Free A Cunningham Christmas by Ember Casey

December 23rd
    WARD
     
     
    The tree is up.
    The stockings hung.
    The wreaths placed on every door, the garlands hung across every window.
    But it’s not enough.
    Over the past month, we’ve turned this estate into a holiday wonderland. This house is so huge I thought I’d never run out of things to do. But I have. The place is an explosion of tinsel and ribbons. The gardens are covered in twinkling lights. And now I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself.
    Most of my initial restoration projects around the estate are done, so I’ve settled for any job I can find around here. Replacing the moldings. Resurfacing the tubs. Refinishing the hardwood floors. Anything to keep myself busy.
    That’s why, two days before Christmas, I’m in a guest room at the back of the house with a can of paint. As long as I keep working, as long as I keep pushing this paint roller back and forth across the wall, I won’t go crazy. I can keep myself from worrying about what’s really on my mind.
    “I think that wall is as blue as it’s going to get.”
    I jump at the sound of Lily’s voice behind me. The roller slips out of my hand, and it hits the wall, then my jeans, then the wall again as it clatters toward the ground. I lunge for it—out of instinct more than anything else—but it’s probably about the stupidest thing I could have done. I slip on the plastic sheeting beneath me, and my foot hits the open paint can, sending it flying. Paint flies everywhere, spilling over the plastic and onto the carpet beyond.
    I curse and grab the can, but it’s too late—there’s a giant sky blue patch on the carpet, and the paint is soaking in fast.
    “Here.” Lily’s suddenly on her knees next to me, holding the old T-shirt I’ve been using as a rag. She tries to wipe up the paint, but it’s obvious that the damage is done. The shirt does nothing more than push the paint around, making the stain even bigger.
    “I’ll go grab some towels,” she says.
    “Don’t bother. It won’t help much at this point,” I say, sitting back in defeat. “I’ve been wanting to tear up this carpet anyway. This just gives me an excuse.”
    “Sorry,” she says, dropping the T-shirt and leaning back on her heels. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “Nah. It’s my fault.” I wipe my hand across my forehead, then realize that my fingers are covered in blue paint.
    “I… uh, I just wanted to let you know that dinner’s ready,” she says. “You weren’t answering your cell.”
    I pat my pocket—getting sky blue fingerprints on the denim—before I remember that I left my phone charging on the nightstand.
    “Yeah. Sorry about that,” I say, looking at the mess around me. As much as I’d love to leave this disaster area and dig into some grub, I know I shouldn’t. “Save me some, okay? I should probably clean this up.”
    “Want some help? I’m sure Calder and Lou won’t mind waiting for us.”
    I shake my head. “You go on. I still need to shower and everything. There’s no reason you guys should have to wait for dinner just because I was clumsy.” When she doesn’t get up immediately, I add, “Tell Lou I’m sorry.” I begin to roll up the plastic sheeting, hoping to contain the mess as much as possible.
    Lily seems to get the hint because she doesn’t argue. But I can still feel her watching me.
    “Is everything… okay?” she says. “You’ve been… I don’t know, jumpy this week. Distracted.”
    “I’m good,” I tell her without looking at her. “Just tired.”
    She sits there for a moment longer, then sighs and gets to her feet. “All right. I’ll keep a plate warm for you.”
    I wait until she’s halfway down the hall before I release the plastic sheeting and sit back again. She’s right. I am jumpy. And I’m not sure how to change that.
    My hand goes to my other pocket—the one where I don’t normally keep my phone—and I press down on the small lump inside, reassuring myself that it’s still