Chapter 32 [YS: Twin brother]

Christmas has a way of pulling every family back together, smoothing over whatever arguments and grudges had piled up over the year.

Families spend the rest of the year waiting on this one stretch of time, just for the chance to actually sit still together for once.

Today was exactly that kind of day. The whole house had been decorated, a modest little tree standing in the corner of the living room strung with lights that blinked. Me, Georgie, and Dad did most of the decorating, and I was proud of my handiwork. Christmas had officially arrived, and the entire house had settled into that particular festive mood that only shows up once a year.

We'd already gone through the whole gift exchange that morning. Georgie and I had pooled our money together for a joint present to everyone. Sheldon got an X-Men action figurine — Wolverine — since he'd recently gotten hooked on comic books, and I figured he'd appreciate it.

Georgie grumbled the entire time about spending good money on Sheldon, muttering something about how the brat didn't even say thank you properly. He was right, but it would've been wrong to exclude him as well.

"He's gonna open it, say something insufferable, and then still go and accept the gift," Georgie predicted, and honestly, he wasn't far off the mark.

Missy got a Barbie doll, which she immediately declared to be, in her exact words, the best one yet. She'd already gotten a few in her collection. Mom got a bottle of perfume, and Dad got a brand new fishing rod that turned out to be a bit pricier than either of us expected. Meemaw got a sweater, plain and simple, though she still made a show of acting thrilled about it. She pinched our cheeks.

We settled in around the dining table for the main event, plates already piled high with all the holiday classics laid out before us.

Funny thing about growing up in Texas: the average American eats something like fifty-five pounds of beef in a year, but around here, we could probably work through that in a couple of months, especially once Meemaw's smoked brisket entered the picture.

"This is amazing, Meemaw," I said, already going back for a second helping.

"Course it is. Best brisket in the whole damn state of Texas, and don't you forget it," Meemaw said, beaming with pride.

"Connie, one of these days, you're gonna have to hand over that recipe," Dad said, only half joking.

"One of these days," Meemaw said, giving him nothing to work with.

"Come on now, you can't keep a secret like this locked up forever," Dad pushed.

"Means that much to you, does it?" Meemaw asked, clearly enjoying herself.

"Mary and I hadn't even been dating a month when she brought me over for Sunday dinner. One bite of that brisket, and I knew right then I was gonna marry this woman," Dad said, completely serious, not a hint of a joke in his voice.

"Well, thanks a lot," Mom said dryly, though she was smiling.

"So it was like snow white but he kissed meat rather than lips" Georgie whispered to me, and the two of us had to bite back a laugh.

"Tell you what. Go grab yourself a pen and paper, and I'll write it down for you," Meemaw said.

"Wait, seriously?" Dad was up out of his chair faster than I'd seen him move in years, practically jogging toward the kitchen drawer. Those evening walks were clearly doing something for him.

Meemaw scribbled something down on a scrap of paper and slid it across the table.

"Now, this is for your eyes only. You don't go showing this to another living soul," she said.

Dad nodded like he'd just been handed classified government documents, unfolded the note, and read it. His whole expression shifted the second his eyes hit the page.

“You.. you are a horrible women” dad said

"What's it say?" I asked.

"Same here," Missy said, craning her neck to see.

"Just eat your dinner," Dad muttered, folding the note shut again.

"Can I see?" Mom asked, and once she got a look at it, she let out a startled laugh before catching herself and turning to Meemaw. "You're a terrible person, you know that?"

"Ain't I?" Meemaw said, cackling.

"That's it! Fifteen years in this family, and I've been nothing but a good, supportive son-in-law this whole time. Treated your daughter right. Gave you four beautiful grandkids. Only thing I ever asked for in return was that blasted recipe," Dad said, worked up in a way I hardly ever saw from him. But he did ask meemaw everytime for the recipe and she ignored his request.

"Not a chance. Keep dreamin', Tubby," was apparently what the note said, according to Mom, who was still not sure ilof she wanted to laugh or feel offended.

"Mom, I think you oughta just give it to him. It's only a recipe," Mom said, surprising all of us by actually taking Dad's side for once. She usually sided with Meemaw, so this felt like a genuine shift.

Meemaw looked at her daughter like she'd just been stabbed in the back, while Dad looked at Mom like she'd just agreed to marry him all over again.

"Alright, that's enough. It's Christmas, and I want everybody at this table eating in peace. No more fighting," Mom said, using her full authoritative voice.

We all ate the rest of the meal quietly after that, and I spent most of it waiting for the right opening to bring up my own agenda: my motorcycle license.

After lunch, once everyone had settled into the living room for the annual tradition of watching football together, I finally found my moment.

"So, Dad, I wanted to talk to you about getting my motorcycle license," I said, and I could practically see Mom's ears perk up from across the room.

"Why? You're not taking my bike anywhere without my say-so, son," Dad said.

"No, I just want the Class M license itself. I need it to test-ride whatever I'm fixing up. That's the only reason," I said, which wasn't entirely true, since my own bike sat finished and ready in the garage already. Georgie shot me a knowing smirk from across the room, fully aware of the real story behind my request.

I asked him to sign off on the parental consent section of the DPS paperwork, and he agreed, though he made me promise to stick to driving around the block for now.

"Oh!" Sheldon suddenly blurted out, fiddling with his new action figure. "I believe I know the recipe."

"You're bluffing," Meemaw said flatly.

Then Sheldon rattled off the whole thing from memory, ingredient by ingredient, and the table went dead silent. Mom asked how on earth he'd managed that, and Sheldon explained, matter-of-fact, that Meemaw had told him the recipe. Everybody at the table stared at him. He'd only been two years old, back when Mom and Dad went out on a Valentine's Day date and left Meemaw to watch all the kids — that was apparently when she'd let it slip.

"Don't you remember, Georgie? You were there too. She used to call you Soggy Pants," Sheldon said.

"Soggy Pants, huh?" Missy laughed, and I looked over at Georgie, who was horrified now, because he knew I wouldn't let it go for a few weeks at the very least.

Anyway, I was impressed, and I'd long since stopped being surprised by anything Sheldon did. This was definitely impressive.

"Well, go on and give it to your father, then," Meemaw said, sighing.

"I don't want it anymore," Dad said, and I nearly choked on my own drink.

You have got to be kidding me, I thought.

"Connie, I think I finally understand why you never wanted to hand that recipe over. It's because you never really saw me as family. Just some outsider who married into it," Dad said, hurt plain on his face.

"That is not true," Mom said quickly.

"Oh, it's absolutely true," Meemaw admitted. "Never thought you were good enough for my little girl. Showing up on that ridiculous motorcycle of yours, getting her pregnant before you'd even put a ring on her finger." That explained why the Harley had been sitting stashed away in storage all these years. I couldn't really blame Mom for falling for whoever rode up on something like that, honestly.

"Why don't you kids head into the kitchen and fix yourselves some ice cream," Mom said, clearly trying to get us out of the room.

"Not moving," I said.

"Look, I get it. I've got a daughter myself. I wouldn't want her bringing home somebody like I used to be either. But I've come a long way since then. You're right to have felt that way," Dad said, softer now, and even Meemaw looked a little shaken by that.

"George. I'm sorry," Meemaw said, meeting his eyes. She was still looking hesitant.

"That means more to me than any recipe ever could," Dad said.

The two of them hugged it out right there at the table, and Missy practically launched herself into the middle of it a second later, refusing to be left out. She managed to drag Georgie and me in too, and I hauled Sheldon in against his will for good measure.

The whole thing dissolved into laughter at how ridiculous we all looked, tangled together in one big group hug, Sheldon complaining loudly about unwanted physical contact the entire time.

It was, all things considered, a happy Christmas. Life would be boring without a little drama, right? So I was thankful for that much, at least.

Meemaw headed home around eight that evening, and the second she was out the door, Dad had Sheldon write the recipe down properly, promising all of us he'd try his hand at making it the following weekend. Where was all that love five minutes ago? Now I almost felt bad for Meemaw.

I went out to the garage and took a long look at my baby, finally, truly finished. I still couldn't quite believe how good it actually turned out, now that it was well and truly done. The paint had dried fully by now, giving the whole bike a clean, glossy shine under the shop light.

All told, I'd sunk close to nine hundred dollars into this project, factoring in the new tires, the paint job, the custom welding work, and every small part along the way. It felt like money well spent, looking at the finished product standing there in front of me.

Standing there next to it, I felt the skill quietly nudge at the edge of my thoughts, offering to lock in an upgrade now that the whole build counted as finished. I accepted the Durability Enhancement first, same as always, without any real cost attached to it.

Then, curious to see just how far I could actually push things, I went ahead with the Enhancement effect too, spending fifty percent of my stamina on it. Between that active boost and the standard passive bonus stacked on top, the bike ended up with a full sixty percent efficiency increase all at once.

The moment it settled in, a wave of heaviness hit me out of nowhere, my legs buckling slightly before I managed to catch myself against the workbench. It wasn't unbearable, nothing like the full exhaustion from using Repair and Restore, but it was enough to remind me that pushing the skill this hard clearly came with a real cost attached, one I'd need to keep respecting going forward.

Once I'd recovered enough to trust my own legs again, I stepped outside for a walk to clear my head. The night air had that particular crisp, quiet feeling to it, string lights glowing from half the houses on the block, and I found myself wandering in the direction of Helen's place with her gift tucked into my jacket pocket.

It was late enough that the streets had gone mostly still, so instead of knocking, I scooped up a small handful of gravel from the driveway and tossed a few pieces gently up at her window on the first floor. A few seconds later, her face appeared behind the glass, lighting up brighter than any string of lights on the block the moment she spotted me standing there. She mouthed that she'd be right down and disappeared from view.

She came around the side of the house a minute later, wrapped in a thick coat over what looked suspiciously like pajama pants.

"You couldn't have come earlier?" she whispered, though she was already smiling too wide to sound genuinely annoyed.

"There was a bit of drama at home. I'll tell you about it later," I said, pulling a small wrapped box out of my jacket. "Merry Christmas."

She took it carefully, working the paper off with patience, and opened the lid to find the watch inside, a simple leather-strapped one I'd picked out weeks earlier after way too much deliberation for something that small.

"Charlie, this is really nice," she said, already sliding it onto her wrist to check the fit.

"I'm happy you like it," I said.

"I love it," she said. "Okay, hold on, don't move."

She darted back inside for a moment and returned holding a small box of her own, considerably more nervous about handing it over than I'd been.

"It was a coincidence," she said.

I opened it to find another watch staring back at me, slightly bulkier than hers, definitely built for a guy.

"You got me a watch too?" I said, laughing before I could stop myself.

"Do you like it?" she said, though she was laughing right along with me. "We can get it exchanged, okay? I don't know your preference because you never wear one."

"No, I love it. Seriously," I said, and I meant it, sliding it onto my wrist right there on the spot.

"Guess we're both just predictable," she said.

We ended up walking a slow loop around her block together after that, neither of us in any particular hurry to head back inside just yet. The whole street had strings of lights wrapped around porches and fence posts, and for a while neither of us said much of anything, just content to walk side by side in the quiet, cold air.

"This was a good year," she said eventually, looking over at me.

"Yeah," I said. "It really was."

By the time we made it back to her house, the cold had finally started catching up with both of us. She walked me to the edge of her driveway, standing on her toes to press a quick kiss to my cheek. Somehow, this felt like it meant more than any other kiss I'd gotten from her.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Helen," I said, and waited until she'd made it safely back inside before heading home myself, the watch still sitting warm against my wrist the whole walk back.

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AN: Helen's actress name is: Caleigh kilpatrick. She has a damn hot. Like damn.

I attached the bikes pic. If anyone has better ideas. Give me a link