Spending time with Edwin and Marti and even Lizzie is, well, perfect. The holiday has everyone cheerful and the days are full of playing in the snow and being lectured for smoking and the nights are for laughter and hot chocolate and everything you've ever loved about the winter.
The nights are silent, sitting out back with the snow drifting slowly down, writing more than you have in months. And, of course, the nights are for talking with Cam, voices hushed. He keeps sending you teasing, lascivious texts, and Marti ribs you every time your text tone chimes and a quick glance earns you a fierce blush. You feel like it seems like family, really, for the first time. You aren't sure anymore, but this is something close to happiness that's blooming in your ribs.
Casey has avoided you as much as possible, but as Christmas approaches it becomes more difficult. She seems put out, glowering whenever you're forced together.
It finally snaps when she interrupts your phone call with Cam; staring spitefully next to you while you struggle to ignore her and write with your boyfriend across miles and miles of quiet, snowy land. "Is everything alright," he asks finally. You've been glaring back at Casey and must have failed to respond.
"Peachy. Can I let you go, though? I've gotta deal with a rodent real quick." Casey's glare deepens, her eyes tiny slits, and she opens her mouth to retort when you hold up a finger. "I guess," Cam says, disappointed. "You sure everything's okay?" You hum an affirmation and then say, "yeah. All good Cam. I uh... I'll call you tomorrow. Love you."
At once Casey's eyes fly open, surprised. "Oh, yeah. Alright. I uh... I'll let you go then," Cam says before hanging up. You slide your phone into your pocket, bracing for an argument, when Casey deflates- all the fight leaving her at once- sighing deeply.
You're so mad; that she interrupted you, that she can still get to you while you're trying desperately to get over her, that she can start these fights but never wants to finish them. You start, this time. "You lied to your mom," you say simply. It isn't a question but Casey seems to consider an answer; reacting like it's a pop quiz. "No I didn't." She says, finally.
"You were seeing that blonde jock idiot," you say cooly, "and you told her you weren't seeing anyone. You even promised that if you were she would definitely know." Casey seems more confused, now, than ever. "Who, Kevin Louis?" She seems almost cagey, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "I wasn't seeing him. Fucked him at a party and got breakfast after. He's in one of my classes."
Now she seems almost bored. Bored of arguing and bored of fucking meatheads and bored of being here, with you. "And besides," she continues, "you just lied to your little fuckbuddy, Der." She regains her footing, seems more assured now that she's deflected the conversation on to you, given herself the upper ground. Your fists clench and you have to fight them to relax. You light a cigarette to distract yourself from your malice. "He's not just a fuck," you grunt from between groaning, clenched teeth. She has the nerve to laugh in your face.
She leans in to whisper in your ear, like it's a secret, "we both know who those songs are about. Who you think about at night. Don't be an idiot Derek. You'll always be mine. You aren't even a real man. Worthless, like fool's gold."
You step back like she's shoved you, like she's slapped you, like she's just bared her teeth and growled. You feel it like a knife in your chest, tightening and shredding away your restraint. She leans in, to whisper again or to kiss you but either way you've lost interest and you're long past the threshold on your patience. You shove her back roughly, sending her tripping back into the snow. She just starts laughing, and you leave to escape the wretched sound.
Christmas Eve finds you nestled in a blanket fort in Marti's room, watching cheesy movies but enjoying every minute of it. "What Christmas movie should we watch next, Smerek?" She asks, her voice soft and sleepy and small next to you, tucked under your arm. She doesn't even punch you very hard when you suggest Die Hard just like you do every other year. You pull her close and she says, a toughness in her voice that you don't recognize, "don't you ever leave me for a whole year again. Don't you dare."
Your only answer is to pull her closer, settling in to watch Love, Actually for the millionth time.
Christmas begins with you waking, on the floor in Edwin's room since your old room had been turned into a game room of sorts, to Edwin's confused gaze over the edge of his bed and the commotion of Casey and Nora screaming at each other.
They are standing in the kitchen, Nora's head tilted and her eyes a carefully practiced neutral while she scowls. "I absolutely will not have this right now, Casey. Whatever it is you're going through I refuse to let it ruin the holiday for everyone else. I'm surprised at your behaviour. Look at how selfish you're being." She says, hands on her hips and still holding the mixing spoon she'd been using to stir the hollandaise sauce for eggs benedict. Casey looks like she's about to open her mouth to retort when Nora's placid mask crumbles and her gaze becomes downright chilling. "I swear, Cassandra. I have never seen you act like this. And if you make me overcook these damn eggs you will regret it."
You flinch, even though the Mom Glare isn't directed at you it's just as powerful. Nora seems to realize that you've come downstairs, Edwin shrinking into your shadow, and she regards Casey with one final glance before returning to face the stove, stirring her sauce with vigor. Casey simply turns and brushes past you, knocking your shoulder and stomping up the stairs.
She doesn't come back down for breakfast, her seat like a black hole that every one, even Simon, glance at at least once. Even still, the conversation is easy and the kids are excited and you are too, honestly. It's no Halloween but you've always appreciated Christmas for what it is.
Afterwards, everyone tearing open their presents and George annoying everyone, especially Nora, by videotaping everything, Casey has sheepishly returned. She's quiet, enough so that Lizzie is shooting her strange glances constantly. Regardless, everyone is happy. Edwin is already a chapter into the book on quantum physics you'd picked up for him at the college bookstore, before he asks you to check out one of his new video games. You're standing to follow him upstairs when Casey clears her throat in the kitchen doorway. You meet her eye and walk over, she turns and heads straight through into the garage.
Dread is settling deep in your gut but you follow; a bad habit you've yet to break. She's waiting, leaning on the hood of Nora's car and toying with a box in her hands. Without even looking at you she shoves the box into your arms; you glance down and see the worn leather of your old jacket- the one she'd worn on Halloween- and a collection of old shit you'd given her and bought for her. Letters you'd written; pictures of the two of you looking like happier versions from another universe.
"Seriously, Casey?" You manage, leveling her with an unimpressed look. "Well I didn't think you'd want me to throw out the jacket," she says nervously, like she's steeling her heart, "and I don't want any of it. I can't do this anymore, Derek. You're the worst thing to ever happen to me." You try to laugh, but it comes out like a rough, heavy sigh. "Fine," you say and turn to leave.
"What, that's it? Fine? How the hell do you think this is going to work? We just never speak again? We're family and I can hardly stand to look at you. After all the shit we've done, the places we've done it. You're a goddamn wraith, Derek. Haunting me everywhere I go." She's losing it; a wolf whose sheep costume is worn thin and falling off. Her face is practically manic and she's shaking. "You are the worst parts of my life all rolled up into this fucking monster stalking me every where I go. How the fuck are we going to deal with this, huh? Come clean? Tell the family everything and what, alternate holidays with them? I fucking hate you."
She pauses too long so you cut in; constraining your voice to keep things quiet. "Don't you dare tell them. Obviously we've fucked up but there is no reason to drag more people onto our sinking ship." You're wild with anger, every second you've spent agonizing over your feelings for her coalescing into pure rage and she looks much the same, her eyes a challenge. "If you wanna play it that way, Case, here's how it's going to go down. We are gonna play nice for the fam, let them enjoy their goddamn Christmas, and before New Years I'll be on my holly jolly way back to Queen's. I'm going to go to class, practice with my band, and have a fantastic, incredible, amazing life and we will not interact at all. You won't talk to me, you won't come to my shows, we won't talk if we're both at a party. When we're outside this house it's over but if you can get your shit together even half enough to keep yourself from Grinching up Christmas, that'd be fan-fucking-tasitc." She's vibrating with her anger, seeming to glow with it. "Fuck Christmas," she says and you allow yourself to make a single good decision by just walking away. "Tell her no," Casey says to your back, cryptically, but you ignore her. You carry the box up to Edwin's room and toss it with your suitcase.
He gives you an odd look, glancing at the box, before throwing a controller at your head and telling you that he got bored of waiting so you're already losing. You allow the video game to distract you, but your energy is too pent up to pay attention and you lose repeatedly before standing up to go smoke; Edwin lauding himself a champion as you accept defeat.
Cam calls. His voice is cheerful, making your heart rate calm finally. "Merry Christmas, Der," he says. Your reply must not be convincing at all, because he asks, "what's wrong?" with a frown etched into his voice. "Nothing really, just got into a big fight with my step sister. I'm glad you called, really."
"Step sister?" Cam repeats, an odd inflection in his voice. "You mean Casey McDonald?" Your blood turns to ice or something worse like gasoline. "Yeah I had a class with her last year. She talked about you all the time. Said you were starting a band. She's the one who gave me your number, actually." It feels like you've been turned to stone, you aren't even sure if you're breathing and Cam seems to not notice that you've gone deathly silent. "Wait a minute. Was she the one you fought with on Halloween?" Suddenly you can breathe again but it's only long enough to draw in a harsh gasp, your throat gone dry and tight. "Yeah," you choke out but Cameron seems to be expecting you to elaborate. You would, but you don't know what to say. "Well it sounds complicated," he says slowly, unsure of the tone in your voice. "Should I let you get back to your family," he says and you're cutting him off, practically begging him not to hang up.
"I can't wait to see you. And the boys." You say after too long of a pause. "I just want to come back." Cameron hums, his voice still carrying that odd inflection. "Are you sure you're alright, Der?" He asks, his voice small and honest. "Yes," you say. You hope it sounds more sure, and it must because Cam drops it. "Well I've gotta go," he says after a while of small talk, "my mom is calling me. Listen though, I hope you're alright. I love you, Derek. Merry Christmas."
You're in a daze. Feeling like a bell that's just been rung for hours. You're smoking absently, feeling like your brain is far away across miles and miles of barren tundra. Your phone rings again, an unfamiliar Toronto number, and you answer before even thinking about it. "Hello," a cheery and oddly familiar voice says, "is this Derek Venturi?" It honestly takes you a second, remembering how to speak, before you hear a distant voice telling you 'this is a business call.' "The one and only," you say, feigning confident swagger. The voice laughs, bright and if you could just place it; you swear you've heard that laugh a hundred times before. "Hey! This is Emily. Emily Davis, from high school? Casey's friend?"
You're taken aback, haven't heard from Emily since you'd graduated but you can't believe you didn't recognize her voice. You'd dated after all, and it had actually been a pretty good relationship. "Of course!" You say, "Emily. I thought I recognized your voice. What's up?" Now you're feeling more at ease but somehow things seem to be falling out of place. This seems like a business call but it's from Casey's best friend? On Christmas? "Anyway!" Emily says, clearly getting serious, "Someone sent me demos and videos of your band. You may not know this, but my dad works for a pretty big label. I slipped them to him and he's interested in setting up a meeting with you guys!" You're in shock. Maybe you died. It's like the entire planet falls out of sight far beneath you and you're in the void of space but that tiny, distant voice urges you to say something, anything.
"Oh. Wow that's uh- wow. Thank you so much? That's so uh... wow. That's amazing." She's laughing again, loud, and you chuckle faintly. "But!" She says, trying for her professional voice and failing to reach it. "There is one condition. My dad absolutely refuses to meet with you until you pick a name. He thought it was cute at first but it's been long enough." You still feel like at any time she's going to tell you it's all a joke or a mistake, but the moment doesn't come. You're thanking her over and over again until she leaves you to "let the other three idiots know." It takes you almost an hour, however, to realize that it has to be a surprise when you get back. It's the best of both worlds; it will be a great reveal for your best friends and it gives you time to look into Emily and her mysterious father.
It turns out that Emily was serious; her father works for a mid-size company called 'Interrobang ‽ Records' and the other artists signed to them are having a slight surge in success, you even recognize one song from a TV show Cam had been watching last month. They don't have any bands quite like your sound, but it seems to be eclectic enough for you to still fit under their label. In all honesty, you think it seems too good to be true. Still, you remind yourself, you haven't even told the boys or met with him or, god forbid, seen a contract. It's not like, a sure thing, you keep saying.
But still; it almost seems just crazy enough to actually work. Like maybe this whole year had been leading up to an actual catharsis. Despite all outward bravado and attention seeking; you've never really fancied yourself a main character, never thought that you would amount to much of anything, really, but it's Christmas night and you're laying on your favourite brother's floor and grinning at the ceiling, listening to his deep even breaths and chanting in time with them, 'this is real this is real this is real.'
You're heading home before New Years, chomping at the bit to get home to Kingston and tell Cameron and Jacques and Fäde about the miracle of a gift you all got this year. Marti is glum, but her birthday is in March and you tell her at least ten times before heading out that you wouldn't miss it for the world. You didn't tell any of them about the call from Emily, don't want to jinx it before you even have a meeting actually set up on the calendar.
How should I know / After wringing out my memory? / And all that my hands send away / Oh, right before asking to find an answer I knew.'
Queen's seems bigger, somehow, looming ahead of you but you don't dwell on it, too distracted by the pent up energy and the long drive and the secret you've yet to let slip. Sin Soup appears like a mirage and you feel a sudden swell of affection for the entire stupid, shitty building. Home. You park and practically fly across the lawn, bursting up the steps and through the door. Cameron and Jacques look over from the couch, their faces splitting into matching grins and you hear a commotion from Fäde's room right before he throws the door open, looking like he'd just woken up and wrapped in his sheet. They move on you suddenly, crowding you and Jacques hoisting you up a few times before all starting to speak at once.
"Guys shut the fuck up I have amazing news." You say and they quiet down, sitting around the kitchen table while you make a show of pulling out and lighting a cigarette. "Boys," you say, finally, "what would you say if I told you that for Christmas, my ex girlfriend got us a meeting with a record company."
They look unsure, Jacques even laughing and saying, "I'd say 'did you hit your head on the way in?' and then check you for a concussion, friend." Cameron looks shocked, staring at you with wide eyes and Fäde's eyebrow is doing the thing where he isn't sure whether or not to call you an idiot. You raise your hand, say, "swear to fucking Christ boys, this is not a drill. Interrobang Records." Fäde's eyebrow finally settles on pleased surprise. "Interrobang?" he asks, "aren't they like cool and new and doing well? What the fuck do they want with us?" Everyone looks at each other, quietly, until Cameron seems to come back into his body all of a sudden.
"Shut up you assholes," he says, his voice betraying excitement, "this is fucking amazing. We rock." You all cheer, then pour shots to celebrate. "Oh! But we need a name before her dad will meet with us." You say, after downing the smooth, cold liquor. The guys start thinking, going quiet but all at once you think of Casey, of how odd she'd been acting and of her friendship with Emily and of the things she'd said during your fight. "But don't worry, boys. I've already got that covered too. Merry fucking Christmas, huh?"
Cameron corners you in your room, that night. You're both drunk from too many shots. He pushes you back onto your bed, climbing over you boldly and saying, "I missed you a lot," in a low voice. He kisses you before you can respond, he already knows anyway, and you kiss him back reverently. You were only gone 9 days but it felt like a month without the warmth of his skin under your fingers and the feeling of his lips on you. His lips are traveling south when you stop him with a hand on his shoulder, holding up a condom with a devilish grin. "Wanna take this a bit further?" You ask, sounding braver than you feel, but Cameron's smile restores your confidence. You roll him over, pulling yourself above him and kissing his lips and his neck and his chest. You work your way down as he reaches into your bedside table's single drawer and tosses the bottle of lube down the expanse of the bed to rest next to your right knee. The entire long expanse of his body is before you like a landscape and you take time exploring his pale skin and the sharp angles of his hips before you kiss the flushed head of his dick. He sucks in a gasp, whispering your name but making it sound like begging, so you oblige him, sliding your mouth over the length of him while your hands fumble with the bottle.
You slick your fingers without looking away from him, enjoying the feel of him on your tongue; like velvet over steel. He cants his hips and you nudge his knee aside with your shoulder, and he gasps when you slide a finger in; then two. You use your free hand to slide on the condom, well practiced motion making it easy.
It feels bizarre but everything in your body is screaming at you to do this; you feel like you're combusting with the urge to fuck so you work your fingers in harder, spreading and crooking them and making Cameron shake around you. He's trying desperately to be quiet but failing spectacularly and it makes you feel a surge of pride that you can do this to him; he's always such a careful and reserved person but the two of you make each other wild. He groans and says, "for fuck's sake Derek if you don't fuck me right now I'm firing you as my boyfriend." You've never been one to turn down such a polite request, so you pull yourself up and he wraps a leg around your back, pulling you towards him. You kiss him again, telling him everything you struggle to say and he makes a frustrated noise so you push forward, sliding into him smoothly. He's so fucking tight you think you might die, and he's grasping at your shoulders hard enough to leave crescent shaped cuts like a constellation of moons and biting down on your neck so you fuck him as hard as you can.
It's hours later, the two of you curled up on your bed and Cameron says, his voice barely a whisper against your back, "do you think we can really do this? The band?" You lay there for a while, considering your answer, before you mumble, "of course I do. You said it yourself, we fucking rock." The two of you laugh yourselves to sleep. Right before you tumble into happy dreams of tours and stardom, bizarrely, you think of that one stubborn rose still blooming late into the fall. You think about perseverance and strength and bright, courageous colour in the middle of the gray weather, and you smile.
New Years Eve is a quiet affair; the band deciding against a big blow out party and opting instead to drink with just the four of you. It's nice, relaxed, Cameron tucked tightly against your side and under your arm and you all watching movies and taking shots and smoking. As the night draws on, Jacques gets a call from a girl he's been seeing for a few weeks and leaves to see her, promising to be back before midnight. It feels like an empty promise but you give him the benefit of the doubt.
Fäde keeps putting on more and more obscure cinema; Cam and you becoming increasingly confused attempting to follow plots in other languages. You and Cam kiss through the entire third film while Fäde ignores you.
Jacques returns around 11:30, surprising you and Cam who have progressed to hooking up on the couch while Fäde buries his face in a book and the movie plays loudly enough to drown out the sounds of Cam going down on you. It had started as an experiment; seeing how far you could go before Fäde fled to his room but, as he warns you, "I've spent years living in hostels with dozens of horny teens. I can tune out anything." Cam had caught your eye and winked, mouthing "challenge accepted" before burying his face against your throat.
You choke out a laugh, eyeing Jacques' scandalized expression before he turns and walks straight to his room. Grabbing Fäde by the back of his sweater and dragging him along. Since you've finally got the room to yourselves, you fuck on the couch and then form a casual distance, watching the black and white movie on screen and listening to the two actors argue in German.
Jacques and Fäde return with a minute to spare, counting down in between making fun of you and Cameron. The new year arrives and it feels like promise and potential, as you pull Cam in and kiss him silly, turn to see Jacques pressing a messy, open-mouthed kiss to Fäde's cheek and the room filled with laughter and joy. It feels like fate, like the four of you are meant to be here. Like the stars themselves had mapped Fäde's travels across Europe and conspired to lead him to Vancouver, and later Toronto, and later still to Queen's. As if Jacques' parents had no choice, emigrating to Quebec before Jacques could even speak; as if his rebellious move to Regina ("because it sounded just like a good time, no?") had been predestined, meant to be a horrible time so he would consider college to escape.
You've never been a believer in fate, but right now, sitting with your three best friends, it feels to you like you never had a choice. Like everything in the last five years was leading up to this moment. The first minutes of this brand new year are full of magic.
'Oh I imagine things / Through cold eyes of sleep / And I want things / Back more than I do / My life is dull / And my body aches / Oh this blood in my mouth / Makes me hate / How we both end up.'
The first few weeks of January are quiet. You and Cameron are working furiously- so full up of your overconfident bravado that neither of you can even conceive a world where you don't get a record deal- trying to fill up the notebook or at least pour out enough material to scrape together an album's worth. You already had plenty of material, but there's something in you saying, 'it isn't enough, it isn't enough, you need to be ready. This is real this is real.'
You talk to Emily a few times on the phone, setting up the appointment with her dad at Interrobang, and she seems so happy it's infectious; you always leave the calls feeling warm and bright like the sun. Like a star. The boys keep asking about the name but it's tucked away inside- deep, as you war over whether or not it's the right choice, but it just sits so well in your mouth that it has to be- only passing through your lips when you're alone and sometimes flying from the lips of Casey's ghost still haunting you.
You can hardly focus in class, once they start up again, and it keeps nagging you that you should. Despite being a straight D student in High School you'd gotten into Queen's on your essay and test scores alone and, once here, had actually applied yourself. Turned your D average into a solid B with relatively little effort. Not, of course, that you're a genius. Far from it; but you've always found a certain power in playing the fool.
Despite that nagging sense telling you to pay attention and turn in assignments, that voice never stops echoing in your head. That this chance at Interrobang is going to pay off and you'll have to leave Queen's to focus on your band anyway, so why bother? Your meeting is in the first week of February, and the days until then are ticking by so slowly you'd swear it's already been another year. Soon enough, though, it arrives.
Emily greets you at the door, shouting your name as you and the band walk towards the impressive building that houses- among other offices- Interrobang Records. Her curly hair is pulled back into several thick braids and her dark, burnished eyes crinkle up into a wide grin. It's been years, but you recognize that bright smile anyway and stride up to her, pulling her into a hug before remembering that she actually works here and pull back, opting for a handshake. Emily's smile never falters as she introduces herself to the three men standing in awe, looking up at the building.
The inside is, if possible, even nicer than the large and gothic exterior. The lobby of Interrobang has deep, mahogany furnishings and silver fixtures and it looks straight out of a magazine; had in fact just been featured in Kerrang! last month as part of a feature on the burgeoning new label taking over the airwaves. Mr. Davis, as it turns out, doesn't just work for the label; him and two of his friends started it after enjoying small success in Canada in the 80s. The thought makes you hysterically confident and nervous at once. His office is large, tasteful, and the man exudes power like cologne. He stands, rounds his desk to meet you at the door and introduces himself with an outstretched hand. After introductions he makes his way back to his large, leather seat and regards you neutrally. "Well boys, I must say when Emily brought me the demos I was skeptical but it was seeing video of you on stage that piqued my interest. You have quite the chemistry, and decent talent." You're all just looking at each other, maybe in shock, and occasionally you catch Emily out of the corner of your eye, shooting you thumbs up.
"Thank you, sir," you say and Mr. Davis holds up a hand, a fond smile tugging at his mouth. "Please, son. Call me Davis." You nod. "We've got a lot of material," Cameron offers up faintly from next to you, his right leg jumping up and down like all he wants to do is pace the room, and you place your hand on his knee, soothing, to slow it down. "We do," you say, "we've just been writing since Emily called, honestly." He chuckles, glances to his daughter. "Pretty confident, eh?" He says, not quite a question. You just nod again, meeting his dark eyes, and he laughs outright. "All right boys, I like your style. Emily, bring me that contract we drew up, will you?" Fäde and Jacques share a look of incredulous disbelief and Cameron is gripping your arm in a tight vice. Emily slides over a stack of papers, which Davis signs before sliding to you. "Take your time, boys. Read it over." Everyone looks to you and you just shrug, say, "I trust you. And Emily," and then you jot your name down, passing it over to Cam. You still can't tear your gaze from Davis, but you can feel a grin warping your features.
"Now tell me boys, who do I have the pleasure of funding?" Davis says, looking at each of you in turn, and then following everyone else's gazes to your grinning face. You've been waiting for this moment for weeks, maybe even your entire life, and now that it's here you're more certain than you've ever been. "Fool's Gold," you say, your voice more even than your heart.
