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Maybe it was stupid of him, but Oscar hadn't expected it to feel like this.
He really should have seen it coming. It'd only been 3 months since—
It was normal for grief to be weird, for grief to take a while. Two months really wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things. Barely any time at all. But sometimes it felt like Oscar had been doing nothing but grieve. Sometimes it felt like he wasn't grieving enough.
He was still functional. Still an adult with bills to pay and a job to do. He'd already taken off more time than he could reasonably justify. Mark told him it was good to have something to keep his mind off of things, to not just… linger. And it was, for the most part. The world didn't stop just because Oscar's had.
He'd gone longer durations of time without seeing or talking to Logan. Logan's been god knows where for practically Oscar's entire stint in F2. Being able to call him or even write to him had been a luxury. And while Oscar had tried to be there at the hospital as much as possible, he'd still had to fly out to races to fulfill his reserve driver contract with Alpine. He'd had to be there for some contract things with McLaren. There'd been days Logan had been too tired or in too much pain to handle a call.
There wasn't going to be another call now. They'd run out of time.
His mum had tried to convince him to go back to Australia for the holidays. Maybe another year he would have. She told him that he'd always have a place there — at home. He'd said he knew.
But Oscar felt… unmoored.
Australia was supposed to be home — the place he'd grown up and been raised. But Oscar hadn't lived there in so long. Where was home? Was it in the small British flat he spent his time between sim sessions in? The American condo he'd only set foot in to shower before making his way back to the hospital?
Was it 6 feet under packed soil and a headstone in a lot somewhere in Florida?
Mark had tried to convince him to stay therewith him and his wife too. Said Oscar wouldn't have to worry about cooking or being bothered. Mark and Ann lived quiet lives.
Oscar had turned both Mark and his mum down. Claimed he wanted some quiet, some time for himself without having to worry about or deal with anyone else. They'd protested of course, but Oscar was an adult. It wasn't like they could force him to do anything.
So here he was, alone in a flat with too barren walls. Logan had never set foot there, and yet Oscar could swear he could almost hear his still familiar footsteps. It was a stupid fake memory. Something his brain made up to comfort him — or maybe torture him. It didn't really matter which. I wasn't real. Logan had never had the chance to visit Oscar here. That didn't make it any better.
There was a small stack of boxes up against the wall filled with things that he'd taken from the American condo. He knew that the Sargeants were still paying rent on it. None of them were ready yet to clear it out completely. That would… that would have to wait for the new year. Then they'd decide what to do.
It was all too much.
The quiet of his flat. The quiet of his life after the funeral. Oscar hated it. Oscar didn't want to break it.
He just knew that he didn't want company, and that he wouldn't be good company anyways. It was better to just… wait out the holidays. he curled up on the couch in the dark with a heavy blanket to keep out the cold. He put on some podcast on YouTube and just… sat; existed in the white noise.
He didn't know how long he existed like that, didn't know how long it'd been since YouTube auto play lead to Christmas carols.
The buzzer at his door went off.
"Delivery for Mr. O. Piastri."
Oscar got up and went to the door, buzzing the delivery man in.
"Sign here, please."
"Of course."
"Have a happy Christmas, sir."
"You too."
A quick exchange. The delivery man didn't want to linger and that suited Oscar just fine. Oscar returned to his sad lumpy couch and steadily cooling blanket. The parcel that had been delivered was relatively small. A box inside of a bubble mailer marked priority shipping from the USA. The return address was Logan's childhood home in Fort Lauderdale.
He was slow opening it. If he left it, he knew it would just burn a hole in his brain like a forgotten cigarette. he just couldn't let things go, and it wasn't like he had anything to distract him anyways.
Still, he went slowly. Because it wasn't like there was anything else anyways.
As soon as he opened the cardboard box, it became evident that it had been Logan's mom who had packed it. There was a pretty lilac envelope on top of the contents of the box. He picked up the envelope, noting the single pressed orange blossom sealed over the flap of the envelope. He flipped it over. His name was penned on the front in Madelyn's elegant penmanship.
He laid the envelope to the side, turning instead to look at the contents of the box. Nestled in a nest of crinkled brown paper was a single plush ornament. It was a slightly lumpy snowman wearing a little yellow felt scarf. It had a slightly derpy, almost doodle style face sewn on. It didn't have any arms, just the two white blobs and a scarf.
It was cute in that pathetic 'it's so ugly and sad I have to take it home' kind of way.
It looked exactly like something Logan would have been absolutely charmed by.
Oscar didn't dare touch the ornament, instead, reaching with shaking hands to open the envelope. He carefully unfolded the expensive heavy stationery inside, taking in the same elegant script as was on the envelope.
Oscar,
I know the holiday season is feeling pretty rough right now — it certainly is for us. I understand why you have chosen to not spend the holidays state side, although I wish you would have. if you change your mind, know that you will always have a seat at our table. We're just a flight away.
Logan picked out the ornament for the family this year.
Love,
Madelyn
It was short, maybe too short to another person, but Oscar could see the way the ink bled in dots at the edge of the paper. Mrs. Sargeant had always been too kind to him. Kinder than Oscar deserved.
It was something that he'd known about Logan practically since they'd met. Logan's family wasn't all that religious, but they did have a few consistent Christmas traditions. The closer they got to the holiday season, the more Logan would gush about them.
He'd talk about baking and making gingerbread houses, about decorating the tree on December 1st exactly. How his mom always made an amazing Christmas dinner. His favourite tradition — the one he'd always talk Oscar's ears off about — was the yearly family ornaments.
Each year, someone would get to choose an ornament and the whole family would get one for their own Christmas trees. Logan had always been so excited for when it would be his turn to choose again. He'd only done it once before, choosing a shiny car shaped ornament. It was a nice tradition, helped build a sentimental decoration collection.
(When Oscar had married Logan, he'd been the one to choose the year's ornament. It was the Sargeants way to welcome him into the family.)
(He'd managed to find a needle felted koala ornament and Logan had thought that it was perfect. They were lucky the shop had had enough.)
It made Oscar's heart ache.
He gently brushed the snowman ornament with just the tips of his fingers. It was soft.
He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the burning in his eyes. He tipped his head back, blinking profusely when it didn't work.
Through the small window in his kitchen, he could just make out the fall of snow.