Vegas Boys

Banner by Insane Gravity. <3

"So what do you want for Christmas?" asked Brendon abruptly.

I sighed and let my eyes flicker shut as the Boogieman tortured Santa Claus on the enormous plasma TV in Dad's living room. Christmas was only a week away, and Brendon and I were sprawled out in the living room, watching (ironically, considering the origins of our relationship) The Nightmare Before Christmas on the first Thursday night of Winter Break.

Normally we would have been at his apartment, but he had stopped by to pick me up after getting off his shift at the Smoothie Hut, and by the time he reached my house, it was raining hard outside. Rather than brave the bad weather, we decided that we might as well just hang out at my house until it let up.

Brendon sat at one end of the huge leather couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table; with my head on a pillow in his lap, I was laying across the entire length of the couch. We weren't really paying attention to the movie at all--we were both more concerned with the vague conversation we'd been carrying on, and just each other's presence. And Brendon had been stroking my hair for the past hour, so I was already getting sleepy, too.

"I dunno," I mumbled finally, in reponse to his question about Christmas presents. Then I thought of something: "Do Mormons even celebrate Christmas?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes," he laughed, but I thought I detected a slight edge to his tone.

"Hmm," I murmured thoughtfully.

I was just about to ask him what he wanted for Christmas, in that case, but then he said, "But I'm not Mormon anymore, so it doesn't matter anyway."

"You're...you're not?"

"No."

I turned my head slightly, so I could see his face: it looked pained. "Like, for real? You just gave it up?"

He nodded grimly. "Yeah. For real. I gave it up."

"So..." I paused, thinking, as I rolled over a little so that I was lying on my back instead of on my side. "So...do you still believe in God?"

I studied his face for a reaction, but he gave none--which scared me more than any amount of screaming and crying and cursing would have, considering the fact that Brendon was probably the most expressive person I had ever met in my life. "I don't know, Kels," he said quietly.

I frowned a little. "Do you believe in...anything?"

"I believe in you." He smiled sadly. "Does that count?"

I managed to smile back at him, as reassuringly as I could manage. "I mean, I don't care," I was quick to add. "I don't care about your religion or lack thereof, it doesn't matter to me. I just think...it just seems like that would be awfully lonely."

His strained smile softened a little at that. "Don't worry, Kels. I'm not lonely--I've got you."

I felt myself beginning to blush as something powerful swelled up inside of me; it warmed me from the inside out, and made me smile despite the sadness I felt for him. I had never really come to realize it before, but Brendon was all alone now--the band and I were all he had. The thought of him, a high school senior already living on his own, made me sad, but the thought of me being his guiding light made me just as happy.

We were just sitting there without speaking, smiling wordlessly at each other, when the doorbell rang.

Dad was up in his room getting ready for some kind of banquet he was attending later that night, so the duty of answering the door fell to me. Reluctantly, I rolled off of the couch and Brendon, muttering, "I'll be right back," and making my way out of the living room and into the foyer.

I pulled my hair down out of its messy ponytail and tried to smooth it out a little, and I was suddenly almost as self-conscious of the sweatpants and loose T-shirt I'd been lounging around in all day as I was of my exposed rainbow-striped toesocks. Undoubtedly, whoever was at the door was one of my father's associates coming to speak to him about the upcoming event, and there were only three rules I had to follow when dealing with Dad's business partners: 1) always be polite and respectful; 2) never ask questions you shouldn't; and 3) look nice.

Obviously, the third rule would just have to be broken tonight.

So I sighed resignedly and opened the front door, expecting a disapproving businessman and receiving the exact opposite:

My mother.

-----

For the first time in my life, I truly understood the phrase "lost for words."

I couldn't really form any coherant thoughts to string into a statement at all, so I just stood there--gaping, I'm sure--opening and closing my mouth again as I struggled to force words out. It wasn't that there were no thoughts in my head--there were just too many: they ran together and stacked up one on top of the other, so that they became a jumbled mess of mixed thoughts and emotions that utterly clashed, and I was torn.

She was just standing there in the doorway, beaming at me--I don't think I'd ever seen her look so happy in my life. Part of me was instinctively glad to see my mother, and yet part of me cringed and shrunk away from the woman I now associated with such negative feelings.

"...Mom," I finally choked out.

"Hi, honey!"

Before I could say anything else, she closed the gap between us and pulled me into a bone-crushing embrace. It wasn't so bad, though; the familiarity and nostalgia hit me like a brick in the face, and I felt myself beginning to tear up as she told me how much she loved me, how much she had missed me.

She finally released me and I quickly wiped my eyes on the back of my arm and shut the door behind her, against the freezing December air. She looked good, I noticed--or better than she had when I had last seen her, at least: her hair, which was the same peculiar shade as mine was, seemed more vibrant, and her smile was genuine, and there seemed to be more color in her face. She had gotten her hair cut shorter, to just below her jaw, and she was wearing an old-lady sweater with a shiny faux-jeweled Christmas tree pin on the front. She was different now; she was happier.

"Oh, honey, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, pulling me into another hug and pecking me on the cheek. "I missed my baby so much!"

"I missed you, too, Mom," I mumbled into her shoulder, and I knew, even as I said it, that it was true. I had missed her--even if I had gotten angrier with her than I had ever been with anyone in my whole life, even if I had wished time and time again for another mother. The truth is, she was my mom, and I would always love her and always miss her no matter what kind of ridiculous shit she put me through.

She pulled away from me again, gripping my shoulders and holding me away from her at arms length, examining me. "Well, I see your wardrobe hasn't changed much," she remarked, but her pale blue eyes were sparkling.

"It's Christmas Break, Mom," I told her, rolling my eyes. "Of course I'm not gonna get all dressed up--"

"Oh, I know, I know!" she said hurriedly, dropping her hands from my shoulders to clap them together excitedly. "New York's all decorated for Christmas, and it's so pretty--oh, honey, you're going to love it there!"

I had been feeling a sort of wistful affection for my mother, smiling patiently at her as she bobbed up and down happily; but then, as those words sunk in, I felt my smile fade and my whole face blanche. "Wha--New York?" I stammered.

"Yes, honey, New York--Chris and I found an apartment, and it's right outside of Manhattan, and, oh, sweetheart, it's so nice! You're going to love it there, I just know it!"

"Wait, hold on," I stopped her. I could feel my pulse begin to race as I suddenly realized what her visit meant. Why hadn't it hit me when I first saw her standing there? "I'm--you're taking me to New York?"

Mom just stared at me for a moment, her smile frozen into place. Then she laughed a little, as if my question was so stupid that it must have been a joke. "Well, of course, honey," said Mom, and I could detect the slightest hint of annoyance and confusion beneath her sugary tone. "I'm taking you home."

"But--but--" My mouth was dry, my heart was hammering in my chest, my whole body was trembling. I swallowed hard and said, "This is my home now."

But my voice was faint, and Mom was too caught up in her own excitement to notice my weak protest. "Chris is back home holding down the fort, so it's just gonna be us girls on the flight back. I can't wait! There's so much to talk about..."

"Mom--"

"Oh, honey, you're just gonna love it! There's so much stuff to do! There's a ton of little restaraunts, and there's a bookstore and a coffee shop and a hair salon and a fashion outlet and a theatre, just on our street! And the schools there are so good, we've already enrolled you in the spring semester, and there are so many extracurriculars to choose from--"

"Mom--"

"And you'll have your own room," she went on, oblivious to me, "and a little balcony all to yourself where you can see all the way over into New Jersey! And the apartment is so nice--we got it for a lot cheaper than we normally would have, because Chris--"

"Mom!" I interrupted her sharply, and she finally stopped jabbering and listened to me. But she was still smiling like a little girl at Christmas, and I couldn't quite bring myself to crush her hopes just yet, so I asked quietly, "When are we leaving?"

"When are we leaving?" she repeated, confused. "Well, tonight, of course!"

"To--Tonight?!"

She just nodded happily. "Isn't it great?"