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Christmas at Kate and Claire's (or a mock version of Christmas, a few weeks before the actual December 25th, to be precise) had somehow become a staple of each passing year away from the island.
Neither she nor James had planned for it, really. She couldn't even remember whose suggestion it was, that first year back, after their little group had split and settled on opposite coasts. (It had felt like a pilgrimage, LA to Miami. Something unnatural tugging in her chest to step through the boarding gate, for the first time in weeks hearing only one set of footsteps trailing behind.) The timing had just worked out; with Clementine and Cassidy already close, and a series of threats from Rachel that if Juliet missed another Christmas she would never be forgiven, Claire had offered up Kate's spacious house for an early seasonal get-together. They were some facsimile of an extended family by now, she had reasoned. Besides, if nothing else, the kids would love it.
In the years since, Juliet found herself looking forward to their makeshift holiday just as much as the real thing. There were only a handful of people who truly knew her, for better or worse, and it felt like slipping into another realm to be in the same room as most of them at once. Here in the California suburbs, rather than the jungle. Lingering tensions sipped away with sparkling wine, buried deep in the graves of every person they'd lost along the road to such normalcy.
That, and Claire loved Christmas almost as much as she did.
Even the first time, battling through the side effects of her new medications and the whispering vipers in her head, Claire had poured her heart into a beautifully decorated tree, thoughtfully chosen gifts for each and every one of them.
It was good for her, Kate told them, eyes shining. Watching Claire and her son where they were perched on the living room rug, clicking together the pieces of a brand new train set. It made her glow to have something familiar, grounding in its contagious joy.
Juliet thought, not so secretly, that maybe it was good for all of them. Being together reminded her of those early days before her parents' divorce, when the holidays felt like a fairytale; something out of one of the gold-spined picture books she used to keep in a neat row on her shelf. A sacred window of time, wherein nothing bad was ever allowed to happen.
The house decor was as carefully curated this year as it had been every other, pine boughs adorning the mantlepiece and twinkling with ornaments on the giant tree. Even through the back window, Juliet could catch the light of a dozen different candles flickering from the hallway, pumping out the artificial scent of gingerbread and cranberry.
She'd promptly been kicked out of the kitchen once preparations had started for dinner, rolling her eyes lightheartedly as James had shooed her into the living room with a kiss and a glass of something fizzy he'd swiped her from the fridge. The same saccharine mixture of orange juice and Sprite that Clementine always insisted on, by the taste of it. She'd swallowed her first few sips grimacing, missing the smooth, heady buzz of rum with a pang.
Oh, well. It was probably for the better. Her cooking skills were mostly limited to spaghetti and scrambled eggs, and Claire ran her kitchen like the navy. Who was she to complain about getting to put her feet up for a while instead? These last few months had felt like a feat in running on empty, even when she got more than her usual eight hours a night. She didn't have it in her to argue with him.
So instead she'd padded her way to the back porch, to where Kate had unsubtly excused herself from cooking duty by volunteering not to let the kids run too wild until it was time to eat.
She found herself seeking Kate out at these kinds of things more often than not, the tentative friendship they'd developed both unexpected and welcome. Somewhere along the way, it had gotten easy to talk to her, as though her brush with death had knocked something loose that had been begging to be freed all along. It reminded her of conversations with James, in a roundabout way. The same passionate, deliberate cadence to their words, when they spoke about something important to them. A way of listening that made her feel sheltered in the space between sentences. Safe.
That was likely why, after a mere few minutes of back and forth on the patio sofa, Juliet was already contemplating jumping the gun. Worrying the cuff of her sweater sleeve between her fingers, as the white knit turned red and green in the evening glow of the lights strung above. She and James had agreed weeks ago to wait for Christmas dinner, with everyone together, but—
“I'm pregnant,” she blurted.
Winced immediately as Kate's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, mouth opening and then closing again on nothing.
Well, there went that plan.
“Please do me the favour of making that face again when we tell you all, later,” she deadpanned, half-jokingly, and got a little snort in return. The momentary tension dissipated, settling back into comfort as Kate watched her curiously from the other side of the couch.
“Congratulations… I mean, wow. But why are you telling me now?”
“I don't know,” Juliet sighed, biting her lip. Pressed her knuckles to her mouth, not entirely sure how to explain what had compelled her. It wasn't like she didn't have James to speak to about this kind of thing, or Rachel. It wasn't like she hadn't already, over and over again, when the doubt periodically reared its ugly head. But having Kate's opinion felt different.
As much as she was loath to admit it, she’d read every sordid detail logged in Kate’s file. Family history, criminal record. Nobody would’ve blinked twice if she’d chosen to give Aaron up, after everything those neat rows of type had declared. But instead she’d chosen to stay, twice over, and nobody could deny that the boy adored her.
“I want this, I do, don't get me wrong. We’re happy. But I just…” She paused, wading through the flood of emotions, trying to gather her thoughts.
“Wanting it doesn't mean I have any idea what I'm doing,” A confession, paired with a self-deprecating smile.
The corner's of Kate's lip twisted, just a little.
"I don't think anyone does."
Juliet glanced over to where Aaron was sitting on the swing set, kicking his feet through the dry, brown grass. Crossed her own legs under her, trying to let the bubbles in her drink wash the building nervousness away down her throat.
“You know what I mean,” she stated. “You've had practice.”
Kate's green eyes followed the path hers had traced, across the lawn to where the children were playing. Clementine was twisting herself around and around on the second swing, spinning with wild laughter as the chains unwound. She caught them watching her, and waved her arm high before resuming her game.
“I could say the same about you.”
“I know.”
James' daughter was a burst of light in both of their lives, and Juliet loved her more than she’d ever thought she could. It was true enough that there had been fear in it, at first, for James especially, who had already missed so much time with Clem for the deep-seated belief that his presence was nothing but a burden. She figured that's what allowed him to be so calm now, in spite of the lingering anxiety she knew he still harboured. The feelings would never fully go away, but he'd already faced this gauntlet once, and come out still standing.
“It feels different,” Juliet continued. “I love her like a daughter, but she doesn't expect me to be her mother. She has Cassidy for that. She doesn't think of me first, and I'd never want her to.”
Kate's eyes flicked down, away from the kids, long lashes brushing her freckled cheeks. Shit. Juliet bit the inside of her cheek, picturing Claire, the desperate bout of conscience that had driven Kate back to the island. That wasn't how she'd meant it, but that was undoubtedly how it sounded. She opened her mouth to explain, but Kate’s voice interrupted her before she could, a low murmur.
“I think it was easier, in a way, with Aaron. To... know that he wasn't mine.” She paused, and when her gaze met Juliet's it was dark, acknowledging. Sun wasn't the only woman on that island whose cycles Ben had instructed her to monitor. On the beach, that fact had caused Kate’s face to wrinkle with revulsion at the sight of her, but now there was only a shared secrecy left between them, a blip on the radar of what might have been.
Kate shook her head, blinking almost sadly.
“I thought about it,” she said quietly. “What it could've been like. But I think I was relieved, in the end.”
She laughed, then. A short, hollow sound. “Some things probably shouldn't be passed on.”
Juliet knew Kate was right. She'd had the same argument with herself a million times, a neon marquee in her head glimmering with all the fatal flaws that were better off dying with her. A pushover of a woman, odd and obsessive to a fault; a liar, traitor, homewrecker, killer. The list went on and on.
What business did she have condemning anyone to be created in her image? It made her stomach—easily unsettled, these days—turn to imagine it, to remember the cold linoleum under her sneakers as her tears escaped in the respite of the school bathroom. The weight of feeling so horribly misunderstood, even then. So alone.
And yet.
And yet there was James, and the ache inside as she'd watched him carry a sleeping Clementine from the car, the night they'd gone to the movies. His calloused fingers, so impossibly gentle, tucking her into bed. The glowing stars on the ceiling, the ones he'd painstakingly stuck there, reflecting back on his face. He'd smiled at Juliet in the hallway, afterwards. That tender, private show of his dimples; she'd pictured them carved into chubbier cheeks, little hands reaching for her, and had to swallow the sudden lump in her throat before she opened her lips to his.
He made her feel so worthy, cradling her face in his hands like a treasure.
Of this life together she'd battled and bled for. Of creating a new one.
“...What if you want it anyway?”
Her voice came out more meekly than she'd intended, quivering just a little at the edges. It sounded so selfish leaving her mouth, an admittance of her guilt. This tiny spark inside her that was barely an anything yet, just a clump of cells and periodic electric impulses, that she already loved too much to let go.
Her mother had loved her too, she recalled. But that had never prevented her hugs from feeling akin to a chokehold, sucking the air from Juliet's lungs, smothering her.
What if her love wasn't enough, either? What if she'd already failed her child, their child, before their life had even really begun?
Kate looked almost taken aback at Juliet's reaction, eyebrows raising slightly again at the tremor in her words. Startled that she'd understood, perhaps, or startled that she'd divulged it. But then her eyes softened in sympathy, shoulders slumping.
“I was terrible with Aaron, at first,” she admitted. Honesty for honesty. “Completely hopeless. It was like I was paralyzed, as soon as it really sunk in that he was depending on me for everything.”
Juliet watched her in silence, waiting for her to continue. Something prickled in her chest, sloshed around in her stomach a second time.
The fears she'd only managed to whisper to James, in the dark; the spinning record of her brain catching over and over on mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children. A sharpened needle, stuck in the groove like a knife to a wound. She couldn't even remember where she'd read it—could’ve been any of her books, probably years ago.
She was easily irritable, she would choke out, listening to the lazy circles of the ceiling fan from her spot against his chest. Gifted at being standoffish and snappy. Hearing her say so usually made his lips draw together into a thin line, weighing his words. He'd spent enough time on the receiving end of her cold shoulders to know it was true, wouldn't give her hollow reassurance in the name of soothing. It was part of why she loved him. And yet it was obvious that he wanted this, still. With her. It made her wish more than anything to understand whatever beautiful belief he had in her, convinced she never would.
He always indulged her in the end, promised there would be room for all of her. He was no saint either, he'd whisper, God knows. He'd spend the rest of his life wondering what he'd done to deserve the second chances he'd been given. But, he stressed, never had she hurt him without stitching the wound after. Delicate, regretful fingers wrapping the bandage around her words, sealed with a kiss 'til you barely felt the sting. He was learning that they were allowed their mistakes, too. Children understood that, if you let them.
It always felt like she could believe it for as long as she lay there, wrapped in his strong arms.
“I was scared to touch him. He'd start crying, and I'd just keep seeing all these different ways I could mess him up for life. All the ways my mom probably did mess me up for life.” Kate ran a hand through her wild curls before dropping it to her knee. A sullen crease formed on her pale brow. “He deserved better than that.”
"What did you do?" Juliet asked softly. Almost afraid to hear the answer, that nagging voice in the back of her mind that still held Kate on a pedestal, looming impossibly far above her in life, in love.
“I fought for it,” Kate replied simply, tilting her head to look at her son. “I swore I'd never be like her. I'd never let him get hurt because of me.”
When her chin tipped back towards Juliet, her smile was wry. “Easier said than done, believe me. Sometimes you just want to shake them, or scream. But I tried. I keep trying, every day. I have to think that counts for something.”
Juliet glanced over at Aaron. Despite the lack of blood relation, there was something undeniably Kate-like about the way he smiled. Bright, and often. Untouched by fear.
“I think it counts for everything,” she murmured.
“Mhm, that's what Claire says.” Kate’s gaze turned pointed, then. “And it’s what I tell her when she feels like she’s losing control.”
Gently, almost timidly, her warm hand settled on Juliet's knee. A soft, comforting weight that somehow made her feel lighter.
“They'll be lucky to have you, Juliet,” she said, and there was truth in it, firm belief in it. When she chose, Kate could be devastatingly sincere. She and James had that in common. It eased the grip of terror around her ribs to see the conviction in those moss-coloured eyes, even after all she'd done to deserve her suspicion, her hatred. Faith that she could be more than what the world had pushed her to be. Than what she'd always told herself she was. “Besides: live together, die alone, right?”
The tiniest flicker of sadness passed across Kate’s narrow face, at the memory of Jack's old rallying cry. But there was resolve there, too—to carry it forward into the life he’d left behind. “You're not alone.”
She jerked her chin towards the sliding patio door, smirking, and they both caught a glimpse of James as he cursed over a bowl of mush that wasn’t quite succeeding at being turkey stuffing yet. One of Claire's festive aprons, stretched three sizes too small across his chest, declared him as Santa's Helper in bold, cursive red letters.
It made the corners of Juliet’s mouth twitch, and upon seeing her smile Kate's own grin widened, baring her teeth.
Such strange, unexpected joy she'd found in this place, with these people who had once considered her an enemy. A Christmas gathering that seemed straight out of her fondest childhood memories, and yet not the same at all, underneath—messier, realer, and somehow all the sweeter for it. It felt like there was forgiveness woven right into the sparkling garlands, hope baked into the amateur, handmade food.
Maybe their child would grow to love the holidays too, a voice in Juliet's head whispered, and it settled on her shoulders like a soft blanket, warmed her all through.
Maybe they would get it from their mother.
~
She and Kate were still smirking when the patio door finally slid open, and when she looked up James was watching them both with a wary, smiling curiosity. Later, she mouthed, catching his subtle nod in response.
“Dinner's almost done,” he announced, hands on his hips. “Cassidy said to wrangle the little monsters and bring 'em in to help set the table.”
“Nice apron,” Kate teased, and he huffed, peeling the striped garment up over his head with a flourish.
Calling for Aaron and Clementine, both women reluctantly raised themselves from the comfort of the couch, Kate throwing out an arm to herd the kids through the open door. She strode towards the sound of jingling music and Claire's soft voice, shooting Juliet a little wink as she went.
Even though her nausea had receded, an unseen force kept her from following very far, caused her to hang back before she could cross the threshold. Holding onto the moment a second longer, the twilight liminality.
When James noticed that she'd stopped moving, he pivoted back towards her, hands settling over her hips, moving to slide into the back pockets of her jeans.
“You okay?” He asked gently, scanning her face for any traces of worry.
She hummed, nodding. Watched him relax as he found her quiet smile to be genuine, that impossible sweetness in his sea-blue eyes that she knew, by now, was reserved only for her.
His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as though he was suddenly afraid they'd be overheard. “Peach okay in there?”
He'd been working his way through the stack of pregnancy guidebooks she'd lugged home from work, dutifully informing her with each passing week that their baby was the size of a lime, a plum, a kiwi. She already knew, of course, a fact of which he was well aware; she still had no plans to stop him, loving the way his eyes twinkled with teasing from behind his glasses.
In the present, it made her chuckle, winding her arms around his neck, stretching on her toes to dust a light kiss across the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, James. Everyone's fine.”
“We don't have to tell 'em yet, you know,” he murmured gently against her lips, pulling back to search her eyes with his own. Checking on her; getting her back. “It's still early. We can wait.”
It made her heart swell with love for him, but Juliet shook her head nonetheless.
Live together, die alone. Kate had been referring to her and James, but here they were, the whole mismatched group of them. Survivors, helping each other learn how to live, to love, to forgive.
And one day soon, their child would get to be a part of it too.
Taking his hand in hers, she led him through the door without looking back, into the warm bustle of the house.
"I'm ready,” she declared.