#cd*

Spoiled rotten her entire life, both from having a rich family in a risky business and from being indubitably her father’s favorite growing up, the magic of this time of year played like a movie for the Manchesi family. Generous home with enough bedrooms for her four siblings, guests, and herself were laced in decorations and the tint of sparkling bright lighting throughout. Their Christmas tree, which they decorated as a family however reluctantly by Stella in the past, interchanged themes every year save for the select generational ornaments passed down by grandparents and uncles and family friends. Though too much of a princess in the past to appreciate it, Stella often found herself daydreaming about what the tree looked like this year. 

She imagined the ugly, whitehaired Nutcracker on the kitchen island, and putting her finger in his mouth while Graziella pushed the wooden bar for him to bite. Sabina, meticulously wrapping gifts and refusing any assistance only to complain that no one was assisting her, was now burdened with being the eldest. Lucrece, waking up early to start cooking the entire dinner on her own, and Stella sliding sluggishly into the kitchen, sleepy eyed and hair sparked, to give her a kiss on the cheek just before sneaking a smidge of whatever the older girl was chopping. Marcelo would carry in the firewood, talking miles with her father stomping his boots by the front door. Nowadays, her father carried in the firewood alone. Reminiscing always started off sweet, only to be saddened that the exact sound of her sister’s laughter was no longer something she could conjure up in her head. These traditions had become more prominent after her brother died, and the guilt that she’d left her sisters with one less sibling this year haunted her with all the other ghosts that followed her this semester. 

She couldn’t go abroad with a friend even if it had been an option, instructed by Gallagher upon their recruitment of her that using her passport when her parents might be looking for her wasn’t advised. There was the prospect of spending it alone, the weeks leading up filled with distraction shopping on websites where she’d picked out gifts for all of her family members and purchased none of them. Blair inviting Stella to spend Christmas dinner with their family had softened her; surely she couldn’t feel lonely being around that many people 

The night started magically, Stella expected no less from something with the Sutton name. The sound of so many happy people chatting and laughing at jokes she couldn’t hear created an artificial warmth in her belly, temporary and aided only by the slight anxiety of not knowing where to put her eyes, or her hands, or her body. Everywhere she stood felt forced, like trying to push a key into a lock that wasn’t made to hold it. 

Thirty five minutes. She lasted thirty five minutes before resting her hand on Blair’s upper arm, a light nod and a forced smile as an unspoken I think I’m gonna head out. Seeing other people be happy with their families left her woozy, drunk and scatterbrained off of the realities of the past few months all coming into fruition. Her boiling point manifested in the loud laughter and hug of someone she didn’t recognize. Suddenly there wasn’t a single person in the room she did recognize, herself included.

Crying managed to wait until she’d fully left the dinner, but once the crisp air of December hit her cheeks it came all at once. Piano fingers, as her father used to describe them, wiped frantically across her face, tears meeting the back of her wrist, the balls of her knuckles, the cushion of her palm. She shook her arms out, a hop in her step, “Rilassati, Stella.” Just Relax, Stella. She spoke aloud to herself. If she looked crazy to anyone in the distance it wouldn’t be a far off assumption. Falling to sit on a step, she pulled a knee to her chest, thumb gliding over her phone to switch the view of application icons mindlessly. And when she made the phone call, you have to understand, she wasn’t thinking. It must be true what they say, that in desperate moments even as an adult, the first person you call is always your mother.

The phone barely rang before the click, a few seconds of silence, and little did she know her mother hadn’t skipped an unknown call in months. “Pronto?” 

She swallowed, sniffling nose and tears only intensified by the sound of her mom’s voice. They had never been close until their conversation in the kitchen the night she ran away. 

“Tesoro, sei tu?” Honey, is that you?

Her mother’s voice speaking Italian had always sounded so beautiful to her, but now it only made her cry harder, and they continued the conversation in a tongue she constantly craved. “I’m so sorry.”

“Estella?”

“Mamma, I’m so so sorry. You must be so angry with me. I know papà hates me, I feel so sick. I feel so sick all the time. I know that you knew I was leaving, but I-” Rambling with rapid, harsh breaths, she couldn’t find the right words to say. 

“Nobody hates you. Estella, please calm down. It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you safe?” Speaking with urgency, a break in her voice, her mother had never been affectionate. She’d been hardened by the experiences in her youth that made them so similar. 

Hesitation in faint breaths, Stella shook her head, phone pressed against her face, “Yes.” She wasn’t sure if that was the truth. She could hear her mother exhale.

“Will you come home? Everyone is thinking of you.” This is her out, and for a moment it feels simple, but it wasn’t like she ended up at Gallagher for no reason. The thought of going back to her old life, which wasn’t terrible but felt entirely not her own, and to a husband she didn’t love, and a father she couldn’t look in the eye, felt wrong. To leave Gallagher didn’t seem impossible, but she thought about what Martina had said to her weeks prior, that the universe is so small. The people she’d met, the classes she’d been taking, and to see her dead lover again after years in a place she would have never ended up at had she not disappeared. So many things felt unfinished, and going home without a promise that things would be different was a decision she couldn’t make in her state.

“I miss you so much.” She inhaled and held it, “But I’m not ready to come home.”

A lull fell over the conversation. Stella could hear the faint chatter in the background from her family in another room, a panic falling over her chest before her mother’s voice came back in a serious, deliberate hush. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She hadn’t asked for permission, but suddenly felt like she needed it.

“Will you stay in contact with me, so that I know you’re okay?” Her mother had enough secrets and had seen enough things to understand that this wasn’t her decision to make.

The thought alone warmed her. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you so much, mamma.”

“Merry Christmas, my little bird.” 

A faint laugh left her, hand wiping across her cheek, a weight fluttering off her chest and whipping through her hair like a cool wind. “Merry Christmas, mamma.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Basically: