Page 7 of Ribbons and Roses
“Uh-huh,” he hums. “And?”
“And you won’t be busy this year,” I point out, still stroking his beard tenderly. “You’ve said it yourself. All the business dealings have been sorted out and things’ll be slow ’til next year.”
“Phi…”
“Jon, the kids would love it if you came with us.”
“Dante doesn’t even know who or what Santa Claus is yet.”
“But Dom does. Rena does. You know your little girl, Jon. She’s going to want you there.”
“You mean your mini me?”
“I mean the adorable little girl you spoil rotten every chance you get.”
He grins, his eyes sparking again with genuine affection. “She deserves the best. Just like her mother.”
“So give her the best. Be there with her when she visits Santa Claus. She’s been too young to appreciate it the first two times. This year she’s four—she’ll be more excited,” I explain softly, scratching at his beard. I sense the change in his demeanor ashis defenses fade. “We’ll make a family event out of it, with pictures.”
“Alright,” he concedes before pressing his lips to mine. “Alright, I’ll be there. But you know I’m not… I don’t do the festive stuff. It’s not…”
As he trails off, I wait patiently for him to sort through his mental block. If there’s been one area Salvatore has struggled with throughout our relationship, it’s been expressing himself and his emotions.
The emotions he sometimes suppresses.
He’s done the work to improve over the years, but there’s still times like these where he gets stuck. He gets lost in his own head or erects a wall to prevent himself from divulging things he’s programmed his mind never to say.
Usually, it has to do with his upbringing. His family.
…his father.
He almost never speaks about him. I don’t ever push him about it, understanding the complexity of the relationship they had.
But as Salvatore struggles to continue, I know it’s what’s on his mind.
Guilt niggles away at me, posing the question of whether Sasha’s right. Maybe I should accept the holidays will never be something Salvatore enjoys. He shouldn’t have to pretend simply because we have children now.
At the same time, another part of me aches for him. The fixer in me wants to help somehow. Heal the trauma that runs deep and show him the holidays can be given a new meaning. It doesn’t have to evoke the same terrible memories from his childhood.
New memories can be made; happy memories of us and the kids.
“I know you’re not a holiday person, Jon,” I say after his long pause. He leans back against the pillows as I curl into him. My hand slides up from the side of his jaw to his hair, my touches still soothing and gentle. “But you can talk about it with me. You can tell me. Maybe… maybe it’ll help to get it out.”
“What else is there to say, Phi, but it’s the same shit? The holidays were just like any other day in the Mancino household. Just with a Christmas tree and some bright lights strung up. It didn’t stop him from popping me in the mouth and making me spit up my own blood.”
“He was a weak man exerting himself over his wife and son.”
“I know that already. Doesn’t mean I’ve got to like Christmas... or any other holiday.”
“Jon—”
“I’m gonna head downstairs and check in with security,” he interrupts, sliding his arm out from under me. He gets up out of bed and slides into his pair of sweatpants but remaining shirtless. “You get ready for bed without me. I might be a while.”
“But, Jon?—”
“Get some rest.” He drops a kiss on my brow before he’s at the door within a few quick steps.
I don’t even have a chance to utter another word. The door snaps shut, and I find myself sitting up alone in bed, with only the sheet to cover myself.