After We Collided (The After Series) (24 page)

“I love you, Hardin,” she says quietly.

“I love you, Tess,” I respond and lay my head against her chest.

My eyes are heavy as I feel her breathing slow, and I fall asleep listening to the steady thrum of her heartbeat.

H
ardin’s head is heavy on my stomach when the sound of my phone vibrating on the table wakes me up. I lift him gently, as gently as I can, and retrieve the annoying object. The screen flashes with my mother’s name, and I groan before answering it.

“Theresa?” my mother chimes through the receiver.

“Yes.”

“Where are you, and what time will you be here?” she asks.

“I’m not coming there,” I tell her.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Tessa, I know you are upset over this thing with your father, but you need to spend Christmas with me. You shouldn’t be at some hotel alone.”

I do feel slightly guilty for not spending the holidays with my mother. She isn’t the nicest woman, but I’m all she has. Still, I say, “I’m not driving all the way there, Mother. It’s snowing out and I don’t want to be there.”

Hardin stirs and lifts his head. Just as I’m about to tell him not to speak, he opens his mouth. “What’s wrong?” he says, and I hear my mother gasp.

“Theresa Young! What are you
thinking
?” she shouts.

“Mother, I’m not doing this right now.”

“That’s him, isn’t it? I know that voice!”

This is a terrible way to wake up. I move Hardin off me and sit up, covering my naked body with the blanket. “I am getting off the phone now, Mother.”

“Don’t you dare hang—”

But I do hang up. And then put my phone on silent. I knew she would find out sooner or later; I was just hoping it would be later. “Well, she knows we’re back to doing . . . us. She heard you, and now she’s freaking out,” I say and hold my phone up to him to show the two calls from her in the past minute.

He curls around behind me. “You knew she would, so really it’s almost better that she found out this way.”

“Not really. I could have told her instead of her just hearing you in the background.”

He shrugs. “It’s the same thing. She would’ve been mad either way.”

“Still.” I’m slightly annoyed by his reaction. I know he doesn’t care for her, but she’s still my mother, and I didn’t want her to find out like this. “You could be a little nicer about the whole thing.”

He nods and says, “Sorry.”

I expected him to have a rude comeback, so that was a pleasant surprise.

Hardin smiles and pulls me back down to him. “Would you like me to make you some breakfast, Daisy?”

“Daisy?” I raise my eyebrow.

“It’s early, and I’m not at my best to quote literature, but you’re grumpy, so . . . I called you Daisy.”

“Daisy Buchanan wasn’t grumpy. And neither am I.” I harrumph, but can’t help smiling.

He laughs. “Yes, you are. And how do you know which Daisy I’m talking about?”

“There are only a few, and I know you well enough.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and your attempt at insulting me failed miserably,” I tease.

“Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Mrs. Bennet,” he fires back.

“I assume that since you said
Mrs.,
you are talking about the
mother, not Elizabeth, which means you are trying to call me obnoxious. Then again, you
have
been off this morning, so maybe you’re saying I’m charming? I just don’t know with you anymore.” I smile.

“All right . . . all right . . . Christ.” He laughs. “A man makes one bad joke around here and he’s condemned.”

My earlier irritation dissolves as we continue our banter and climb out of bed. Hardin says to stay in pajamas, since we aren’t leaving the house. It’s a strange idea to me, though. If I were at my mother’s house, I would be expected to be dressed in my Sunday best.

“You could just wear that shirt.” He points to his T-shirt on the floor.

I smile and pick it up, pulling it over me and putting on sweatpants. I don’t remember hanging out with Noah in sweats, ever. I didn’t wear much makeup until recently, but I was always dressed nicely. I wonder what Noah would have thought if I’d shown up to spend time with him dressed like this. It’s funny, I always thought I was comfortable around Noah, thought I was myself around him because he knew me for so long, when in reality he doesn’t know me at all. He doesn’t know the real me, the me that Hardin has made me comfortable enough to show.

“Ready?” Hardin asks.

I nod and pull my hair back into a messy bun. I switch my phone off and leave it on the dresser, then follow Hardin out into the living room. The delicious scent of coffee fills the apartment, and we find Trish standing in front of the stove flipping pancakes.

She smiles and turns to us. “Merry Christmas!”

“It’s not Christmas,” Hardin says, and I shoot him a glare. He rolls his eyes, then smiles at his mother. I pour myself a cup of coffee and thank Trish for making breakfast. Hardin and I sit at the table while she tells us the story of how her grandmother
taught her how to make this type of pancakes. Hardin listens intently and even smiles a little.

As we start to eat our breakfast of
delicious
raspberry pancakes, Trish asks, “Are we going to be opening gifts today? Since I assume you’ll be at your mum’s tomorrow?”

I don’t know how to answer her exactly, and I start to fumble for words. “I am . . . actually I am . . . I told—”

“She’s going to Dad’s house tomorrow. She promised Landon that she would, and she’s really the only friend he’s got, so she can’t cancel,” Hardin interjects.

I’m thankful for the assist, but calling me Landon’s only friend is kind of mean . . . Well, maybe I am. But he’s my only friend as well.

“Oh . . . that’s fine. Honey, you don’t need to be afraid to tell me things like that. I have no problem with you spending time with Ken,” Trish says, and I can’t tell which one of us she’s speaking to.

Hardin shakes his head. “I’m not going. I told Tessa to tell them we said no.”

Trish stops midbite. “ ‘We’? They invited me?” Her voice is full of surprise.

“Yeah . . . They wanted both of you to come,” I explain.

“Why?” she asks.

“I . . . don’t know . . .” I say. Honestly, I don’t. Karen is so kind, and I know she really wants to mend what is broken between her husband and his son, so that’s the only explanation I have.

“I already said no. Don’t worry about it, Mum.”

Trish finishes her forkful and chews thoughtfully. “No, maybe we should go,” she says at last, surprising both me and Hardin.

“Why would you want to go there?” Hardin asks and scowls.

“I don’t know . . . the last time I saw your father was almost ten years ago. I think I owe it to myself and to him to see how he’s
turned his life around. Also, I know you don’t want to be away from Tessa for Christmas.”

“I could stay here,” I say. I don’t want to cancel on them, but I don’t want Trish to feel like she has to go.

“No, really. It’s fine. We should go—all of us.”

“You’re sure?” The worry in Hardin’s voice is evident.

“Yeah . . . it won’t be so bad.” She smiles. “Besides, if Kathy taught Tessa how to make those cookies, imagine how good the food will be.”

“Karen, Mum—her name’s Karen.”

“Hey, she’s my ex-husband’s new wife, who I’m spending Christmas with. I can call her whatever I want.” She laughs and I join her.

“I’ll tell Landon we’re all coming,” I say and go to grab my phone. I’d never have imagined that my Christmas would be spent with Hardin and his family—both sides of his family. The last few months have been anything but what I expected.

When I turn on my phone I have three voicemails, from my mother, I’m sure. I ignore them and dial Landon.

“Hey, Tessa, Merry Christmas Eve!” he greets me, cheery as ever. I can picture his warm smile.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Landon.”

“Thanks! First things first—you’re not calling to bail, are you?”

“No, of course not. Quite the opposite, actually. I was calling to make sure it was still okay if Hardin and Trish came over tomorrow?”

“Really? They want to?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Does this mean you and Hardin . . .”

“Yeah . . . I know I’m an idiot . . .”

“I didn’t say that,” he says.

“I know, but you’re thinking it—”

“No. I am not. We can talk about it tomorrow, but you aren’t an idiot, Tessa.”

“Thank you,” I tell him and mean it. He’s the only person who won’t have a negative opinion on this subject.

“I’ll tell my mom they’re coming. She’ll be thrilled,” he says before we hang up.

When I join Hardin and Trish back in the living room, they already have their presents on their laps, and there are two boxes on the couch that I assume are for me.

“Me first!” Trish says and tears the snowflake-printed paper off of a box. Her smile is huge as she takes out the tracksuit I got her. “I love these! How did you know?” She points to the gray one she’s wearing.

“I’m not very good at buying gifts,” I tell her.

She giggles. “Don’t be silly, it’s lovely,” she assures me while opening the second box. After she has a moment to see what’s inside, she squeezes Hardin tight and then holds up a necklace that says
Mom
, just like he told me. She seems to like the thick scarf he bought her as well.

I really wish I’d gotten Hardin something. I knew all along that I would go back to him, and I think he knew it, too. He hasn’t mentioned that he got me one, and both of the boxes on my lap say they’re from Trish, so that’s a huge relief.

Hardin is next, and he gives his mother his best fake smile when he opens the clothes she bought him. One piece is a red long-sleeved shirt; I try to picture Hardin wearing anything other than black and white, but I can’t.

“Your turn,” he says to me.

I smile nervously and pull the sparkly bow off of the first gift. Clearly, Trish is better at choosing women’s clothing than men’s; the pastel-yellow dress in the box proves it. It’s a light baby-doll style, and I love it.

“Thank you—it’s beautiful,” I say and give her a hug. I really
appreciate her thinking of me. She just met me, but she’s been so loving and welcoming that I feel as if I’ve known her much longer.

The second box is much smaller than the first, but the amount of tape used to wrap it makes it very difficult to open. When I finally tear through the packaging, I find a bracelet—a sort of charm bracelet unlike anything I’ve seen before. Trish is so thoughtful, just like her son. I lift it up and run my fingers along the rope-textured string to look at the charms. There are only three, each bigger than my thumbnail, two made from what looks like pewter, the other solid white . . . porcelain, maybe? The white charm is an infinity symbol, the ends shaped like hearts. Just like the tattoo on Hardin’s wrist. I glance up at him, my eyes moving immediately to his tattoo. He shifts and I look back to the bracelet. The second charm is a music note, and the third, slightly larger than the other two, is in the shape of a book. When I turn the book charm in my fingers, I notice something written on the back. It says:

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

I look up at Hardin and swallow the tears threatening to form. His mother didn’t get me this.

He did.

H
ardin’s cheeks are flushed. His lips hold a nervous smile as I stare at him quietly for a minute.

Then I practically jump over to where he sits on the easy chair. I nearly tackle him with my enthusiasm and my desire just to be close to this wild, crazy boy. Luckily, he’s strong enough to keep us both from falling over. I hug him as tight as I can manage, causing him to cough, so I loosen my grip. “It’s so . . . it’s just perfect,” I sob. “Thank you. It’s so thoughtful, and just unbelievable.” I press my forehead against his as I nestle into his lap.

“It’s nothing . . . really,” he timidly states, and I wonder at his casual tone—until Trish clears her throat from where she sits nearby.

I hurry off his lap. For a moment I forgot that we are not alone in the apartment. “Sorry!” I tell her and move back to my spot on the couch.

She gives me a knowing smile. “Don’t apologize, dear.”

Hardin stays quiet; I know he won’t talk about the gift in front of Trish, so I change the subject for now. His gift was so incredibly thoughtful. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect quote from any novel to engrave on that charm.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same”—it’s so perfect for the way I feel about him. We are so different, yet we’re exactly the same, just like Catherine and Heathcliff. I can only hope that we don’t share the same fate as
them. I would like to think that we’ve learned from their mistakes, somehow, and that we won’t allow that to happen.

I slide the bracelet over my wrist and slowly rock my lower arm back and forth, letting the charms sway. I’ve never received anything like this before. I thought the e-reader was the best gift ever, but Hardin managed to outdo himself by giving me this bracelet. Noah always gave me the same thing: perfume and socks. Every single year. Then again, I gave him cologne and socks each year. That was our thing—our boring, routine thing.

I stare at the bracelet for a few more seconds before I realize that both Hardin and Trish are watching me. Immediately I get up and begin to clean the small mess of wrapping paper.

With a chuckle, Trish asks, “Well, lady and gent, what shall we do for the rest of the day?”

“I feel like taking a nap,” Hardin tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“A nap? This early? And on Christmas?” she mocks.

“It’s not Christmas, for the tenth time,” he says a bit harshly, but then smiles.

“You’re obnoxious,” she scolds and swats at his arm.

“Like mother, like son.”

As they gently bicker, I get lost in thought and take the small pile of crinkled and torn paper and push it into the steel trash can. I feel even worse about not getting Hardin a gift than I did before. I wish the mall were open today . . . I have no idea what I’d get, but anything would be better than nothing. I look down at the bracelet again and run my finger over the infinity heart charm. I still can’t believe that he would get me a charm to match his tattoo.