Moving from the dresser to his bed, I lean against the mattress as I pick up the framed picture from his nightstand of him, me, and our mom from South Padre Island two summers ago. Three tanned, smiling faces stare up at me, standing in front of our beachfront hotel, and even though we were already dealing with Caleb’s diagnosis, we were blessed to have each other.

Is that what Caleb would want?

I hear the question again in my head, and the answer is now resoundingly clear. Caleb would want us to be happy, like he was every single day of his life, no matter what he had to deal with. He’d want us to not hold back from life, to give it our all. And he’d want us to remain a family and always be there for each other.

No matter what.

Especially now, when we need each other the most.

Holding tight to the photo, I pull my phone out and text my mom, asking her to meet me here when she gets off work. Thankfully, she replies in less than thirty seconds, agreeing to show up after her shift, and I blow out a relieved breath. Glancing at the clock, I realize she won’t be home for several hours, so I pull the beanie on my head, grab the pot, and plop down on his beanbag chair, where I smoke and play video games, feeling closer to Caleb than I have since he died.

I fail the history final. I fail the history class. And after one semester in college, I’m officially on academic probation. Too bad I don’t care.

My organized, well put-together life, where all I needed were my plants, my family, and overindulgent Sunday dinners to be happy, is a thing of the past. None of it seems to matter anymore.

When Caleb and Crew walked into my life, colors changed from light pastels to bright and bold. Now that they’re both gone, I didn’t simply return to where I was before, but I’m even worse off, trapped in the flat world of black, white, and grayscale. It’s almost as if the universe played some cruel, sick joke on me, somehow knowing exactly how attached I’d get to them, only to watch and laugh as they were ripped away.

Fuck the universe.

Fuck stupid history classes that have no relevance in my life.

Fuck that skank Tasha and her stupid fire crotch.

Fuck Beckham and his conniving ass, who knew what he was inviting me over to witness.

Fuck Crew for making me fall for him and then for leaving me a shattered mess.

And if whoever is knocking on my bedroom door doesn’t stop soon, fuck them too.

“Hudson, come on. We’re all waiting on you to open presents,” Brighton calls out from the hallway, jiggling the locked knob. “Denver’s about to lose his mind, and Grams is almost as bad.”

Christmas morning. The best morning of the year, without a doubt. I’m usually the first one awake and waiting in the living room, not even needing any caffeine to be bouncing off the walls with anticipation and excitement.

But not today.

It’s seven-fifteen and I’m still in my bed, under the covers, groaning at the thought of getting up and pretending I’m happy for the holiday. For the last couple years, I’ve been the one in charge of planning the day-long festivities, but with finals and everything that happened with the Elliott brothers this year, I didn’t have it in me.

Fuck the festivities.

The last eight days were spent either stoned and sad or sober and angry. Someone else must be doing my chores, ‘cause I haven’t. Life is moving on around me, but I’m just in the corner, watching it all pass me by, uncaring. My family checks on me, bringing me food and water like I’m a pet who needs taking care of—and maybe right now I do. I’m just numb.

“It’s time to get up, sweet pea. Enough is enough.” My dad raps his knuckle against the door and the unusually stern tone in his voice tells me not to ignore him.

I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and shuffle over to the door, unlocking and opening it to a smile spread across his face that contradicts the impatience I just heard.

“Merry Christmas, Hudson,” he booms, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “We’ll give you a few minutes to wash your face and brush your teeth, but we need to start opening gifts. Mom and Grams need to get over to the lodge to cook breakfast for the guests, and the rest of us all have jobs today. Yours are listed on the board in the kitchen.”

Nodding, I continue on to the bathroom without a word, and as soon as I close the door behind me, I cringe at the sight of my own reflection. Shit, I look rough. My unwashed hair is stringy and tangled, dry skin clings to my high cheek bones, more noticeable now than ever, and the purple-tinted half-moons under each eye make me look like I haven’t slept in a week, only the truth is I haven’t hardly gotten out of bed in that long. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had the flu. But I’m not sick.

I’m heartbroken.

Somehow, I manage to make it through the morning round of presents from my family and Santa, saying thank you and smiling appreciatively at all the proper times. I don’t even recall what I got. Clothes, maybe? A CD? Nothing of importance. Nothing that can compare to what I’ve lost. Nothing can fill the empty void.

Breakfast with the resort guests is a fuzzy collage of different faces and names, none of which I’ve previously met since I’ve been holed up in my room. As one of my responsibilities for the day, I’m on clean-up duty in the kitchen afterwards, and I honestly don’t mind much as long as I don’t have to stay out in the dining room with the others, pretending to be having a good time.

“You feel up to helping me do the side dishes for dinner tonight?” my mom asks warily when she comes in to check on my progress with the dishes.

I glance up at her from the skillet I’m spraying down and give her a brief nod, instantly berating myself for the nervousness she feels around me. Now that I’ve tempered my hatred for the world with half a joint, my mood has shifted to dejected and desolate. I never knew it was possible to feel so alone and empty, all while being surrounded by people who love you.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I clip out, trying hard not to be a complete asshole of a daughter. It’s not my family’s fault I feel the way I do, and I know everyone’s been pulling my slack around here lately. “What time do you want to get started?”

Her mouth tilts up in a small smile as the corners of her honey-colored eyes crinkle with delight. The elephant of despair raises one of its feet off my chest, relieving a small amount of the tension threatening to crush me at any given moment.

“Let’s see,” she checks her watch, then looks back up at me, “it’s almost eleven-thirty now, and everyone’s supposed to arrive at the house around six. How about three-thirty?”

Again, I nod. “I’ll run over to the greenhouse and grab some fresh produce and herbs beforehand.”

“Sounds good. Maybe I can even corral Cheyenne and Brighton in to join us.” Clapping her hands together and bouncing on her toes as if getting me to agree was a huge accomplishment, she spins around to leave, but right before she walks out of the kitchen, she stops and calls out over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to plan for fourteen or fifteen when you’re measuring portions.”

“Fourteen or fifteen? Who all is coming?” I drop the sponge and stare at her, confused. Christmas dinner has always been something we do as just a family.

“Uncle Danny stayed in town this year instead of his usual beach vacation, and he’s bringing a lady friend.” As her eyes then fall to the floor, so does the unease in my gut. I already know I’m not going to like her answer to my next question.

“So that makes twelve. Who are the others?”