Chapter Fourteen

After all the presents had been doled out, my parents turned to Claire to let her go first. The kids always got to open their presents first, one at a time from youngest to oldest until they were all gone. Then the adults opened theirs (to not much of an audience since by this time the kids are already off playing with their new toys).

Now that all of the kids know the truth about Santa Claus, we get to open our presents on Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day, my mother makes her famous pancake people, which she used to make for us as kids. It's the one day a year she doesn't make just regular pancakes, so it's always a special treat.

Claire ripped out the red and green striped wrapping paper and revealed a movie I guess she wanted. She started waving it around and squealing, so I couldn't really tell the title. She tossed it aside and sprang up to her feet to give our parents a hug and kiss. Margo went next and opened up a beautiful turquoise sweater. She seemed appreciative, but usually kids want toys, not clothes. The sweater was instantly tossed aside and forgotten a moment later as she eagerly looked among her stack of presents to what could contain a toy. The rest of the kids then took turns opening their gifts, with Nicky receiving a skateboard, Vanessa getting a makeup set, and the triplets getting different video games for each of them.

Once the kids' gifts were all opened, they actually tried to sit for the adults' turn to open gifts, but they didn't last longer than me opening an iPod from my parents. "Thanks!" I said excitedly, immediately taking it out of its package.

Stan opened his sweater from me, and then leaned over to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, sweetie."

I was eager to open up his gift, and I suddenly grew impatient as my dad opened the ties I got him, and my mom opened perfume from all the kids. Finally it was my turn again. "I wonder what this is," I said, as I plucked Stan's gift from the floor. I glanced at him to try to see any traces of what it could be, but his face remained expressionless. I daintily tore the wrapping paper off of end and peeled it back to reveal a long velvet box. My heart began to pound, and I lifted the box and saw a simple gold necklace with a tiny flower charm. "It's beautiful," I breathed honestly, and I struggled to get it on.

I turned to my mom, lifting my hair so she could get the clasp. The necklace hung neatly along my collarbone, ending at just the right spot above what little cleavage I had. I faced Stan to show the necklace off. He gave me an appreciative glance, but he didn't offer any real compliments, which was a bit of a disappointment.

I thought it was very nice of my parents to get Stan a little something, and he approached the present with uncertainty, as if he were afraid it was a bomb that would explode. It turned out to be a perfectly nice white collared shirt. "For when you break out into the real world of work next year," my mother said with a tight smile. "I guessed at your size, but there's a gift receipt in there in case it doesn't fit."

I could tell that the present immediately annoyed Stan, but I gave him credit (I guess) for letting the feeling pass quickly before replacing his annoyance with a smile and thanking my parents as genuinely as he possibly could.

When all the presents were opened, and we were left with the mountains of torn wrapping paper that once concealed our expression of love for one another in a gift box form, my father and Stan went to the rec room to join the boys for another round of video games, and I helped my mother clean up the mess. "Isn't that always the way?" my mother commented, stooping to big up some green wrapping paper with candy canes on it.

I smiled at her. "Always leaving us to clean up the mess?" I asked knowingly.

"No. Stan getting you a present that seems like the right thing to get, but not putting any meaning into it at all. "

The next day I got up early and tiptoed downstairs where I could hear clattering in the kitchen. My mother was already pouring some batter onto the griddle, dressed in a baby blue robe and matching slippers.

"Morning," I said, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

I didn't bring up her comment from last night. It bothered me, but I also knew that she was probably still a little upset with Stan, and to be honest I probably was too. Still, I didn't necessarily agree with her. He had gotten me a beautiful necklace; how could that not have meaning?

Vanessa stumbled into the kitchen moments later, and wordlessly slipped into the dining room to set the table. I was aiding my mother as she slid the finished pancake people off the griddle and onto the huge platter I was holding.

I carried the finished pancakes into the dining room and started to place them on the green ceramic plates Vanessa was laying out. "Nice necklace," she said, glancing at me. I hadn't taken the necklace off because I wanted to show Stan just how much I appreciated it. Despite what my mother said, I think it held plenty of meaning.

"Thanks," I replied, wondering for a moment if she was being serious or sarcastic.

I heard tiny footsteps behind me and I saw Claire come in and take her usual seat before resting her head on the table. I suppressed the urge to laugh. It was funny how she would manage to get up before all of us on Christmas Day when she was younger, and could now barely stay awake. "Good morning, sunshine," I greeted her.

She mumbled what I supposed was a reply, followed by a much more audible, "The pancake smell woke me up."

The rest of the family soon followed, filtering into the kitchen and waiting eagerly to be able to dig into their pancakes. It was only after almost everyone was seated that I noticed Stan was missing.

"Mal, do you want to wake up Stan and let him know breakfast is ready?" Mom asked, coming into the dining room with a gravy boat filled with warm maple syrup.

I ran into the rec room and stood by the fold out couch. Stan was sprawled out, dead to the world, snoring loudly. I nudged the bed gently, but Stan didn't stir. "Stan?" I said. Nothing. "Stan?" I tried again, louder this time.

He opened one eye, looked at me, then squeezed it shut again. "What?" he asked.

"Breakfast is ready, and we're all waiting for you."

"I'm not hungry."

"Come on, Stan. You know I told you that this is a tradition in my family. My mother always makes her pancake people and I'd like you to join us."

Stan rolled over and said, "First of all, the key words are 'your family', which doesn't include me. Second, what the hell are you? Twelve? You want me to get up at the crack of dawn to eat some stupid pancake people?"

I raised my chin defiantly, willing myself not to get upset. "Yes," I replied. "I would like that very much."

Stan sighed deeply, then slowly pushed himself up. "I can't believe I'm doing this shit," I heard him mutter. He swung his legs around the side the bed and got up. "Let's get this show on the road," he said, sounding like he was about to spend three hours at the opera.

At least he's coming, I told myself, as my thoughts drifted to Chris. He probably wouldn't complain about eating pancake people.

I gave everyone a sheepish smile on Stan's behalf. "It looks like the fold out couch is more comfortable than we thought!" I said, hoping to brighten him up.

Everyone let out an appreciative chuckle, with the exception of Stan, who grumbled but didn't say anything. He slumped into an empty chair and propped his head up on his elbows, as if trying to keep from nodding off.

Thankfully, the rest of the meal went by smoothly, although this was probably because Stan said exactly three words, and that was to ask Margo to pass the syrup.

After breakfast, Stan pulled me aside and whispered, "When do you want to leave?"

I stared at him, shocked. "Not right now," I replied. "It's Christmas Day after all. I was thinking we could head back tomorrow morning. It's not like I have school this week."

"Well, some of us have to work, you know."

It was the first time he actually spoke about work. I don't try to hide my surprise. "You've never mentioned work before," I said.

"Well, I guess I can't really pretend that I'm spending my days in class now, can I?"

His words came out harsh and cold. I flinched. "I'm just wondering when all this happened," I said.

"It's a new development," he replied, with an odd smile on his face.

"So what do you do now?"

"What does it matter? I got a job now don't I?" Then he catches himself. "Look, I work in construction. It gives me the ability to work when I want. I make enough money to live off for a few months, and then I go to work again. It's very flexible."

I briefly wondered how you could be in construction without having any actual muscle definition, but then chided myself for thinking mean thoughts. Outwardly, I merely nodded and told him we could leave later that afternoon if he had to work the next day.

We joined my family in the living room. They were already seated watching A Christmas Story, which was playing all day on TV as it usually does on Christmas Day.

After the movie, Stan got up and made a big show of stretching. "What a great movie! Whaddya say we hit the road now, Mallory? We should try to head back early to beat traffic." He looked at me as if to say "Don't you dare disagree with me."

My mother gave me a disapproving stare, but she didn't say anything.

"Um, yeah, you're right," I said, not sounding very convincing. I could feel the anger and disappointment build up inside me. Hadn't I told him we would leave later in the afternoon? Why did he have to go and try to ruin another holiday with my family?

Stan and I were on the road no more than an hour later. I was sullen for half the ride before Stan finally decided to talk to me. "What's wrong with you?" he asked. As if he didn't know.

"Nothing," I muttered. I didn't want to lose my temper with him. I didn't want to trigger another slap. Unfortunately, I was so frustrated with him I was having a tough time keeping my emotions in check.

"Are you pissed that we had to leave early?"

I continued to stare out the window silently.

"Mallory! Come on, quit being such a baby and talk to me!"

"Yes I'm mad!" I shouted, unable to hold it in any longer. "I'm mad because you knew how much this meant to me! I'm mad because I feel like this is another holiday that I've left my parents feeling disappointed in me! And I'm mad because you don't seem to give a shit about me or my family!"

"Look, I came didn't I? You said you wanted to spend Christmas with your family and you did! What more do you want?"

I sighed. "Nothing," I said, going back to staring at the window.

He yanked at my arm and forced me to look at him. "Don't turn away from me," he said warningly. "You better stop being such a little bitch."

If I was a smart girl, I would've stopped right then and there. If I wasn't so heated up already, I would've just muttered an apology and pretended everything was fine. But I was way beyond being reasonable at that point. "Oh yeah? And what if I don't? Are you gonna smack me again? Because that's your solution to everything right?"

I knew the instant the words were out of my mouth I'd gone too far. "Why you little—" He veered the car over to the side of the road, in the breakdown lane. Several cars behind us honked, and Stan merely held up his middle finger until he got to the side of the road. "You think you're really tough don't you?" he said, coming so close to me I could still smell syrup on his breath.

Suddenly, I realized I was terrified. What had I done? I cowered toward the door. "I'm sorry," I started lamely. I started to furiously back pedal from my earlier comments.

But the damage had already been done. Stan was furious. He grabbed my wrists forcefully and shook me. "Why do you make me do this to you, Mallory? Why?"

He smacked me hard. I fell back against the door, clutching my face. I could already feel a welt start to form. My eye started to swell, not allowing the tears to squeeze out. I felt his hand come down again, this time behind my head. "Stan, stop!" I yelled.

"Why do you make me do this?" he shouted again. I looked up just in time to see him raise his hand. I cringed, bracing myself. He lowered his hand and exhaled noisily. "Mallory, I—oh my god, what have I done? Mallory, honey, please—" He gently put a hand on my arm but I shook him away.

"Don't," I said. "Just drive."

The drive was endless. My head and cheek throbbed. I sniffled, tears silently slipping down my cheeks and spilling onto the hands that were pressed in my lap. I had to leave him, I decided. I couldn't keep up with this behavior anymore.

Stan pulled into a parking space outside his apartment and turned to me. He appeared resolute for a moment, but then he narrowed his eyes. "Now you listen to me, Mallory. I didn't mean to hit you again, but don't go running and telling your little friends about this. Or worse, the cops. Because if you do, trust me, you'll be sorry. You won't say anything now, will you?"

I stared at him, too afraid to even speak. I shook my head.

"That's my girl. You're still my girl aren't you?"

I nodded.

"Remember your promise?"

I looked at him, unsure of what he meant. Slowly, I shook my head again.

"You told me you would never leave me. Remember now?"

I nodded.

"I like people who keep their promises. If you break your promise, you'll just make me mad. Now, we can work this out. You just have to be a good girl. Can you do that?'

I nodded.

"Good. I love you, Mallory."

Merry Christmas, I thought to myself miserably.

Somehow, I managed to keep it together through the night. I felt as if I was walking in a haze. I can't make eye contact with Stan. I just went through the motions and pretended I didn't feel violently ill when he put his arm around me, or caressed my face. "We'll have to take care of that," he said when he touched my cheek.

I turned away ever so slightly. "I don't blame you for being upset with me. But you have to know how much I love you Mallory. I don't mean to hurt you, it's just you get me so mad sometimes. You understand, right?"

I nodded again, because it was the only thing that I could do to appease him.

I managed to find my voice for a second. "Is it okay if I sleep in the guest room?"

He looked at me and ran his finger along my jaw line. I shivered. "Of course."

I made an excuse to go to bed early, telling him I didn't feel well. Then I shuffled into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. The gigantic red welt on my face stood out, forcing me to look away. I took my contacts out and splashed my face with water, feeling the sting as it hits my cheek.

I crept into Stan's room and removed a blanket and a pillow from the bed the tiptoed down the hall into the guest room. I settled on the blanket and stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then I rolled over and cried myself to sleep.

I kept my promise to Stan. I didn't tell Meghan or Betsy. I didn't even tell the cops. He didn't say anything about not telling Chris.

I marched to his dorm, ignoring some not so subtle stares from passersby. I knocked on his door. "Mallory!" he exclaimed as he threw open the door. "What are you doing here? I didn't think we were supposed to talk to each other." He stopped, taking me in. "What happened?" he asked. "Did you hit a table again?"

"Can we talk?" I asked, avoiding his questions.

He gave me a curious look, but shrugged. "Yeah, hold on, let me get a jacket."

Moments later we were walking the campus, the backs of our hands brushing against each other. I instantly felt comforted.

"Stan hit me," I said quietly, keeping my eyes on the floor.

Chris stopped walking. "He what?" he asked.

"He hit me," I repeated. "That's what happened to my face. Last time too."

Chris started to shake. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

"And you're still with him?"

I let out a pitiful whimper. "It's a long story."

Chris grabbed my hand. "Mallory, listen to me. No one should ever make you feel as if you deserve to be hit. Do you hear me? This guy is an asshole, and you need to leave him as soon as possible."

"He threatened me!" I wailed, feeling myself lose control again.

"Then you go to the cops," Chris said calmly.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because," I said, realizing I didn't really have an answer. I didn't want to go to the cops. Something was holding me back. "Please," I continued, turning to him with pleading eyes. "Please, just keep this between us."

Chris stared at me for a long time. Then he reached out and touched my face. His touch was warm and made my insides all mushy. "Oh, Mallory," he whispered. "I could just punch this guy for doing this to you."

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I could feel myself giving in. "Can you hold me?" I asked desperately. "I just want to feel safe for a minute."

Chris put his arms around me wordlessly. "I would always protect you," he said into my hair. "You deserve better, Mallory, you know that."

I nodded, letting the tears continue to fall. I turned to him. "I know that Chris, but please, just respect my wishes on this."

Chris turned my face towards him. My heart started to beat faster. "I can't see you like this," he said quietly. "I…I care about you Mallory. It kills me inside to think that you're hurting. I just want the hurting to stop, and I plan on doing anything I can to make sure that happens." He leaned down and kissed my lips gently.

I literally felt myself melt into him. I kissed him insistently, craving his soft lips. It feels so different than kissing Stan. His kiss is tender and warm, not wet and cold. "Mallory," Chris murmured. "Mallory, I need to be with you."

I kept kissing him, reaching behind him and putting my hand behind his head, pulling him closer to me. Everything felt so perfect; I wanted to kiss him forever. Things were changed now, and I knew that in that moment I wouldn't be able to stop seeing Chris. I wouldn't be able to stop wanting to kiss him and feel him all over me. In that moment, I knew I was beginning an affair, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not.