The Biker Boy is Mine: Coming Home for Christmas

8. The Window, the Moon, and You

Jude doesn’t stop to get groceries. When I ask him about it, he just shrugs and says, “I’ll do it later.” No explanation, no elaboration.

He drops off Joel and me at the driveway, and a few minutes later, the loud rumble of his bike echoes down the street before fading into the distance. I glance out the window, and sure enough, his bike is gone.

Something must have come up, or maybe he didn’t want to get groceries with us in the first place. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t be thinking too much about it.

But I can't help wondering if he ever intended to go, or if he just told Mom that to ease her guilt about asking him to take me. It’s such a Jude thing to do—always smooth, always in control. That hasn’t changed.

Back home, I dive into the overwhelming task of unpacking. The thought of waiting for Lily crosses my mind—everything’s always more fun with her around. But impatience gets the better of me, and I start without her.

Boxes are stacked in every corner of my room, filled with the remnants of my old life. Clothes I haven’t worn in years, books I’ve read a dozen times, and trinkets I forgot I even owned. It feels strange, like trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

As I dig through one of the boxes, my fingers brush against something familiar—smooth, cool metal. I pull it out, and my breath catches. It’s a silver chain with a delicate charm shaped like a crescent moon. Jude gave it to me when we were fifteen.

I remember that summer vividly. We’d spent most of it sneaking out late at night, lying on the grass, and staring up at the stars. He said the moon reminded him of me, steady and always there, even when things felt dark. As I run my thumb over the crescent moon pendant, the memories tug at my heart. I hesitate for a moment, then unclasp the chain and fasten it around my neck.

Around midday after lunch, I decide to call Dave back. The conversation is short—too short.

“Hey,” I start, attempting to sound casual.

“Hey,” he replies, the noise of chatter and clinking dishes faint in the background. “What’s up?”

“Sorry I missed your call earlier. Just wanted to check in,” I say, feeling awkward. How do I strike the topic of him possibly cancelling his flight? “How’s your day going?”

“Busy. Got a meeting in a few minutes,” he says quickly, cutting off any chance for small talk. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure,” I reply, even though I won’t anticipate it.

“Love you. Bye.” And just like that, the line goes dead. I stare at the phone for a moment, feeling a strange hollowness settle in my chest. This is how it always is with Dave—brief, impersonal, like we’re ticking off a box in some unspoken contract.

I try to shake off the feeling by throwing myself back into unpacking.

Later, as I’m stacking books on the shelf, the distant growl of Jude’s bike rumbles through the quiet afternoon, growing louder until it settles in the driveway. Naturally, I drift towards the window, drawn by the familiar sound. Pulling the curtain aside, I catch sight of him.

There he is, standing by his bike, hose in hand, water streaming over the sleek machine. The sun catches on the droplets, making the whole scene shimmer. He moves with a kind of effortless grace, every motion purposeful and smooth, like this is second nature to him. His shirt clings to his skin, damp from the spray, and for a moment, I just watch, captivated by the quiet rhythm of it all.

He looks so at ease, like he belongs here, like he’s never left. And maybe that’s the part that stings the most.

At one point, he decides to take off the damp shirt. Right then his gaze flicks to my window as if he sensed me watching him. I duck behind the wall just in time, my heart hammering in my chest. A few seconds pass. I decide to keep staring at him, taking in what I’ve been given the chance to take, when I see her.

A girl I don’t recognize at first, but as she walks up to him, it clicks. She’s the same one I saw on the bike the night I came home. Her dark hair flows freely, and her smile is bright, confident, as if she belongs right there by his side. Without hesitation, she wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. He hugs her back, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back, and they stand there, close, talking and laughing as if they’re the only two people in the world.

My heart stops.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does. Something tightens in my chest, and I quickly let the curtain fall back into place, blocking out the scene. I sink onto the edge of my bed, trying to push the image from my mind.

It shouldn’t matter. Jude and I… we’re nothing. He’s free to do whatever—or whoever—he wants.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the ache that lingers.

The ache doesn’t have time to settle too deep. The door bursts open, and Lily storms in with all the subtlety of a hurricane.

“Evie, you’re back!” she yells, her face lighting up with excitement as she rushes towards me. Before I can even stand, she’s flinging herself into my arms, and we sway together.

“I missed you,” I say, holding her tight.

“I missed you more!” she counters, pulling back just enough to grin up at me.

I arch an eyebrow, playful skepticism creeping into my voice. “Oh really? If you missed me so much, why didn’t you cancel your sleepover and be here when I arrived?”

Lily giggles. “Come on, Evie, you know I couldn’t miss that. We had plans—movies, popcorn, ghost stories!” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “But now I’m here, and I’m all yours.”

I shake my head, feigning exasperation. “You’ve got your priorities all mixed up, kid.”

Lily just laughs again, her eyes suddenly catching on the pendant around my neck. “Hey, what’s that?” she asks, reaching out but not quite touching it. “I didn’t know you were into pendants. It’s pretty.”

Her comment makes me pause. I glance down at the crescent moon resting against my chest, fingers instinctively closing around it. “It’s… something from a long time ago,” I murmur.

Lily’s curiosity doesn’t wane. “Can I borrow it sometime? Maybe for Thanksgiving? It’d go great with my dress.”

For a second, the idea of letting go of the pendant feels impossible. Even for a little time. It’s mine, a small piece of the past I’m not ready to share. But Lily is my sister, and her hopeful expression makes it hard to refuse.

“Maybe,” I say, managing a nod. “We’ll see. You’ve already picked your Thanksgiving outfit?”

“And Christmas,” she adds, and throws her arms around me again. “Thank you. You’re the best!”

I smile. “Yeah, yeah, don’t push your luck.”

As we sit on the edge of my bed, her chatter fills the room, and for a little while, the weight of the past and the confusion of the present fade into the background. But even as I laugh along with her, my fingers never stray far from the pendant resting against my heart.

***

That night, dinner is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Having Mom, Joel, Carl, and Lily all around the table, laughing and talking, feels like a little slice of normal. Mom cooks my favorite dish—creamy pasta with mushrooms—and the flavors are rich and comforting. The chatter flows easily, everyone slipping into their roles: Joel joking around, Carl offering some sarcastic quip, and Lily chiming in with her usual enthusiasm. For a while, it feels like everything is as it should be.

But underneath it all, there’s a gap—an emptiness I can’t shake. Dad’s absence stings. His place at the table is empty, and it’s hard to ignore how that should have been different. As much as I’m enjoying this moment with my mom and siblings, I can’t help but miss him. My gaze flicks to Mom’s face, studying her a little closer. That little crease between her brows is a dead giveaway—she’s thinking about him too. I know she misses him.

Eventually, dinner winds down, and we gather around the table for the usual post-meal chatter.

“Evie, darling, I want to talk to you,” Mom says casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But not now. Please, don’t go to bed just yet.”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. There’s something in her tone that makes me worry, but I don’t press her.

“I’ll do the dishes,” I offer, but Mom just waves me off.

“No, it’s Carl’s turn tonight,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh as Carl grumbles from the kitchen.

“Great, because I don’t have better things to do,” Carl mutters, but he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work anyway.

I watch him for a moment, his reluctance giving way to understanding. He knows Mom needs help, and he gives it without complaint, even if he gripes along the way. I appreciate that about him.

I head back to my room, needing some space to breathe. Sitting down on my bed, I glance over the job listings on my phone. I need to find something—soon. Before my dad can drag me into one of his firms, where I’ll lose myself in his world. Privileged b***h, they’ll call me again.

My gaze drifts to the stuffed monkey on the side of my desk, and I reach for it without thinking. It’s soft and worn, a little reminder of simpler days. I named her Maddy when I was younger, before I lost the original one. Grammy had knitted the replacement for me after I cried for days, and even though it’s not the same, it’s still mine. I turn the little monkey over, my fingers tracing the engraving on its back which Mom added a few years later.

“What’s meant to be with you always finds a way back.”

The words feel oddly comforting, like a promise, but at the same time, they hold a tinge of uncertainty. What exactly is meant to be with me?

Just then, I hear a tap against the window. My heart leaps into my throat. I freeze, wondering if I’m imagining it. But then there’s another knock, clearer this time, and I rush to the window, pulling the curtain aside.

There’s Jude.

Of course.

I watch in disbelief as he struggles to climb up the side of the house, his hands gripping the brick for leverage. His feet slip once, and I can’t help but laugh in spite of myself, but the sight of him still sends a rush of panic through me.

What the hell is he doing?

Before I can think, I open the window, the cool evening air rushing in as I watch him hoist himself up. He’s close enough now, and without missing a beat, he hops in through the window, landing on the floor with a soft thud.