybe that’s why when Cory left that insanely long voicemail, I decided to come back. Come back to civilization and New York City and The Morning Show.
Jesus. The fucking Morning Show.
The bane of my fucking existence.
Goddammit. Why the fuck am I trying to quantify it now? No, no, not quantify it. Not quantify it so much as simply explain it? Explain it to whom? Who knows? Myself, maybe because why the fuck did I decide to do this? To come back to this fucking hellscape I thought I did a great job of leaving in my past. Expertly.
Because believe me, I didn’t want to leave the brutal cold only to immerse myself in a different type of brutal cold.
This may be hard to believe, but it wasn’t the moments of being completely alone that got to me. When I say there were some moments of being completely and utterly alone, I am not exaggerating or lying to get sympathy. I enjoyed being there. I put myself there! In my amazing cabin, in the woods, surrounded by snow and my thoughts. I wasn’t lonely. No, that’s not it. What’s the old saying? I’m not lonely, I’m just alone? I feel that saying. Deep, deep in my bones. Because as much as I need people, I also don’t like them most of the time. I need the reassurance that the public bears. And that’s about it. You’d think at the age of fifty I’d be past the need for people to like me.
Sadly, you’d be wrong.
Being alone, I can handle. Coming back from being canceled, I can handle .
It’s opening my phone and seeing a news headline I had no idea was coming that I simply cannot handle.
Laura Peterson and Bradley Jackson to Wed in Private Ceremony
Let’s be real, I sort of had an idea that was going to happen. It’s why I warned Bradley about Laura fucking Peterson. Somewhere, deep, deep down, I knew she’d fall for that woman’s charms. I mean, it’s sort of hard not to…
Of course, the other old saying of giving someone a fish versus teaching the person to fish rings oh so fucking loudly in my ears.
Bradley needs to learn lessons on her own. I know this. She has been an amazing co-anchor and believe me, in the beginning, contrary to her opinion, I hated how rocky things were between us. I hated being the bitch. I hated being the only person who didn’t look at her as if she hung the moon. I look back now and have no idea why I couldn’t stand her.
Wait. That’s a lie. I do know why. It’s partly because she’s good. Having competition in this game is a blessing and a curse. Yes, competitors can push you to make you better but they can also push you to the point of a nervous fucking breakdown and crush every last fiber of your being.
I’m being dramatic, but damn, there is something about Bradley Jackson that caused my brain to malfunction.
And that’s the other part. She just exists on this weird plane where I can’t figure out why I feel the way I do about her. It’s unnerving and unbearable and…exhilarating.
After my near brush with death from COVID, I decided that life is simply too fucking short to continue down the same path. Being on lockdown had its advantages. For one, you are forced to think. A fucking lot. To look inward at yourself, at the person you have become that the world loves to love but equally loves to hate. I hate being hated. Of all the ridiculous eccentricities that make me me , caring what people think is at the top of the list. Because I don’t just care. Oh, no. I fucking obsess. Or, at least, I used to…
I’m at the top of my game, again. It’s been nine months of a seemingly never-ending pandemic, of school closings and reopenings, of mask mandates and anti-maskers, of a ridiculous presidential race. Is it wrong that even though this year has been devastatingly hard, I’ve been grateful that we’ve been able to give the public something other than me and my sex life to focus on? Because let me tell you, clawing my way back has been hard. Excruciating, actually. But I fucking did it. And it has given me a new lease on life.
Sadly, time and breaking news stories and hours upon hours of therapy haven’t cured the little nagging thought that has taken root inside my soul: Bradley never wanted you. She just wanted fame.
It’s silly, really, because I didn’t want her like that . And she didn’t want me like that . But dammit, if a zap of jealousy doesn’t shoot through my body every time I think about her and Laura fucking Peterson. Holding hands. Kissing. Sleeping together. Not sleeping together. Fucking…
These are the thoughts that keep me up past my eight in the evening bedtime. These are the thoughts that accompany my nightcap that, unfortunately, turns into much more than a cap and sometimes a full outfit.
I have to find a way past whatever this feeling is that has begun to consume me. They’re getting married, for Christ’s sake.
“Let it go, Alex. Let it. The fuck. Go.” My voice is loud in my kitchen and Benny’s ears perk from his spot on the tile near the island. Sometimes, the jingle of his collar is all I ever hear. I really hate that Lizzy picked her father to spend Christmas Eve with.
Just as those words pass through my brain, I hear the ding of the elevator and excitement zips through me. “Hello? Lizzy?”
And suddenly, as if summoned by my obsessive thoughts, a black masked Bradley Jackson is standing in the doorway of my kitchen. I’m going to kill my doorman. Excitement is replaced by something else entirely. I stand, scramble for the nearest mask I can find, slap it to my face, and back away. “Bradley, what are you doing here? Neither of us can afford to get sick…again.” Going on nine months of dealing with COVID, three months of being back on set, getting tested daily, and I still feel like I’m breaking the law whenever I’m around someone without a mask on.
“Alex, I know, I…” She raises her hands in mock surrender. “Can I wash my hands?”
“You didn’t come all the way here to wash your hands.”
“No shit, Alex. I need to talk to you, but—” She moves around the island, and like the polar opposites we are, I find myself moving, as well. “I’m going to wash my hands first.” She turns the faucet on, pumps two pumps of soap, then starts to wash, scrub, bobbing her head while humming—
“Is that the TMS hand song?”
Her shoulders fall under the scrutiny of my question. “Yeah, so?” She pulls a single square of brown paper towel from the basket next to the sink and wipes her hands. “I’m really sorry about this. Bursting in here.”
“You really shouldn’t be here. We’re preaching to America to not get together for the holidays and you just show up here?” Also, I had no idea you were coming and I look like death warmed over. No makeup, I didn’t feel like doing my hair so I pulled it into a very messy ponytail, and I’m wearing yoga pants and my favorite oversized sweater. If the paparazzi saw me like this they’d have a heyday.
“We’ve both had COVID. I think we should be fine.”
“What about the other people you saw on your way here, though. You don’t want to—”
“Alex.” Her voice is strained. “For like, half a second, can you just be happy that when I’m in the middle of a crisis, you’re the one I want to talk to?” She tilts her head, her blond hair falling over her shoulder. “I needed to talk to you. To you .”
Something about the tone of honesty in her voice has me crawling from my sturdily erected wall I scurried up when she arrived. “Me, hmm?” I stop holding the mask to my face, hoping upon hope that this, being around each other, doesn’t fuck us up. COVID-wise, I mean… At least, I think it’s what I mean.
She pulls her mask down finally and smiles. It’s small, but it’s there, under a layer of sadness I don’t think I’ve ever seen from her before. “Yeah, you.” She unzips her winter coat, slides it from her arms, and drapes it over the back of one of the kitchen stools. Her navy sweater hangs loosely from her shoulders. There’s a hole near the neck, as if it’s been worn one too many times but it’s too comfortable, or holds too many memories, to get rid of. She must feel the weight of me studying her, because she starts to squirm under my gaze.
“Do you need something to drink?” I watch her consider my question, as if she’s wondering, Is it too early for alcohol? She finally shakes her head. “Do you want to sit?” I take off from the kitchen toward the living area and hear her quiet footsteps behind me, followed by Benny, of course. She actually had the good sense to take her shoes off which I’m sad to admit impresses me. Only kind of. Once I sit, she chooses a spot far from me, and folds her legs so she’s sitting on them, as if she’s been here a thousand times and we’re that comfortable in each other’s spaces. She’s been here twice. This being one-half of those times. “So, what’s going on?”
Benny is right next to her, head in her lap and the smile she has on her face when she starts to pet him is…endearing. Makes me a little angry at him that he hasn’t remembered that he needs to choose his allies carefully, but he’s a dog and a cute one at that, so I can’t really blame him. “You heard the news, right?”
I know of what she’s speaking but I decide to play dumb. “That we’re still in the middle of a pandemic?”
She rolls her eyes. “Funny.”
“Yes, Bradley, I heard the news .” I use air quotes around news before I fold my arms across my chest. “It would have been lovely to have heard it from you first, but I understand working with a publicist—”
“I didn’t come here for a congratulations.”
I laugh. I can’t help it because, “I wasn’t planning on giving you one.”
“I know and that’s…weird…isn’t it?”
“Why is it weird?”
She pops a knuckle as she fidgets with her hands and I hate to admit that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this nervous before, but… “What happened between you and Laura?”
I practically choke on the quick breath of air I pull into my lungs. My lungs, which seem to still be struggling. I close my mouth, clamp onto the truth and finally say, “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Yes, you do, Alex.” Her tone isn’t filled with accusation so much as it’s wet with understanding. “Please, tell me. Because Laura won’t. And I know there’s more. I’m not stupid.”
I let out a puff of air with a simple, “Ha!” and it seems to smack her across the face. “You have no fucking idea.”
“I think I do.” Her eyes narrow. “Hatred like this doesn’t happen organically.”
Hatred. Sigh. “So, Laura does hate me, hmm?” I hate being hated.
“I mean, isn’t it obvious?”
It’s her turn to smack me with her words. And boy, does she ever. They practically take my breath away. “I truly think you need to speak with her about this.”
“I’ve tried. More than once. She says some shit about you outing her and then we go about our merry way, even though I know it’s deeper than that.”
“It’s not my story to tell.”
Her eyebrows knit together, as if she’s deciding that I’m a big, fat liar. “Bullshit.”
Man, she’s pushing all the right buttons, isn’t she? I take a deep breath and look out the windows to the Hudson. The snow has started to fall faster and heavier, meaning the white Christmas Yanko promised will surely happen. Little did I know that my Christmas Eve would be spent with Bradley Jackson berating me with questions about why her fiance hates me. “It was a long time ago, okay?” My voice sounds far away. I find myself wishing I, too, was far away.
“Alex?”
After a few seconds of not wanting to look at her, I finally do. “What?”
“You can tell me.” Her eyes are so kind. “You can tell me anything.”
And without another hesitation, I hear myself say, “We slept together, Bradley. More than once. And definitely more than twice.”
Her only response is the pop of her mouth dropping open.
“I wasn’t lying when I said you have no fucking idea.”
“ Jesus .”
I shrug. “No one knows. At least I don’t think anyone else knows. Actually, I take that back. Maggie Brenner might know? I honestly have no idea. She hasn’t put it in a fucking book yet, though, so maybe not?”
“Wait, Maggie Brenner? You were friends with Maggie, too?”
I don’t respond to that one, because the truth is too fucked up to actually mutter. “It was all a very long time ago. I was brand new here and they were so welcoming and it was the early nineties and people were really starting to experiment and…” I shrug. It’s the only thing I know how to do at that moment. Bradley’s eyes are glued to me and I feel as if I have given her this extra special behind the scenes glance into my privacy. For her, it’s evidently titillating. But for me? I’m seconds away from a breakdown.
“So…” The start of her sentence hangs in the air, suspended by her penetrating gaze. “You’re into women?”
“That is what you gathered from all that?” I shake my head. “This is exactly why she didn’t tell you.”
Bradley rearranges herself on the couch, her feet now on the floor, and she’s leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, as if she’s activated Journalist Mode . It’s fucking irritating. “Are you going to tell me the story?” And only a little adorable. I’m reminded of the first time I interviewed Bradley. When I thought she was a hack and a hot mess. God, I was so wrong. At least about the hack part. The hot mess part, though, I was spot on. It takes one to know one, after all.
“Absolutely fucking not.”
“Alex…”
“Look, Bradley, It’s not just my story to tell. Or else I would. Since she didn’t tell you, I suppose she doesn’t want you to know, which is fine, I guess. Do I think you have a right to know? Sure, but I can only tell one side and it’s a story that needs both sides to make sense.” The wave of memories that crashes into me… Meeting Laura, wondering why I was so drawn to her, trying to emulate her, kissing her in the bathroom of that seedy bar, learning what I loved and hated in bed with her… I’m breathless in their wake. I place my hand on my chest and my heart is racing. This is the first time I have ever spoken about this and honestly, it’s the first time I’ve thought about all of that in a very, very, very long time. “At least partly, you have a right to know.” She blinks, licks her lips, but doesn’t move otherwise. “I broke her heart, Bradley. I wouldn’t…” The sadness of the past, the fear and anxiety, comes crashing back into me. “I wasn’t as brave as you are.”
“It was a different time, Alex. Things were different then. I get it.”
“She didn’t.” I shrug again, hoping the emotion rising in my throat doesn’t disobey me. “She doesn’t.” Ugh, it’s bubbling right beneath my surface. “It’s fine. I mean, you two are happy and I’m fucking ecstatic for you. So, that’s that.”
I start to stand but am stopped when she says, “Hold up.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Bradley, what? I’m not going to answer any more of your questions.”
“You mean to tell me that whatever was going on between me and you didn’t, y’know, stir up...whatever it is…”
“Latent homosexual tendencies?”
She smiles.
“Nope.” I shake my head again. I arch an eyebrow at her. “Why?”
“I find it curious. That’s all.”
“Mmhmm.” I finally stand, make a sweeping motion with my hand toward the elevator door. “So, it was so nice of you to pop by.”
Bradley leans back into the couch cushions. “Yeah, I’m not leaving. We’re spending Christmas Eve together, so you might as well DoorDash us some dinner.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You burst in here, into my house, on Christmas Eve, start questioning me, then tell me I have to feed you? Oh, no, my dear.” Her eyes widen. “Dinner is on you.” I pick up her phone from the ottoman and toss it to her as she lets out a groan. She’s out of her goddamn mind if she thinks I’m going to buy her dinner and let her torture me with questions. As I breeze past her into the kitchen, I feel her eyes on me. And I hate the way it makes my heartbeat quicken.
“Oh, my god, this tastes so good.” I close my eyes and take another bite of the shrimp lo mein Bradley ordered. I swallow and thank whatever higher power exists that I can finally taste things again.
“Losing taste and smell was not fun,” Bradley says around a bite of a pork eggroll.
“Neither was being afraid of dying.”
She swallows. Her eyes are on mine. “I’m really sorry you got so sick.”
“Don’t be. You didn’t get me sick. I got you sick. I should be the one apologizing.” I pause my chopsticks in mid-air. “I am sorry, by the way. I was so stupid.”
Bradley’s smile is genuine. “Thank you but I’m fine. And so is everyone else.”
“By everyone else, do you mean the TMS family or America?”
“Oh, America is definitely not fine.” A laugh pours from her and I can’t help but join in. “They will be, though. Just give them time.”
“It’s been nine months.”
She tilts her head, the rest of the eggroll almost to her mouth. “Patience is a virtue.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She laughs before she pops the last bite into her mouth.
These are the moments I always wanted with her. I wanted a partner, someone I could have this easy camaraderie with. Someone I didn’t despise, who wasn’t constantly in competition with me, someone I could love. In whatever capacity that love ended up being…
“Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Were you in love with Mitch?”
The way his name is so easily bandied about these days is interesting. As if he is still alive, here to defend himself. No one would care about his defense anyway. Bradley saying his name, though, makes me think that maybe she comprehends something . As if, in some weird Bradley way, she gets what I was going through. Is it because we have that same... emotion ...between us? Or is it because she’s simply a good person and journalist who tries to see both sides of every story? All I can do is nod. She doesn’t respond, thankfully, because the last thing I need right now is for her to be like, really, why?! after I stood up for her in my mind. “I think sometimes I was and other times I hated him. But the love always outweighed the hate. Seeing him in Italy was…” I can’t continue even though I know I should. The memory of him breaking down in front of me is too much.
“Cathartic, I’m sure.”
She’s so right. “Yes, but...you have to remember, he was my work husband for fifteen years. I knew everything about him. Or at least I thought I did…” I hate admitting this, and I’ll never say it out loud, but in the end, I acted exactly as a battered wife would. Like, going back to him time and time again even though I knew something wasn’t right and he was never going to change. Yet, I did it and I only ever questioned it in my mind. I loved him, yes, but I also knew my life would be flipped onto its head if I said too much.
I protected him to protect myself.
God. The truth nauseates me.
“You do not have to explain it all to me,” Bradley says and sometimes, only sometimes , her sincerity takes my breath away.
“Thanks,” I say but it comes out as a whisper. Talking about my shitty past while I’m still trying to recover from all the repercussions in my present is difficult. We are both sitting on the floor, legs folded into pretzels, Chinese food spread across my coffee table, glasses of white wine at our sides. This is the closest I’ve been to someone other than Lizzy in my own home since Chip finally peeled himself off my bathroom floor and headed back to his fiance. Man, has it really been that long?
“I told Laura no.”
“Wait, what?” I’m instantly yanked from my memories. “But the news…”
She shakes her head.
“I thought you were so happy?”
She shakes her head.
“Then why did you say yes to begin with?”
She shrugs.
This has quickly turned into the worst interview ever. “Bradley,” I lean forward and peer at her across the table.
In the most flippant way possible, she reaches forward and picks up her wine glass. She downs the gold chardonnay and gives me a I have no fucking idea shrug, her face twisting with the admission. “I guess I thought, why not? And then, God, I thought, why… ?” She sets the wine glass onto the table. Her fingers slide down the stem before she looks directly at me, right into my soul.
And I understand exactly what she means. It’s almost as if I have lived that exact moment only I never let myself answer the why…? I never allowed the doubt to sink in. And twenty-five years later, I was signing divorce papers. I cheated on him. I cheated on myself , honestly. Sadly, I didn’t have the courage to let myself think. Oh, how I wish I would have.
“Cory told me he loved me.”
“Excuse me?”
“And then I found out he outed me.”
“Whoa, whoa… Bradley, what the fuck?”
She doesn’t move, just blinks once, twice, three times.
“Why haven’t you told me any of this? You’re the one who said we were friends. ‘Not good ones, but important ones.’”
She reaches for the bottle of wine and pours herself another. “I didn’t think you remembered that conversation. You were pretty sick.”
“I remember everything you’ve done for me and said to me, Bradley Jackson.” I smile as her face morphs from concern to intrigue. “You fucking pain in my ass.”
A laugh bubbles from her and I can’t help but join in. “You’re like, the biggest dick I know.”
“I hope so!”
And again we laugh and laugh.
It’s after nine now. And Bradley has moved to a sprawled out position on my floor, which is so very like her. Completely comfortable in her skin at all times. She occasionally picks her head up to take a drink of the bourbon she made me pour her. I say made me as if I fought her at all. I didn’t. At all. And I think that says more about me than her staying later and later instead of going back to Laura’s condo says about her.
I should be in bed. Even if it is a Friday. Messing with my sleep schedule does nothing good for me, or for anyone else, honestly.
Also, what is it about Christmas jazz music that is so calming? I could seriously sit here listening to this jazz version of O Come, All Ye Faithful, staring up at my ceiling, wondering how the hell any of this happened to me, for the entire night.
“Did you fuck Maggie Brenner, too?”
“What the hell?” I pick my head up from the couch cushions and glare down at Bradley. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?” She asks, a chuckle following, then a small hiccup. “I’m just saying Maggie sort of gives off a gay vibe. I mean, right?” She looks at me, eyebrows raised practically to her hairline. “Don’t tell me you never thought about it.”
“Bradley, are you high ?”
“God, I wish.” She groans. “I should probably go, shouldn’t I?”
And misery courses through me at the thought of being alone. I’m not lonely, I’m just alone. Except maybe that’s not true any longer. I am lonely. So very lonely. “You don’t have to.”
“I’m sure Laura has texted and called a hundred times.” She moves the slightest amount so she can pick up her phone from the floor. She flips it over, stares at the screen, blinks a couple times, then lets out a, “Hmph,” before carelessly tossing it back to the floor.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“She hasn’t tried to call or text, has she?”
Bradley sighs. Except it sounds more defeated than she has ever sounded before. And it causes something inside my chest to twist. Is that my heart?
“Don’t worry about it. She’s giving you space...to...um...to calm down. Yeah.” Man, I am no good at this pep talk shit, am I?
A laugh bubbles out of her. “You are so full of shit.”
Once again, she’s right. “So? I’m trying to make you feel better.”
“Yeah, well, you suck at it. Stick to telling the truth, Miss Excellence in Journalism.” She sits up and stands, all in one fluid motion. After she wobbles slightly on her feet, she stretches her arms into the air. “I told her I was done, Alex. That I didn’t want to marry her because I am done. I’m done, do you hear me?” She is shouting now. “I am done!”
“Easy there, killer. I am not the person you need to be pissed off at.”
“You aren’t? Why not? You’re the one who made me—” She stops. Abruptly. And pulls a breath into her lungs.
“What? I’m the one who made you what ?” I haven’t sat up yet because, truth be told, I am enjoying seeing Bradley uncomfortable. It’s kind of fun. And I sort of think I know what she’s going to say.
“Nothing.” She clears her throat. “I really should be going.” She looks out the window, maybe for the first time tonight, and gasps. “My God, the snow.”
There is at least a foot on the ground now. And it’s only supposed to get worse as the evening stretches on. “If you walked here, just call your driver. He’ll come get you.” We’re both standing at the windows, staring out into the blizzard. I can hear her breathing. I want to hug her. I want to kiss her. Fuck, I hate my brain right now. I’m food drunk and wine tipsy. This is not good. “Or you could stay.” My words seem to be lost in the space between us.
“You asking me to sleep with you, Alexandra Levy?”
I let out a puff of air and the warmth causes condensation on the window. “Absolutely not. You can use Lizzy’s room.” She’s looking at me now. Her gaze is causing me to sweat. I adjust my glasses so the arm is in my peripheral. I need to focus on something other than her and how close we are to each other.
“I’m sleeping next to you,” she whispers. “Final offer.”
I’d love to say I accept because I’m just lonely enough that the idea of sleeping next to someone is so very calming to my anxious thoughts, but I’d be lying. I accept because Bradley Jackson being near me has been an addictive drug since the second I laid eyes on her. And now, she fucking knows it.
My ceiling has never held my attention like this before. Actually, that’s not true. Jason was not exactly Don Juan in the love department.
Also, Bradley’s on my side of the bed. I didn’t have the heart to tell her to move. Me. Alex Levy. Didn’t have the heart to tell someone to scoot the fuck over. Is that the Christmas spirit or what?
“Alex?”
I don’t want to answer because then she’ll know—
“I know you’re awake.”
I sigh. “What?” My entire body feels as if it’s on fire. And I’ve had the fever before to know how that truly feels.
“I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice is velvet soft and, under the covers, the side of her hand presses into my bare thigh. The touch, in most other circumstances, is so miniscule that it shouldn’t mean anything. But tonight? In the darkness of my room, with the snow still falling outside, and her being next to me like this, means more to me than almost anything ever has. And I feel it wrecking me from my heart to my brain.
Finally, I look to my left just as a single tear rolls down the side of her face before the hair near her temple absorbs it. Against all of my better judgement, I slide my hand down and take hers, intertwining our fingers together, as I did all those months and months ago. She squeezes her eyes closed at the contact. I’ve always thought about how we fit together, though. A little yin and yang and a little Thelma and Louise and it makes me smile. “I’m not leaving you again.” The words sound so foreign coming from my mouth because I’m Alex Levy, for Christ’s sake. I am allowed to leave whomever the fuck I want to leave. I tell people when to leave.
She’s wiping at her tears with her free hand, then lays her arm across her eyes, a giggle bubbling out of her. “Merry fucking Christmas.”
I squeeze her hand. “Best Christmas I’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says with a tear-stained voice.
“Don’t be.” I roll toward her, reach over and lift her arm away from her face. “If partners hold hands, they can certainly break down in front of each other. I mean, you’ve seen me broken down before. I think it’s only fair.”
She chuckles, sniffles, and looks over at me. “I really love you, Alex.”
Those words take my breath away, as cliche as it sounds. “I love you, too, Bradley,” I hear myself whispering. We’re much closer than two important friends should be, both emotionally and now physically, but I find myself not caring. I lean closer to her and kiss her on the cheek. “Get some rest,” I whisper next to her skin that smells like my face cleanser. She seems to relax into me and, as I drift away, it only slightly worries me that I’m snuggling Bradley Jackson in my bed on Christmas Eve.
“Oh, Lizzy, hi baby.” I’m sitting at the counter with my laptop open, Lizzy’s adorable face on my FaceTime and it hurts my heart that she’s not here on Christmas morning. “How are you and dad?”
“We’re good. Getting ready to eat breakfast and then open gifts. I’m still planning on coming there tonight, though. Okay?”
“Of course, baby. I’ll be here. I’m making the lasagna you love.”
She laughs. “You’re going to cook?”
“Very funny.”
“I can’t wait, Mom. How was your Christmas Eve?”
I can feel the smile on my face and I worry that it looks like I’m trying too hard, when, in actuality, I’m genuinely happy. “Good. I mean, quiet. Definitely a much needed day of relaxation.” I’m praying she doesn’t ask me what all I did. I have no explanation queued up. I’m also praying Bradley doesn’t pop out of the bedroom right at this second. She was still asleep the last time I checked. She must have really needed this… “And yours?”
“Same. Dad made a ham.” Lizzy’s face twists and she rolls her eyes. It warms my heart. “So, yeah.” She smiles at me. “I love you, Mom.”
“Baby, I love you, too. Go open gifts. We’ll talk when you get here.” And the call disconnects. I close my laptop and make my way to the coffee pot, where the second pot has finished brewing. As I’m pouring yet another cup, I hear Bradley finally open the door to my bedroom. When she emerges, her hair is a mess and she’s still in the pajamas I let her borrow. “Merry Christmas, sleepy head.”
She rubs at her eyes, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips. “Wow, I haven’t slept that hard in forever.” She graciously accepts the cup of coffee I have poured for her, one sugar, two creams, just the way she loves it. “Merry Christmas to you, too. And thank you.” She sips, then looks at me over the top of the mug. “You remember how I take my coffee.”
I shrug. “Whatever. It’s a Christmas miracle.” At the small seating area at the end of the counter, I motion to the breakfast I made. “I also made monkey bread.”
“How long have you been up?” Bradley chuckles as she makes her way over to the food. She grabs a piece of the cinnamony goodness and shoves it into her mouth. “Oh my gosh, this is fantastic.” Chews, chews, chews, takes another piece and finally sits. “I didn’t even think you knew how to cook.”
“I’d like to tell you to fuck off for saying that, but it’s Christmas and I am actually enjoying your company.” I laugh when she does. “Y’know, I wasn’t always this Alex Levy.” I drum my fingers on the marble countertop. “As shocking as that may be.” She’s eyeing me, as if she’s studying me for a pop quiz she’s sure she’ll be taking later. I’m uneasy under her gaze, though and have to look away.
“You do shock me,” she says, her tone damp with coffee and drenched with truth. “Did I hear you on the phone with Lizzy?”
Her subject change is very welcome. “Mmhmm, she’s coming by later. I’m making lasagna. Another shocker, I’m sure.” I don’t want it to come off as if I’m irritated with her, so I hope it doesn’t sound like it. “You have plans?”
She is looking down at her coffee, her thumb tapping the handle of the mug, and it dawns on me that I should invite her to stay… “I did, but those sort of…fell through.”
…but what if it’s weird that she’s here? “You could stay.” Her eyes snap up to mine. “If you want.” Her blue, blue eyes. “Lizzy loves you.” And honestly, so do I…
“I feel bad, Alex, like ruining your Christmas with your daughter. I’ll be perfectly fine back at my place.”
“Bradley,” I say, and she doesn’t look at me. “You do not need to feel bad. Okay?” Still won’t look at me. “ Okay ?” When she nods, but continues to keep her eyes averted, I wonder what all of this means. All of it. Yesterday. Today. Right this second. What does it all mean?
“Thank you, honestly, but I really think I’ll just head back. The snow has let up and I don’t have clothes and it’ll be fine.” She stands abruptly. “I’m actually gonna go now.” And she’s gone, closing my bedroom door, and I’m willing myself to sit still. Moving and protesting and begging her to stay feels so insanely out of character that I can’t allow myself to do it.
“So, I’ll text you when I get home.” Bradley is standing across the kitchen from me; her entire demeanor has changed. Gone is the confident mess from yesterday. And in her place is the nervous mess I remember meeting for the very first time.
“Okay.” My voice comes out so much softer and sadder than I expected.
“Thank you for everything, Alex, seriously. You have no idea how much I needed it.”
Actually, I do know. I know exactly how much she needed it because I needed it that badly, too. “You’re welcome.” She turns to leave and I say, “Bradley?”
She doesn’t turn toward me and why the fuck does it hurt me that she won’t look at me. “Yeah?”
“Come back if you want. You’re always welcome.”
And she leaves. Just like that.
“Oh, my God, Mom, it was so gross. Like, ham? Who eats ham? Not me!”
I laugh as Lizzy regales me with the story of the ham. “I have a feeling that dinner will live forever in infamy.”
She reaches for my glass of wine and slowly brings it to her mouth, as if she’s waiting for me to stop her. “Can I?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, but don’t overdo it, please.”
“What did you end up doing yesterday?” She has now confiscated my wine, so I pour myself another and lean against the counter near the stove while I act nonchalant as we wait for the lasagna to be done. Like her question hasn’t caused my heart to malfunction the tiniest of amounts.
“I honestly just relaxed all day. It was so needed.” I smile. Why can’t I tell her what I actually did? I can. I’m the mom. I’m allowed to do whatever I fucking want. I mean, right? “Bradley, um, stopped over. So, we DoorDashed Chinese food and drank too much wine.”
“Whoa. You and Bradley hung out? And didn’t kill each other?” Lizzy laughs. “I am very surprised.”
“Hey now, we’ve been much better.”
“Did you see,” she has her phone out, scrolling through Instagram, when she stops and shows me a picture, “her and Laura are supposed to get married?”
I nod as I eye the picture of the two of them, smiling, happy, impeccably posed. “I did see that.” Am I supposed to correct this misinformation or allow Bradley to come out with the news?
“Why wasn’t she with her fiance last night then?” Lizzy has started to scroll through her feed now, her knowing eyes no longer fixated on me. For a seventeen year old, she is incredibly perceptive. “Were they fighting or something? Like, why spend Christmas Eve somewhere else?”
“Uh, it didn’t come up.” Come on, Alex. Focus.
Lizzy glances at me, sets her phone down, and narrows her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, baby. Nothing at all.” I laugh, trying to break the tension. “It honestly didn’t come up.”
“Mmhmm.”
Great. Now if Bradley actually shows up for dinner, which I’m sure she won’t, but if she does, Lizzy is going to be all over that like the baby journalist she is. “I promise, I have no idea.”
“Sure.” She picks her glass up and sips the wine, never taking her eyes from me. I want to scold her for being a little prick about this but she’s not wrong and I raised her to be like this, so what the hell? The timer for the lasagna saves the day and as I’m pulling it out of the oven, I hear Lizzy say, “You realize I’m old enough now to actually understand how the world works, right?”
There are moments in life, not many, but they exist, where I wonder why the hell I decided to have a child. Don’t get me wrong. I love Lizzy with the burning hot intensity of a thousand suns. She’s the only thing that truly matters in my life. But Jesus Christ , sometimes she is so much like me that I want to scream. I can barely handle myself most days. Handling the two of us is just…well, it’s a lot.
“I’m only saying that because I feel like you try to shelter me. Like, you don’t want to tell me the truth about things like I’ll be upset about them or whatever. And like, maybe just like, I don’t know, let me deal with stuff. Not because it’s easy but because it’s hard. You know what I mean, Mom?”
I pull a breath into my lungs and hold it a few seconds before I turn to look at her. “Honey, I know. I promise.”
“I read the book finally.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I don’t even know what to say.
“It kept staring at me because of course my roommate bought it. And then lockdown happened and I was bored out of my mind and I like, start it or whatever. But I put it down. And couldn’t do it.” She stands up tall, pulls her shoulders back. “I finished it before Christmas.”
I’m scared. I’m terrified. All the emotions I should be. But I’m also slightly relieved.
“I don’t hate you.” She shrugs. “You’re human. Which maybe was hard for me to get at first because you’ve always been super-human to me. But knowing you have a heart and a soul… I don’t know.” She smiles. “I just like you a lot more now. And I love you. I love you more now than I think I ever have.”
“Lizzy…”
“You’re allowed to love Bradley the same way you loved Mitch.”
My heart finally falls from my throat and is now on the floor. “Baby, that’s not—”
“Mom…”
“No, Lizzy, that's not what I want or need in my partner for the news.”
She tilts her head. “Isn’t it kind of hard to be pulled in both directions, though? Like, Bradley is your family, too. As much as you might want to protest it, it’s true.”
“I just don’t want to have this conversation with you,” I say and realize how shitty it sounds. “There’s a lot you don’t realize. And I get you’re older and wiser and I love you so much for, God, for loving me . Because heaven knows I don’t deserve it. But loving Bradley is something I can’t do.”
There’s a smirk on her lips and her left eyebrow is cocked higher than her right. If anything says DNA and biologically related, it’s that right there. “Can’t do or won’t do?”
My shoulders fall under the heft of her question. “Damn, you’re a smart kid.”
“Can we eat? I’m starving.”
I laugh because we both knew it was time to change the subject. Neither of us enjoy these moments for a multitude of reasons. But the first of which is that we are and always will be exactly the same: capable of love but not capable of explaining it.
When my phone rings after dinner while Lizzy and I are watching Christmas Vacation for the hundredth time, I immediately think it’s Bradley, which is so stupid. I’m sure her and Laura have made up and things are totally fine. Which is good! I’m super happy for her. I really am.
Except that I’m not and I don’t think I ever truly will be.
“Hello?”
“Ms Levy, it’s Greg, the new doorman.” It’s not her. Whew.
“Hi there, Greg. What can I do for you?”
“Ma’am, I have a Bradley Jackson down here to see you.”
“Oh.” It actually is her. Fuck.
“May I send her up?”
“Um, yeah, sure.” And the line disconnects. Greg did what Jerry was supposed to do earlier. And I’m sad about it. Now I’ve been prepped and I don’t like the anxious feeling that has manifested inside me.
“Who was that?” Lizzy hasn’t moved from, her head still resting in my lap.
“Um, Bradley is on her way up.”
She lets out a small giggle. “Cool, cool.” She doesn’t move, which makes me a little less nervous.
When Bradley arrives, I hear her take her shoes off before she appears in the doorway. She doesn’t even say hi to me. “Hi Lizzy, honey, how are you?” She walks over to the couch and plops down, lays her head on a pillow, and sighs. “This is my favorite movie.”
“Ours, too,” Lizzy says with a laugh. “Hi, by the way.”
Bradley reaches over and squeezes Lizzy’s foot. “I’m rude for barging in on your Christmas with your mama. I apologize.”
“It’s totally fine. It’s great to see you.” Lizzy nudges me as she sits upright. “Do you need a drink?”
“Nope, I’m drunk enough already.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Bradley, do you need to eat then?”
“Probably, but it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” She doesn’t move as I stand. “Alex, sit down. I’m fine.”
“No, you need to eat. Please come in here with me.”
“Her lasagna is incredible, Brad, seriously,” Lizzy says as I’m walking into the kitchen.
I hear Bradley sigh before she relents and joins me in the kitchen. I glance at her as she leans against the countertop with her hip. “So, you drank your sorrows away, hmm?”
She sighs again. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“You know you didn’t have to leave.” I turn so we’re facing each other. I didn’t realize how close she was standing until right this second. I look at her, at her red-rimmed eyes, at the way the mascara she haphazardly put on has smeared from her salty tears. I reach up and push her hair over her left shoulder. “Are you okay?” My voice comes out so much softer than I intended.
“I am when I’m near you,” she whispers. The way she’s looking at me makes my chest tighten. “Can I stay with you again?”
“Of course.” I offer her a small smile before I add, “Lizzy has been asking questions, though, just so you know.”
She shrugs. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, you won’t.”
She grins. “You’re right, I won’t.”
The bed dips when Bradley climbs in next to me. She starts out so much closer tonight than she did last night. There’s a hot second when I wonder, Am I a rebound? And then I remember this, whatever this is, has been happening since the moment we met.
She snuggles against me, her arm draped lazily across my stomach. “Thank you for letting me stay again.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re so easy to sleep next to…like, you calm me in a way I didn’t even know I needed.” Her lips are millimeters away from my jawline. I can feel every word against the tiny hair follicles of my skin. When she lets out a sleepy sound that borderlines a moan, my entire body responds. “If someone would have told me I’d end up snuggling Alex Levy one day I would have told them they were fucking crazy.”
“You and me, both.” A silence falls between us, the sound of us breathing the only noise in the room. It started to snow again around eight and I can see it falling outside the window. What is it about her that affects me so? I’ll never know. But as I sink further and further into whatever is happening, I breathe in deep. “You smell like snow,” I hear myself say into Bradley’s hair, the warmth of my own breath feels incredible.
“Ugh, like winter and exhaust fumes?”
I chuckle. “No, not at all. Like new beginnings. Like forgiveness.” And when she presses her hand against my chest, right over my heart, I know things are never going to be the same between us.
And I’m so very okay with that.