Free Winter Break by Merry Jones

emphasizing the shadowy angles and gables of the empty fraternity next door. The street hadn’t yet been plowed, but a dark SUV pushed its way through the snowy street – hadn’t she seen it before? Why would anyone be out in this weather? Where could they possibly need to go?
    ‘Harper?’ Vivian knocked as she opened the door. ‘Good. You’re up.’ She came inside, arranging her hair, hesitating before she spoke. ‘Look. I hope you’re not going to make a fuss about the tree. Lou bought it with the best of intentions, so you could make the place more festive—’
    ‘I told you before. It’s fine.’ She tried to sound sincere.
    ‘Don’t be like that.’
    ‘Like what? I said it’s fine.’
    ‘Your tone. I can tell you resent it. Why can’t you ever be appreciative when people try to show their concern for you?’
    Their concern for
her
? Harper bit down on the inside of her cheek, stifling her response. ‘I am appreciative, Ma. Thanks.’
    Her mother folded her arms, cocked her head. A lock of bluish auburn hair flopped over her forehead. ‘Tsk.’
    Tsk? Really? ‘Ma. The tree makes you happy. It’s fine.’
    ‘Good. I knew you’d change your mind.’ Vivian stepped over to Harper, pecked her on the cheek. ‘What did that policewoman want?’
    ‘Nothing. She was just getting back to me about last night.’
    Vivian nodded, turned to leave. ‘Dinner’s ready. Lou’s been cooking all afternoon. Pot roast.’
    Pot roast? So that was the seared-flesh smell. Harper looked out the window at the snow. If there was one dish Harper disliked more than cow liver, it was pot roast. How was it possible that Lou had chosen to prepare those two meals on consecutive nights?
    ‘Come and eat.’
    Harper couldn’t eat anything that smelled like that – she almost gagged at the thought. But she didn’t want to start another argument. ‘Damn, Ma. I didn’t realize.’ She grasped for an excuse. Lied. ‘I ordered pizza.’
    ‘You what? When? Why would you—?’
    ‘Just now. When I got up. I didn’t think Lou should cook every night.’
    ‘Well, you might have asked first, before going ahead. You shouldn’t just assume things. How did you know we’d even want pizza?’
    Harper didn’t respond. Didn’t want to start the discussion about asking people what they wanted before deciding on a meal. Or a tree.
    Vivian sputtered out of the room. ‘Lou – wait’ll you hear this . . .’
    Harper waited until she was on the steps, reporting the news of the pizza. Then, staring into the snow, she picked up her cell and called Napoli’s.
    She was thinking about artichokes and shrimp, not paying attention to the view. But she was positive, or almost, that as she repeated her address, in an upstairs window of the empty fraternity next door, a curtain moved.
    Showered and dressed, Evan was practicing his harmony while trying to straighten his tie without reopening the wounds on his knuckles when he heard the thunk from upstairs. He froze. Heard nothing more. Tried to convince himself it was nothing. Maybe the kid had come to, rolled over and fallen out of bed.
    It was nothing.
    Evan began singing again, checking himself in the mirror. Thick wavy hair, strong jaw. Classic, patrician looks. Frankly, he couldn’t blame the gay kid for being attracted to him. Singing, he stepped forward and back, turned to the side, spinning through moves from his a cappella group. Rehearsing. It was a tradition for The Quadtones to do Christmas shows at old people’s homes. The old codgers loved it, sang along, clapped their hands like little kids.
    Evan checked his watch. Time to go. He grabbed his striped blazer and headed for the door.
    Thump.
    It was faint this time. Muted.
    The kid was conscious. Damn. Must be banging on the wall.
    Another thump. Another.
    Christ, what was he doing?
    Evan took his cell phone, called Sty. Got voice mail. Fuckin’ Sty, too busy getting laid to answer his damned phone? So what was he supposed to