Chapter 4: Silent Night

Jasper

Monday, December 4, 2023

Forks, Washington

All morning I glance at the clock, the back of my mind keeping track of the exact minute. My morning starts earlier than Alice's, which has left her with taking Evie to daycare after I've already left. Last week, she'd barely made it to work as she dealt with finding Evie emergency care with her cold.

Thank god, my dad was available.

I'd felt horrible that I'd missed Alice's calls. Hearing her messages later had felt like getting punched in the gut.

I love my daughter more than anything, but almost nothing has been harder than navigating parenthood.

The only thing harder has been my complete and total feelings of inadequacy. Evie needs Alice in ways she doesn't need me. Her demand is a physical toll on Alice, and my wife has to bear the brunt of that alone. On top of it all, now Alice has to go back to work because I can't even provide enough for my family.

I feel like such a failure.

It's a task to keep my mind on my lecture that morning, but when I get no panicked text or calls from Alice, I assume all went according to plan and Evie is with the sitter while Alice is off to work.

It takes everything I have to resist calling Alice, just to make sure.

Usually, this time of year, my wife is a glittering, glowing image of Christmas. She's had us decorated for weeks, she's got all the Christmas sweaters out, and she's made at least six dozen cookies to pass out to everyone we come in contact with. Usually, we're curled up after work drinking eggnog and watching a long list of Christmas movies every night.

But not this year.

We've hardly decorated anything, our Christmas sweaters are still in their vacuum sealed garment bags at the back of the closet, and neither of us has turned on the oven for any reason other than to heat up a leftover casserole for dinner.

Christmas magic hasn't come to the Cullen house on Sycamore Lane.

"Mr. Cullen?"

I look up at my students, surprised to see Tyler raising his hand in the middle of their silent reading. "Yes?"

"I was just wondering if you were doing the toy drive again this year?"

I internally wince. I usually have the toy drive flyers up the day after Thanksgiving, but I haven't done a single one yet so far.

"I don't know, Tyler…" I start.

"Cause me and the guys," Tyler presses on. "We were talking about taking my truck to Port Angeles and pooling our money to get some toys for the kids this year."

Tears burn in the back of my eyes and I blink at the expectant faces of my class. The kids are all watching me, and I can recognize the sparkle of Christmas magic behind their eyes.

They're just waiting on me to usher it in.

I clear my throat. "Tyler, that sounds like a tremendous idea," I say, my voice thick. "We'll get the flyers up today."

To my surprise, several of the kids cheer. It brings the tears to the surface faster, and I blink, turning my back to the class as I pick up my white board marker.

I take a deep breath, trying to control the tears before I clear my throat and start my prepared lecture.

…

It's a long day at work, made longer by Tyler and his friends asking if I would sit in as a faculty advisor as they coordinate and plan the toy drive. I'm tremendously proud of the kids for the work they are carrying on, but with each tick of the clock past my normal departure time, I feel my body wind tighter and tighter.

I don't want to leave Alice alone to deal with Evie after work.

Almost two hours later, the kids have a plan and flyers made that they've hung around the school. There is a look of contentment and pride in their work as the kids pack up to head home, and I wish I could share the sentiment, but my mind is on my home, on the daughter who wants nothing to do with me and the wife who I keep failing.

I nearly knock into some of the kids in my haste to get out the door to my car.

The drive home isn't long, but today it feels like nearly an hour as I get stuck behind a logging truck in the middle of the road.

There is no way around it, and I sit in my car, fingers drumming on my steering wheel as I prepare myself to hear all the ways I've let down Alice today.

When I finally get past the truck, I feel like I might have a heart attack, I'm so wound up.

I get to our house, wincing when I note that all our neighbors have lights up, shining bright in the dimming evening, while our house remains dark, uncelebrated, nearly swallowed by the growing shadows.

I pull into the driveway and barely remember to grab my bag as I race out of the car and into the house.

Inside is just as dark and cold as the outside.

"Alice?"

There is no response as I sling my bag onto the coat hanger by the door. Alice should be home by now. There is no reason for her not to be. "Alice?"

I move into the house, too worried to kick off my shoes or jacket.

I round the corner of the living room to find Alice passed out on the sofa, Evie gurgling in pack-n-play beside her.

My heart sinks in both relief and simultaneous annoyance.

"What are you doing, little elf?" I ask, picking Evie up. The moment she's in my arms, she starts crying, and I hear Alice groan on the sofa.

"What are you doing?" Alice asks, pulling herself up into a sitting position. Her hair is flat on one side where her head was pressed against the cushions.

"Evie was alone," I tell her, trying to soothe my screaming daughter.

"I was right here," Alice says, reaching up for the baby.

I hesitate, not wanting to pass her off, but Alice takes her from my arms and settles her in her own grasp.

Almost without looking, Alice lifts her shirt and sets up Evie in the cradle of her arms until my daughter is nursing, her cries abruptly cut off. Alice's head flops back on the sofa, her eyes closing.

"I'd finally gotten her to settle," Alice says, not looking at me.

I wince, feeling guilty for disrupting their apparent peace.

"I didn't know," I said, shaking my head.

Alice's eyes open and she looks me over. "Why were you so late?"

It's not an accusing tone, but I feel the accusation anyway. I shrug. "I was needed to sit in as an advisor as the kids got a committee together to run a toy drive," I tell her.

Alice's eyes narrow. "Jas, you tracked mud into the house!" Her voice is loud enough that it startles Evie, who immediately starts crying.

I swear, turning to see the tracks I've dragged in. It doesn't matter that I rushed in worried about my family, no. All Alice cares about is the fucking mud.

I storm back to the entry to kick off my shoes as Alice soothes our daughter. I pull off my coat and scarf and hang them up before heading back toward the living room.

"What's for dinner?" I ask, my frustration turning to anger.

"Whatever you make," Alice hisses, standing from the sofa.

I storm into the kitchen, my emotions swelling and growing harder in me. Having nowhere to vent them, I open the fridge a little too hard, making the glass jars rattle. Evie is still crying in the living room, and each wail out of her mouth shoots down my spine, making me more and more agitated.

I push around a few containers in the fridge, then realize Alice hasn't gone grocery shopping like she said she would, so we have nothing in.

I slam the fridge door shut just as Alice comes into the kitchen.

"Don't slam the door!" she shouts at me.

"We have no food," I snap back at her.

She shoots me a withering glare as she opens the cleaning cabinet door. "Then go get some," she hisses through her teeth. Evie is still crying in the living room and I can barely think, I'm so worked up.

"What are you doing?" I demand, wondering why Alice isn't making Evie feel better so she'll stop crying.

"I'm trying to put cleaner on the mud you tracked in before it stains!" she screams, slamming the cabinet door shut. She stomps out of the kitchen and I'm so angry, I feel like I can't breathe.

I storm out of the kitchen, past Alice who is on her hands and knees cleaning up my mess. It makes me feel a million times worse.

"I'm getting food," I snap at her as I grab my coat and stuff my feet into my shoes. I don't wait for her to respond as I storm out of the house.

It's only when I'm in my car, driving away from the house, that I finally take a breath. On the radio, Silent Night comes on and tears race to my eyes. Alice's favorite Christmas song. We haven't listened to it once this year.

The tears come so fast, I have to pull over. I put the car into park as tears come pouring out of me, hot and ceaseless. Everything is a mess, everything is wrong, and it is all my fault.

Christmas is ruined this year, and it'll be all because I am a failure of a father, a husband, and a man.