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Cinnamon, blankets and change
“Merry Christmas!” Otis woke up with a start. He shivered underneath his blanket for a split second and then smiled at the ceiling. Before he could completely get out of bed, his father entered the room with a bang and scooped him up in his arms, “Ha ha ha!” Remi said, deepening his voice, sounding as gravelly as he could.
“I think it’s ho ho ho” Otis pursed his lips and then broke out into a grin as dad rolled his eyes, “well Santa Claus got you some great presents...I am guessing. I’m not sure if they’re great, but you’ve been a good boy this year, haven’t you?”
“Santa doesn’t exist, dad.” Otis scoffed, “I saw you putting the boxes under the trees last night.”
“Well, shit.” Remi muttered, “I am Santa?”
“I don’t think so.” Otis frowned.
“Eh.” Remi shrugged, “You had to find out one day, didn’t you? Better late than never, I guess.”
Otis shook his head and shrugged, trying to replicate his father’s nonchalance.
“Alright, come on out!” Remi beamed, “Gift unwrapping time!”
Christmas was amazing. He’d walk out, happier than he’d been all year. They’d open presents together, talking of everything and nothing. Talking of everything good the future could bring,. He got his dad a wallet, from his mum’s money. He got her mum a red sweater, too big her size, from his dad’s money. He got a PSP, it doesn’t work now, but sometimes he turns it on, just to listen to some video game music.
Then, Otis would sit at the piano and play his rendition of jingle bells, all notes played staccato with only his right hand index finger. His parents would joke about him being a composer in the future, he’d laugh but not brush the idea off completely, because this was the time to have half-baked dreams.
//
“Merry Christmas, darling!” Mum yelled. Otis woke up with a jerk and looked at his mum, dressed in a huge, red sweater. The one he picked out for her last christmas.
“Merry Christmas, mum.” Otis muttered as he managed a slight smile.
Jean eyed him knowingly, “Darling, I know dad isn’t around, but-”
“I know, I know.” Otis sighed and nodded, “It’s all for the best. I guess I’ll get used to it by New Years.”
“You think you’ll get used to it in a week?” Jean smiled at him, “That’ll be quite impressive.”
“A week is a long time.” Otis said solemnly.
Christmas was good, kind of. They were trying, they were managing. Making fun of shitty Christmas specials and, yeah, still unwrapping gifts. The gifts were less in number, but they were kind of more special. They meant a bit more. He got his mum a red vase from his pocket money, which took about half of what he’d collected over the year, but it didn’t matter, because she looked happy. Very happy. She got him a record player. He still uses it.
The absence of his father looms over the both of them. He can sense it, she can sense it, but she’s been saying it’s for the best, and he’s been hearing for most of his life that change was a thing that happened in life all the time and you must just put up with it or get left behind. Far behind.
Then Otis sat at the piano and played Joy to the World. He was also playing the chords with his left hand this time, but the octave jump in the melody was a bit messy at one point. He hoped he would have gotten over that by Christmas, but apparently not. But it was fine, there was always room for improvement. At least he’d learnt more than he had last year.
//
Otis felt his eyes open. He figured he’d slept for a long enough time. He felt his phone, somewhere underneath him. He managed to get it out. As he turned his phone on, he noticed the date, 25th December. Christmas. He managed a half smile as he saw a bunch of excited texts from Eric. Eric loves christmas. He texted him back halfheartedly.
He hears his door being knocked.
“Mm Hmm” he managed.
The door opened slowly and Jean peaked in, slowly but surely, “Merry Christmas, darling.”
“Merry christmas, mum.” he mustered another smile. He got up and walked out of his room. He scurried down the stairs and sat himself on the sofa, facing the tv. The christmas tree was next to the tv, it had all sorts of stars and balls and candy sticks. It looked like it did every year. Messy. Sloppy. Normal. Like it always was, like it was supposed to be. He stared at the tree, not thinking, not feeling, just looking at it.
“Hey.” he heard Ola’s soft voice.
“Hi, merry christmas!” Otis looked up to her.
“Merry Christmas to you too.” Ola smiled back at him, “Dad’ll be out in a minute.”
“Great.” Otis muttered..
“So when’s Maeve coming back?” Ola asked, slowly, carefully.
“The 27th.” Otis responded automatically.
“Do you guys hate new years’ too?” Ola asked blandly.
Otis smirked softly, “Interestingly enough, we both like the winter season. It kind of gives you a chance to start again. To try to be better. Then there’s also the fact that you have an excuse to stay in bed all day, and have all the hot cocoa in the world. Because it’s cold, and you can.”
“I’m more of a summer person, to be honest.” Ola murmured.
“Yeah, you’ve told me.” Otis pursed his lips.
“And you hate summers.” Ola chuckled, “Because everyone’s going crazy, the sun is too weirdly bright and it’s almost the middle of the year but nothing of major significance has happened.”
“Exactly.” Otis shoots her a thumbs-up.
“Merry Christmas, Ola and Otis.” Jakob finally came out of his room, accompanied by Jean. They shared their merry Christmases. Otis got a blue diary from Ola, a water-bottle from Jakob and a jumper almost like the one he’d lost quite a while ago, the one that was his favourite. Ola got a set of pride badges to put on her backpack from Otis, a phone case from Jean and a denim-jacket from her dad. Jean got a box of coloured pencils from Ola, a rather sentimental photo album from Jakob and a blue sweater that actually fit her, from Otis. Jakob got a book of Swedish folk tales from Otis, a blue woollen cap from Jean and a coin purse from Ola to keep his spare change in.
They clicked a couple pictures and had a slice of apple pie each.
“The star there is a bit wonky.” Jakob remarked.
Jean nodded, “That’s on purpose.”
“Yeah.” Otis smiled, “Messy is normal. Pedantically perfect is longer and painstaking.”
“Hmm.” Jakob smiled, “That’s a beautiful thought, Jean.”
“Oh, actually, Otis came up with it.” Jean corrected him gently, “He was 10.”
“Ah, quite the philosopher, you are, young man.” Jakob said slowly.
“I prefer mum man.” Ola smirked.
Otis turned to look at her and frowned, half in annoyance, half in amusement.
“I can’t believe I told you that.” Otis shook his head.
“What’s mum man?” Jean asked curiously. Otis hung his head, not wanting to address this touchy topic, then eyed Ola impatiently.
“Well, once...Otis said something really insightful in English class.” Ola said coolly, “And this boy, Jackson, after class called him a mum man, because he was y’know saying wise things.”
“Ah I see,” Jakob smiled mischievously, as Jean smirked, “You don’t like that much.”
“Eh.” Otis shrugged, “Not as bad as ‘ old wise man trapped in a young man’s body’, man, that’s just depressing.”
“I agree.” Jakob winced, “That sounds very weird.”
Otis nodded, agreeing with Jakob’s thought, losing himself as he stared at the messily, hastily decorated Christmas tree. The messiness and haste reminded him of him and Maeve and he proceeded to feel this rather uncomfortable pang in his stomach but Jean, Jakob and Ola luckily weren’t observing as they’d fallen into this peaceful and comfortable Christmas lull, because they’re a family, and well, he wanted to be in this family but he’s not in it, because it just felt- well, something was amiss. And he didn’t want to sound like a helpless and lovesick fuck but he was sure that the something that was missing was actually a someone and that someone was Maeve.
He didn’t like to think of her.
Well, he’d given her her space. He’d talk to her, not about them , but about her dreams and ambitions and her, because that was what was important. He sucked at everything, he was always scared of fucking shit up even more, asking her the wrong question, thinking the wrong things. He’d already fucked shit up, just inside his head, but that was neither here nor there.
He got up, and excused himself, as everyone started breaking out of the lull. He sat on his bed, helplessly.
What if she didn’t love him? What if she didn’t even like him anymore? What if she found someone else, someone better. Someone better than him, someone better for her. He knew better than to project it, though. He never did. Bit back everything- every question, every thought, every fighting insecurity in his big head, for the expense of his mental peace, as it broke away into shards, piece by piece, taking, no, stealing his happiness, stealing Christmas.
//
The house emptied out. Jean went over to Maureen’s. Jakob and Ola went to Ola’s grandparents’. At 6 o’ clock Otis ascended down the stairs and brought out two bowls. He sifted flour, sodium bicarbonate, cinnamon, salt, ground ginger, and mixed it. Added butter. Mixed it.
Otis didn’t have the same approach with his baking expeditions as he had with decorating christmas trees. Every ingredient was measured accurately at the correct temperature, the oven was pre-heated for the correct amount of time. Baking was chemistry and math. Baking was ratios and perfection, because a smidge extra baking powder, and your cake fucking explodes and the oven lights up on fire.
Otis shuddered at the memory of his previous baking experience as he cracked an egg which landed on the floor.
“Good god.” he exclaimed.
He cracked another egg, this time it landed on the crumbly dough thing, he rinsed his hands thoroughly and proceeded to knead the dough. Sometime later, his dough was done, thankfully. He broke out his cookie mould and carefully cut the dough out into gingerbread men, women and non-binary people, not noticing the staggering amount of flour spread across his clothes.
He decided to put on some music on his phone as he slowly popped the biscuits into the oven, after properly greasing the pan, once again shuddering at the memories of having baked biscuits that were deeply ingrained into the pan and-
As he felt the sound of the very familiar electronic piano melody, he widened his eyes.
“Oh no, not this song.” he muttered. He felt he should change it but his instinct made him freeze on the ground, unable to move.
“I hold you
I hold you closer than I ever knew I could do
But I’m confused
I thought I’d recognise when love was true
But I’m confused.”
He felt a sad smile enter his face, reminding him of the way he smiled for a split second when he realised that guy deleted his voicemail.
“Am I ready for love?
Or maybe just a best friend?
Should there be a difference?
Do you have instructions?
Maybe I’m stuck
On what I see on TV
I grew up on Disney
But this don’t feel like Disney.
You said I turned out fine
I think I’m still turning out.”
A lone tear trickled down his cheek. Barely there. It tickled his cheek as it flowed down and dried on his skin. This is how he cried, usually. He never really buckled over and pouted his eyes and wailed. He just, almost always, stood there, eyes red, tears streaming down, one at a time, not being able to register he’s crying.
//
“If you both outgrew one another
I could start now, looking for a lover
But if love dies, do I fucking bother?
I just really wanna show you play
And I don’t wanna do it for dad at dad’s new place
I worked really hard
Let me show you play
And I don’t wanna do it twice ‘cause it’s not the same”
“It is NOT the same” Otis grumbled angrily, “Thank you.”
He let out a startled welp as the oven timer finally rang. “Jesus fuck”.
In his angst-filled frenzy, he slid open the oven door and quickly fished out the baking tin. As he placed it on the kitchen counter, his elbow touched the piping hot tin, causing him to propel backwards and fall on the floor, an unamused expression on his face, as the song changed.
“I say that’s life
That’s what all the people say
You’re riding high in April
Shot down in May
But I know I’m gonna change that tune
When I’m back on top
Back on top in June
I said that’s life
And as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks, stompin’ on a dream
But I don’t let it, let it get me down
‘Cause this fine old world, it just keep spinnin’ around.”
He let out an involuntary smile, as he got up, slowly and surely, lazily moving around to the song. Experience is overrated, he thought.
“I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king” he sang along, under his breath, “I’ve been up and down and over and out, and I know one thing. Each tiiime I find myself layin’ flat on mah face, I pick myself up and get back in the race…”
As he looked at the product of his baking expedition, he couldn’t help but feel impressed. The biscuits smelled just like christmas: cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, spice. They were golden brown, cooked the right amount. Properly firm, but not like cardboard. He got his icing bag out and proceeded to draw the faces on the gingerbread people. He focused on the music that played. Focused on the rhythm, the melody, the harmony, the chords, the pulse, the timbre, the way it sometimes went from adagio to allegro, from piano to fortissimo, just anywhere but his head, because as he’d discovered from listening to the first verse of Turning Out, something was wrong about today.
Something dangerous, something not christmas worthy.
He finally looked at the tin of cookies; he had precisely 4 cookies. He wanted to model it after some of the people he knew but then he figured he wouldn’t be wanting to eat the people he loved and cared for, that would be rather weird, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t Hannibal Lecter this time around. Not as certain as he’d like to be but he was pretty, pretty sure. He shrugged and decided to not draw on the cookies, too impatient to let the cookies chill before he could put icing on them.
//
“Is this a dream?” Otis wondered out loud, “What’s going on. Wake up, you numbskull!” he yelled helplessly, “This means I’ll have to bake the cookies all over again.” he whined.
“Numbskull is cool.” Maeve mused, as she pursed her lips, casually sitting on top of Otis’ bed, “I prefer dickhead, still.”
Otis frowned, utterly confused and bewildered, pinching his cheeks. “See, this is not good. If I’m hallucinating...”
“You’re not dreaming, Otis, or hallucinating” Maeve chided softly, “This is the real world. I mean I think it is, you can never be too sure.”
“I mean I can feel myself pinching my cheeks'' Otis calmed down, “So I guess this is real.” his breathing slowed down and returned to its normal speed as his pulse came back down to normal. “Welcome back to Moordale, Maeve. These are some biscuits I made for the occasion” he chuckled nervously, as if he hadn’t just panicked a few seconds ago.
“You don’t sing that bad, you know” Maeve smirked.
Otis looked at her, quizzically.
“I heard you singing That’s Life.” Maeve smiled, “You have a good voice.”
“Uh,” he stammered, “um, thanks. Thanks, I guess” he felt a rush of red come on to his cheeks. “You’re, um, you’re back earlier than I expected.”
“Oh, yeah, I was trying to surprise you.” Maeve frowned at him, “I mean I can go back if you are so disgusted by my presence-”
“No, no” Otis yelled, “I mean, I am frankly elated to see you, I mean today felt so shitty because you weren’t here and now you’re here so it’s actually, well, you know I don’t like surprises, but well, this is a pleasant surprises, and I do like pleasant surprises.”
“Calm down, Otis” Maeve chuckled, “Jesus, you’re so easy. I thought Ruby had made you cooler and sassier.”
“I’m still sassy, Maeve.” he looked at her, unamused, “I was just caught off-guard, you know?”
“Yes.” Maeve nodded her head in a rather exaggerated fashion, “Of course you were.”
“You want one?” Otis extended his hands, offering Maeve the gingerbread biscuits.
“Thanks.” Maeve grabbed a cookie and bit on the corner, “Wow, this tastes fucking amazing.” she exclaimed in surprise.
Otis widened his eyes until his face eventually broke out into a grin, “Do you always react this way when you taste something good?”
“Yeah.” Maeve shrugged.
“I like it.” Otis nodded with finality, “I like the approval.”
“Aimee does too.” Maeve pointed out.
“Aimee’s become so much better at baking.” Otis smiled, “I mean she could own a bakery tomorrow.”
“Yep.” Maeve nodded, “I think, yeah, definitely.”
Nobody spoke for a while.
They looked at each other for a while and smiled. Blissfully. The way they did when they started hanging out. Ages ago. In actuality it was slightly more than a year ago.
But time was weird and too much had happened.
Things were a bit different now.
He liked her. She knew. She liked him. He knew. And Jackson wasn’t there. And the conscience of giving Jackson advice wasn’t weighing in his head.
“I feel happy now somehow.” Otis finally spoke up, “I felt very, I dunno, gloomy in the morning. Alone, kind of. But I feel good now, suddenly. I, uh, I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” Maeve replied, a heartbeat later, “The program was great, but something was missing. You, Aimee, Elsie. I mean, this town is still a shithole, but I guess, it’s what I’m used to.”
“Yeah, America.” he shook his head, “Probably a different atmosphere.”
“School is back to normal, yeah?” Maeve asked.
“Yep.” Otis smiled, “Groff finally pulled up with the crowdfunding thing. I can finally respect the guy.”
“He called you a spineless beanpole once.” Maeve blurted.
“What?” Otis frowned.
“Y’know, when I took the fall for Sean, he thought you were also involved in the drug dealing operation. He was so disappointed I’d turned an innocent boy like you into a drug mule.” Maeve smiled, wider, shaking her head.
“Isaac tried to apologise to me.” Otis said, shyly, “I didn’t accept his apology. It’s not about you, it’s me.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Maeve looked up at him, “Eric told me you were deeply hurt, you told me your hurt was crushed. It never hit me, I think, until my first week there, when I saw you be yourself again, then I remember how changed you seemed around Ruby, and I thought you were trying to be cool, but you weren’t. I don’t know what you went through but I know it couldn’t have been good.. It’s okay if you don’t want to forgive him.”
“I knew you’d understand.” Otis smiled, sounding genuinely unsurprised, earning a genuine smile from Maeve.
“I don’t know…” Maeve muttered, looking perplexed all of a sudden.
This was bad. Perplexed Maeve was evil Maeve. Perplexed Maeve was confused and thought she had something good with Isaac and also didn’t know what kissing Otis in an isolated gas stand after he proclaimed his love meant. Perplexed Maeve was an aftereffect of Reckless Otis. He hadn’t been reckless lately, though? Or had he? Implicitly? Without meaning to?
“You’re doing that thing again.” Maeve said in a monotone.
“What thing?” he asked, timidly.
Maeve looked at him, she looked as if she were fighting back a smile, a huge smile, “The thing where you overthink and hypothesise shit based on whatever minute evidence you have and then your brain goes into overdrive. Let me finish speaking, you can panic afterwards, okay?”
“Uhm” Otis smiled, embarrassed, slightly giddy that she knew him so well. That it wasn’t all one-sided. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”
“As I was saying, before you conveniently started turning red as a beet,” she rolled her eyes at him playfully, “I don’t know how I feel about still wanting to have Isaac in my life.” she said, self-assured.
“Oh.” Otis frowned, “Um, why?”
“Because…” Maeve trailed off, “I dunno, I never gave myself time to process what he did or his justification, before I realised…it wasn’t really a justification. It was like…a half-baked excuse. He said he wanted to protect me from…something. I don’t even know what?” she frowned, “And he never really apologised, I just kind of…”
“It’s okay.” Otis soothed her, “He was one of your few friends at the time, you didn’t want to let that go, it makes perfect sense. Though I’m pretty sure that protection thing was an excuse.”
“Really, Mr. Psychologist, what makes you think that?” Maeve changed her facial expression almost on instinct, an amused smirk playing at her lips.
Otis fought back a smile, “Because he knew if you heard the voicemail, you’d probably forgive me. Because if he’d heard that he’d have realised I wasn’t that idiotic prat he’d seen at the party, because my apology was genuine, because I didn’t make excuses and I didn’t blame my actions on anyone else.”
Maeve frowned at his rather self-assuredness before he interjected, “That’s what he told me. I didn’t come up with this on my own.”
“Ah, okay.” Maeve nodded.”Makes sense.”
There was a pleasant and impenetrable silence yet again.
“I was about to ask you about the voicemail.” Maeve spoke up, “But you seemed…very happy with Ruby. After you’d started wearing your own clothes and everything.”
“It was fun.” Otis looked down at his hands, “We were really warming up to each other…but we weren’t going to last anyways, we’re too different from each other.”
“Opposites attract.” Maeve shrugged.
“Sure, if they complement each other. If they’re like hot brownie and cold ice-cream. Not if they’re like rice noodles and chocolate syrup.” Otis frowned.
Maeve shuddered, probably at the thought of rice noodles and chocolate syrup as a food combination.
“Yeah, I get what you mean.” Maeve nodded. “Like us.” she said softly. Otis looked up and at her, slowly.
He looked at her and finally smiled.
This time he actually smiled. It wasn’t just his lip-muscles curling up, no, his eyes were bright and there was this bright gleam to them.
“I meant it when I said nothing feels right when you’re not around.” he wouldn’t dare to meet her eyes, “If it weren’t for you, I’d just be a shell of who I am today. I would still be an inconsequential, insignificant guy in the corner. I’m still a guy in the corner and I love it but I don’t think I’m insignificant.”
“You never were insignificant.” Maeve smiled at him. “But I’m glad I could help you, I guess. I mean growth is a group project right?”
Otis nodded.
“I love winters” Otis smiled brightly.
“Me too.” Maeve met his expression, “It’s just a perfect combination of cinnamon, blankets and change, and sometimes, the change sucks, but the cinnamon and blankets really help the transition.”
“Exactly.” Otis smiled, “And sometimes, change isn’t as bad as we think it is.”
For some, winter meant sadness, darkness and coldness, and a year of unimportance having gone by. For others it was just an excuse to stay in a blanket all day and drink hot cocoa and a chance to try again. A chance to re-discover themselves.
Otis and Maeve discovered each other again. Through soft kisses which later turned passionate and needy. Through gleamy, ecstatic eyes which broke out into grins.
//
Then Otis sat at the piano, Maeve by his side, and played Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas . This time he had to arpeggiate his chords, change clefs, and press his foot down on the sustain pedal with the perfect amount of force. The difficulty was way beyond hand coordination and octave jumps. But it had taken him years to reach here.
He was okay.
She was okay.
They were okay. They were great. They were nearly perfect, but still kind of messy, but that’s fine.
Because perfection is a lie and messy is normal