He pushed back. ‘ Because. It’s your life. Because I’m interested. It’s like you’ve got all these weird barriers set up, like you only want me to have access to this tiny part of you …’

‘Yes,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘Barriers.

Caution tape. I’m doing you a favor.’

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I can handle it.’ He put his thumb between her eyebrows and tried to smooth out the frown. ‘This whole stupid fight was about keeping secrets.’

‘Keeping secrets about your demonic ex-girlfriend. I don’t have any demonic ex-anythings.’

‘Does Richie hate your brothers and sister, too?’

‘Stop saying his name.’ She was whispering.

‘I’m sorry.’ Park whispered back.

‘He hates everybody, I think.’

‘Not your mom.’

‘Especially her.’

‘Is he mean to her?’

Eleanor rolled her eyes and wiped her cheek with her sweater sleeve. ‘Uh. Yeah.’

Park took her hands again. ‘Why doesn’t she leave?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think she can …

I don’t think there’s enough of her left.’

‘Is she scared of him?’ he asked.

‘Yeah …’

‘Are you scared of him?’

‘Me?’

‘I know you’re scared of getting kicked out, but are you scared of him?’

‘No.’ She lifted up her chin. ‘No … I just have to lay low, you know? Like as long as I stay out of his way, I’m fine. I just have to be invisible.’

Park smiled.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘You. Invisible.’

She smiled. He let go of her hands and held her face. Her cheeks were cold, and her eyes were fathomless in the dark.

She was all he could see.

Eventually it was too cold to stay out there. Even the insides of their mouths were freezing.

Eleanor

Richie said Eleanor had to come out of her room for Christmas dinner. Fine. She really was getting a cold, so at least it didn’t seem like she’d been faking it all day.

Dinner was awesome. Her mom could really cook when she had actual food to work with. (Something other than legumes.)

They had turkey with stuffing, and mashed potatoes swimming with dill and butter. For dessert there was rice pudding and pepper cookies, which her mom only ever made on Christmas.

At least that had been the rule back when her mom used to make all kinds of cookies, all year long. The little kids didn’t know what they were missing now. When Eleanor and Ben were little, their mom baked constantly. There were always fresh cookies in the kitchen when Eleanor got home from school. And real breakfast every morning … Eggs and bacon, or pancakes and sausage, or oatmeal with cream and brown sugar.

Eleanor used to think that that was why she was so fat. But look at her now, she was starving all the time, and she was still enormous.

They all tore into Christmas dinner like it was their last meal, which it practically was, at least for a while. Ben ate both of the turkey legs, and Mouse ate an entire plate of mashed potatoes.

Richie had been drinking all day again, so he was all kinds of festive at dinner – laughing too much and too loud. But you couldn’t enjoy the fact that he was in a good mood, because it was the kind of good mood that was just on the edge of a bad one. They were all waiting for him to cross over …

Which he did, as soon as he realized there was no pumpkin pie.

‘What the f**k is this?’ he said, flicking his spoon in the ris ala mande.

‘It’s rice pudding,’ Ben said, stupid with turkey.

‘I know it’s pudding,’ Richie said. ‘Where’s the pumpkin pie, Sabrina?’ he shouted into the kitchen. ‘I told you to make a real Christmas dinner. I gave you money for a real Christmas dinner.’

Her mother stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She still hadn’t sat down to eat. ‘It’s …’

It’s a traditional Danish Christmas dessert, Eleanor thought. My grandmother made it, and her grandmother made it, and it’s better than pumpkin pie. It’s special.

‘It’s … just that I forgot to buy pumpkin,’ her mother said.

‘How could you forget the f**king pumpkin on Christmas,’ Richie said, hurling the stainless-steel bowl of rice pudding. It hit the wall near her mother and sprayed weepy chunks everywhere.

Everyone but Richie stayed still.

He stood up unsteadily from his chair. ‘I’m going to go buy some pumpkin pie … so this family can have a real f**king Christmas dinner.’

He walked to the back door.

As soon as they heard his truck tear out, Eleanor’s mom picked up the bowl with what was left of the rice pudding, then skimmed the top off the pile of pudding on the floor.

‘Who wants cherry sauce?’ she said.

They all did.

Eleanor cleaned up the rest of the pudding, and Ben turned on the TV. They watched The Grinch and Frosty the Snowman, and A Christmas Carol.

Their mom even sat down to watch with them.

Eleanor couldn’t help but think that if the Ghost of Christmas Past showed up, he’d be disgusted with their whole situation. But Eleanor felt full and happy when she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 34

Eleanor

Park’s mom didn’t seem surprised to see Eleanor the next day. He must have warned them she was coming.

‘Eleanor,’ his mom said extra nicely, ‘Merry Christmas, come in.’

When Eleanor walked into the living room, Park had just gotten out of the shower, which was embarrassing for some reason. His hair was wet and his T-shirt was kind of sticking to him. He was really happy to see her. That was obvious.

(And nice.)

She didn’t know what to do with his present, so when he walked over to her, she shoved it at him. He smiled, surprised. ‘This is for me?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s …’ She couldn’t think of anything funny to say. ‘Yeah, it’s for you.’

‘You didn’t have to get me anything.’

‘I didn’t. Really.’

‘Can I open it?’

She still couldn’t think of anything funny, so she nodded. At least his family was in the kitchen, so nobody was watching them.

The present was wrapped in stationery.

Eleanor’s favorite stationery, watercolor paintings of fairies and flowers.

Park peeled off the paper carefully and looked at the book. It was The Catcher in the Rye. A really old edition. Eleanor had decided to leave the dust jacket on because it was neat-looking, even though it still had a thrift-shop price scrawled on the front with grease pencil.

‘I know it’s pretentious,’ she said. ‘I was going to give you Watership Down, but that’s about rabbits, and not everybody wants to read about rabbits …’

He looked at the book, smiling. For a terrible second, she thought he was going to open the front cover. And she really didn’t want him to read what she’d written. (Not while she was standing right there.)

‘Is this your book?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, but I’ve already read it.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning at her. When he was really happy, his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said, looking down.

‘Just don’t kill John Lennon or anything.’

‘Come here,’ he said, pulling on the front of her jacket.

She followed him to his room but stopped at the door like there was an invisible fence. Park set the book on his bed, then grabbed two small boxes off a shelf. They were both wrapped in Christmas paper with big red bows.

He came and stood in the doorway with her; she leaned back against the jamb.

‘This one is from my mom,’ he said, holding up a box. ‘It’s perfume. Please don’t wear it.’ His eyes flicked down for a second, then back up at her. ‘This one is from me.’

‘You didn’t have to get me a present,’ she said.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

When she didn’t take the present, he took her hand and pressed the box into it.

‘I tried to think of something that nobody would notice but you,’ he said, pushing his bangs off his face. ‘That you wouldn’t have to explain to your mom … Like, I was going to buy you a really nice pen, but then …’

He was watching her open it, which made her nervous. She accidentally tore the wrapping paper. He took the paper from her, and she opened a small gray box.

There was a necklace inside. A thin silver chain with a small pendant, a silver pansy.

‘I’ll understand if you can’t take it,’ Park said.

She shouldn’t take it, but she wanted it.

Park

Dumb. He should have gotten the pen. Jewelry was so public … and personal, which is why he’d bought it. He couldn’t buy Eleanor a pen. Or a bookmark. He didn’t have bookmark-like feelings for her.

Park had used most of his car stereo money to buy the necklace. He’d found it at the jewelry store in the mall where people try on engagement rings.

‘I kept the receipt,’ he said.

‘No,’ Eleanor said, looking up at him. She looked anxious, but he wasn’t sure what kind.

‘No. It’s beautiful,’ she said, ‘thank you.’

‘Will you wear it?’ he asked.

She nodded.

He ran his hand through his hair and held onto the back of his neck, trying to rein himself in. ‘Now?’

Eleanor looked at him for a second, then nodded again. He took the necklace out of the box and carefully fastened it around her neck. Just like he’d imagined himself doing when he bought it. That might even be why he bought it – so he’d have this moment, with his hands warm on the back of her neck, under her hair. He ran his fingertips along the chain and settled the pendant on her throat.

She shivered.

Park wanted to pull on the chain, to pull it in-to his chest and anchor her there.

He pulled his hands away self-consciously and leaned back against the doorjamb.

Eleanor

They were sitting in the kitchen, playing cards.

Speed. She’d taught Park how to play, and she could always beat him for the first few rounds.

But after that, she’d get sloppy. (Maisie always started winning after a few rounds, too.)

Playing cards in Park’s kitchen, even if his mom was in there, was better than just sitting in the living room, thinking about all the things they’d be doing if they were alone.

His mom asked how her Christmas was, and Eleanor said it was nice. ‘What do you have for holiday dinner?’ his mom asked. ‘Turkey or ham?’

‘Turkey,’ Eleanor said, ‘with dill potatoes …

My mom’s Danish.’

Park stopped playing to look at her. She popped her eyes at him. ‘What, I’m Danish, shut up,’ she would have said if his mom hadn’t been there.

‘That’s where you get beautiful red hair,’ his mom said knowingly.

Park smiled at Eleanor. She rolled her eyes.

When his mom left to run something over to his grandparents, Park kicked her under the table.

He wasn’t wearing shoes.

‘I didn’t know you were Danish,’ he said.

‘Is this the kind of scintillating conversation we’re going to have now that we don’t have any secrets?’

‘Yes. Is your mom Danish?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘What’s your dad?’

‘An ass.’

He frowned.

‘What? You wanted honest and intimate.

That’s way more honest than “Scottish.”’

‘Scottish,’ Park said, and smiled.

Eleanor had been thinking about this new ar-rangement he wanted. This being totally open and honest with each other. She didn’t think she could start telling Park the whole, ugly truth overnight.

What if he was wrong? What if he couldn’t handle it?

What if Park realized that all the things he thought were so mysterious and intriguing about her were actually just … bleak?

When he asked about her Christmas, Eleanor told him about her mom’s cookies and the movies, and how Mouse thought The Grinch was about ‘all the Hoots down in Hootville.’

She half expected him to say, ‘Yeah, but now tell me all the terrible parts …’ Instead he laughed.

‘Do you think your mom would be okay with me,’ he asked, ‘you know, if it wasn’t for your stepdad?’

‘I don’t know …’ Eleanor said. She realized that she was holding on to the silver pansy.

Eleanor spent the rest of Christmas vacation at Park’s house. His mom didn’t seem to mind, and his dad was always inviting her to stay for dinner.

Eleanor’s mom thought she was spending all that time with Tina. Once she’d said, ‘I hope you’re not overstaying your welcome over there, Eleanor.’ And once she’d said, ‘Tina could come over here sometimes, too, you know,’ which they both knew was a joke.

Nobody brought friends into their house. Not the little kids. Not even Richie. And her mom didn’t have friends anymore.

She used to.

When Eleanor’s parents were still together, there were always people around. There were always parties. Men with long hair. Women in long dresses. Glasses of red wine everywhere.

And even after her dad left, there were still women. Single moms who brought over their kids, plus all the ingredients for banana daiquiris.