He trailed off again, lost in thought. I slid my hand into his and prompted, “You started to say something about a Christmas morning?”

“Oh, yeah.” He squeezed my hand, resting his head on top of mine. “It was weird, now that I’m thinking about it, because it wasn’t normal. I was up early. My mom was sober. Mason was sleeping in. Our dad must have been already gone. But there was this peaceful feeling in the house. It was like we got a break, just for that morning. No one was mad. No one was hurting. No one was lying. There was no anger. I mean, it came in a few hours, but not that morning. I remember going to look at the presents. I sat down in front of the tree, just looking. I thought it was so pretty. I liked looking at them because it made me feel normal—like I had a normal family, a normal holiday. I knew it wasn’t real, but I liked to escape there. My mom came into the living room with me that morning. She brought hot chocolate and cookies, and she sat down with me and looked at the tree.”

I moved so I could look up at him. A smile played over his face as he spoke.

“She asked what I was doing, and I lied. I said I was planning which present to steal. Usually she’d get mad, send me to my room or something. I never cared. It was better to be alone than hear the anger take your mom away, you know? But that morning, she didn’t believe me, or she chose to ignore me, and she nudged me and pointed at one of the ornaments. ‘What do you see there?’ she asked me.”

He shook his head, as if he were back in that room talking to his mother. “’It’s a baseball ornament,’ I said. And she replied, ‘No, it’s one piece.’ I didn’t know what she was talking about, but she pointed to another ornament and said the same thing. That one was a picture of Mason in a frame, but she said it was the second piece. She kept going until she’d pointed out all of them. When she was done, she turned to me and asked, ‘When you put all those pieces together, what do you see?’”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I thought I was so smart. I answered, ‘A bunch of stupid-looking ornaments?’ But she said, ‘A life. Each of these ornaments signifies a memory. Look at them individually and you only see a small section. It’s like a puzzle. But when you put them all together…’” He raised his hands. “And she lifted her hands up like this, showing me the entire tree, and said, ‘This tree is our life story. All together it’s a masterpiece. And some day, you’ll go off and start your own tree. You’ll start making a whole new masterpiece.’”

“Logan,” I said softly.

He shook his head, his eyes hooded. “She told me she liked to stare at our Christmas tree, too, because it reminded her of our family’s story, and that always helped her. I didn’t know what it helped her with, and I don’t know if it continued to help her—I’m guessing not—but that morning, I had my mom. And it felt damn good. I got a little glimmer of what it’s like to feel a mother’s love.”

He looked at me then. “I don’t really know what you’re going through right now. You lost your mom, your ex-boyfriend is a jackass, your dad’s MIA, and I know your two best friends have left you high and dry. One left you in the literal sense.”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see the pain on his face. It was hidden in the deepest places where only someone who felt a similar pain could sense it. I did, and it brought up all my turmoil once again.

“Taylor,” he said.

He’d never felt his mother’s love except for that one morning. I’d felt my mother’s love so many times. So many mornings she’d woken me with pancakes for breakfast, made me a sack lunch even when I didn’t want it, proudly displayed my school pictures on the wall, went to any competition I was in. The tears were starting. I didn’t fight them anymore.

“I’ve heard people talk about you, and your ‘family’,” I told him. “Your brother, Sam, even Nate. I overheard some girls in the library talking about you, and they were jealous. You guys are so close, so tight-knit, and your walls are so high. No one can break ‘em down, and no one can climb over.”

His hand squeezed mine.

“I heard those girls saying that stuff, and I thought, even though I’d just lost my mom—and dad in a way—I was lucky. I had Jason and Claire, even though I know Claire isn’t that great of a friend, but I was actually kinda happy. You and I became friends—maybe more than friends—and I felt good. But now…” I clung so tightly to his hand. “I feel like I only have you, and I don’t even know what this is. Jason left, and I lost one more person in my life.”

He didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t looking at him anymore, but I felt him turn to me.

“I can’t cling to you,” I said.

“Taylor—” he started.

I shook my head, forcing myself to let go of his hand. “I’m in a place right now that’s not good, and I’m not going to be one of those girls who pretends this is more than it is.”

“Wait a minute—”

I had to be strong. I had to shut it down, shut him down. “It’s like I’m in a tornado right now, and instead of having something solid to cling to, I’m holding on to a tree branch. It’ll break, and it’ll be destroyed, and I will, too. Whatever this is, you and me, I can’t destroy it. I can’t.”

“You want space? Is that what you’re saying?”