Chapter Text
December had always been one of Montague Finch’s favorite months. Even though lots of people preferred the warm summers or the cool, beautiful autumns, Monty had always loved the snowy, chilly winters. In Northern Manchester, it only snowed so much in a year and he enjoyed watching it through his window on the coldest of days.
Not to mention Christmas. Monty loved Christmas. While he wasn’t very social when his family visited every year, there was something about the holiday that made him happy. Maybe it was the large family dinners that always felt so warm and welcoming, despite Monty being quiet and reserved so often, or maybe it was the gifts, though he never owned much of anything or thought there was much purpose in receiving gifted items he didn't need.
Either way, Monty had always loved December, and this December was like any other. His Aunt Sue and Uncle Richie would come visit with their kids, Mia, Julia, and Rose. His oldest cousin, Jacob, would arrive just in time for dinner with his newest girlfriend– Monty didn’t remember her name but he was sure he’d be reminded of it today. And of course, his Uncle Buck would bring his new wife, Christina, and her son.
Only two things about this Christmas were different. The rain was one. It had never rained during one of these gatherings until today. Monty wished it had been snowing instead, since that would be more on-brand with the holiday. The other difference was the feeling that Monty had noticed that morning. It wasn’t a bad feeling, he didn’t think it was a good one either. It was more like an odd tightness in his stomach. Monty decided to ignore it, assuming it would go away eventually.
Monty stood up from the couch, where he had been sitting and watching the rain out the window.
“Mum?” Monty turned his head to ask his mother, who was sitting on the other end of the sofa, scrolling on her phone and waiting for something to come out of the oven. She’d been preparing food since that morning. “Do you need my help getting anything ready?” He asked, unconsciously cocking his head to the side.
His mother looked up. She had a curvy build and shoulder length, black hair with a few gray streaks, that was currently thrown up in a messy bun. The hair contrasted her pale skin. “Could you go check on your grandma?” She smiled, probably at his offer to help. “Take a mince pie with you, I’m sure she's hungry around now.”
Monty nodded, but didn’t say anything else as he grabbed one of the flaky pies from the table and headed for the stairs. Monty didn’t enjoy talking when he wasn’t necessary. Once, when his grandma asked why he was always so soft-spoken, he said he’d rather stay silent than say something he’d regret. She told him that was smart. He simply nodded.
At the top of the stairs he gently opened the door to his grandmother's bedroom. The room was small and dimly lit by one lamp. It had a constant aroma of dove hand soap mixed with something lavendery. He stood next to the bed, looking down at her as she laid there. She was on her back and Monty could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He could tell she was awake.
“Grandma?” Monty quietly spoke into the silent room. He stared at her in the bed, watching as her eyes slowly opened. She had short gray hair, the color of salt, though it used to be black. Monty thought he got his looks from her. He had the same gray-blue eyes and black hair that had been trimmed into a buzz cut. He also had slightly pointed ears, an odd trait he hadn’t noticed anyone else in his family to have. His mother used to call them his “elf ears” although Monty wasn’t a fan of them or the nickname.
“Hello, dear.” She spoke softly, turning to her side. Her real name was Marie Finch but everyone had taken up calling her grandma, even Monty’s uncles and aunts who were not her grandchildren, even some of the neighborhood kids back when she used to go outside every week.
She was older now, and although she still tried her hardest to be active and talkative, she struggled. She would only come downstairs once a day if Monty was lucky.
Monty loved his grandma more than anything. She’d helped his parents raise him, getting him dressed in the mornings and providing for him. Now, without her help, he sometimes struggled to do simple tasks, such as putting clothes in the mornings. Monty’s mom tried to help him sometimes, but most of the time she kept to herself. When Monty was seven, he learned that his parents didn’t originally intend to have a kid. His mom got pregnant in her early twenties and tried her hardest to take care of Monty for a while, until she eventually got bored of it. As a result, he tried to care for himself as much as possible, in hopes of not being a bother to anyone, especially his grandma. He knew it was his turn to take care of her instead.
“Is it Christmas already?” She asked softly.
Monty nodded, setting the pie down, “Mom asked me to bring this to you.”
She continued, either ignoring or not noticing the food. “The whole family will be here tonight celebrating. . ." At some point her mind must have randomly changed course, “. . . and look at you, 10 years old. You’re growing up so fast. Must be a big day for you. . .first double-digit holiday. . .”
Monty still smiled, but this smile felt different, melancholic in a way. Monty didn’t get sad often, in fact, he struggled to show a lot of his emotions, often seeming stoic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, it must’ve been ages ago, maybe when he was a toddler. He often didn’t have anything to be sad about, though, which he thought must have been why he never cried. Just like how he didn’t often have anything to scream about or anything to smile about. Which must have been why he didn’t do those things much either.
Monty thought about her words. It was his first holiday being ten, wasn’t it? He guessed he hadn’t really noticed, he didn’t think most people cared about that occasion. But, he hoped that it could help explain the weird feeling that he had noticed this morning anyhow. Anticipation, he declared.
His grandma had shut her eyes again, but reached her hand out to hold his. He grabbed her cold hand in both of his. “Tell everyone I said hi, would you, dear?” she softly asked.
Monty nodded, “Okay, I will grandma. I love you.” he said, but she was already asleep, the mince pie left forgotten on the nightstand.
Monty let go of her hand, setting it at her side before leaving the room. He quietly shut the door before heading back downstairs. His home wasn’t huge, but it was plenty of room for him, his parents, and his grandma. Sometimes he felt it was odd that he could be in the same house with his father so often, yet only see him a few times a week.
His father, a stocky man with dark brown hair and rectangular framed glasses, spent most of his time working in his at-home office, meanwhile, Monty spent a lot of time in his room or outside in the nearby “Manchester Heights Forest.”
Monty came downstairs to the sight of his Uncle Richie placing gifts under the Christmas tree and his Aunt Sue talking to his father, who must’ve come out of his office when he heard them arrive. His dad shot him a small smile. Meanwhile, Uncle Richie’s three daughters sat on the couch, whispering amongst themselves. They did that a lot and Monty had noticed it at other family gatherings over the years. He was never sure if they were whispering about him or not. He’d hoped not, but he knew it was likely. Monty had always felt like an odd one out in the family. He thought about other things they could be whispering about, like what presents they got, trying to distract himself from the thought of being judged. He knew that they still loved him, even if they thought he was weird. And he knew his grandma loved him. And despite everything, he knew his parents loved him. Even if he struggled to show it, he knew he loved them too. Monty glanced at them, then out the window at the rain, which continued, a bit harsher than before.
He couldn’t quite figure out why today he felt different. He thought maybe he had a cold coming on. His chest felt tighter when he woke up this morning, and he felt like something inside of him was changing now. He assumed it must have been puberty, he knew that was what his mother would tell him if he asked her about it.
Monty spent most of the afternoon watching more of his family arrive. One by one they walked in the door, carrying more presents and food. When he greeted each new person, he made sure to let them all know that Grandma said hello too.