Christmas came and went. It was a good holiday—one that Tate genuinely enjoyed with her family. Her mom, dad, and brother were all home, and they even wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning. For once, she felt truly happy. Spending time with them gave her something to hold onto, something to focus on that wasn't the Winter Ball.
A few days after the dance, her mom had gently tried to talk about it, but Tate wasn't ready. She shut down the conversation quickly, and thankfully, her mom understood and didn't push.
Her brother noticed too. He kept watching her like she was a puzzle he couldn't figure out. Eventually, he asked a million questions, trying to get her to talk. When she stayed quiet, he muttered something about beating up whoever made her this sad. He tried to persuade her to open up, but their mom stepped in and convinced him to drop it—for now.
As for her friends, Tate didn't stay in touch during the holidays. She replied to a few texts from Martha, but ignored the rest. She just… needed space. From everything and everyone.
And as for Damien—she hated him. Or at least, she wanted to. He hurt her. Deeply. How could he say such vile things about her? What had she ever done to deserve that? She wanted to erase whatever feelings she still had for him. Rip them out. Be free of him.
New Year's Eve came, and Tate had dinner with her family. They sat around the table, laughing, talking, and eventually counting down to midnight together. She felt a quiet kind of joy settle over her—a sense of peace. For the first time in a long while, she was truly grateful. Grateful for her family. For this love. For the way they all came together like this.
She hadn't always understood them especially her parents—but she knew now, deep in her heart, that they loved her. Cherished her.
Still, as the night stretched on, a quiet sadness crept in. In a few days, things would go back to normal. Her brother would return to college. Her dad would go back to work, and with how busy his schedule always got, she knew she wouldn't see him as often. Her mom would be wrapped up in her job. And she… she would have to go back to school. Back to everything she'd been avoiding. Back to Damien.
How was she supposed to face him? How was she supposed to act like everything was fine when it wasn't? Part of her wanted to scream at him. Maybe even punch him. But deep down, she knew she didn't have it in her.
Around 2 a.m., Tate woke up feeling thirsty. She shuffled into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard—
"Tate?"
She whirled around to see her mom sitting on the couch, the soft glow of the TV lighting up the living room.
"Jeez, Mom! You scared me."
Her mom laughed lightly. "You scared me. I was wondering who was opening the fridge in the middle of the night."
"I came to get water," Tate said, calming down. "What are you doing up?"
"Watching TV," her mom replied as she got up and walked back to the couch.
"TV? At this time?" Tate asked, trailing behind her.
"Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?" her mom teased as she sat down again.
Tate gave her a look. "You'd kill me if I was watching TV at 2 a.m."
Her mom smirked. "That's why I'm the adult and you're the child. And I'm binge-watching all the shows I missed while I was away."
"Oh."
"Stop questioning me and sit down. Watch with me."
"Okay," Tate said with a small smile. She sat beside her mom, curling up and resting her head against her chest. Her mom gently stroked her hair, and for a while, they just watched in silence.
About thirty minutes in, her mom spoke softly.
"Are you okay, Tate?"
"I'm fine, Mom."
Her mother didn't press. "I know being a teenager isn't easy. I was one once too, believe it or not. It comes with a lot of feelings and emotions that most people don't know how to handle. Even adults struggle. But I want you to know I'm here for you. Always. I'll never pressure you to talk, but when you're ready, I'll be here."
Tate wiped a tear from her eye. "I know, Mom."
Her mom looked down at her. "Do you know why we named you Tate?"
Tate blinked. "No. I've always wondered though."
Her mom smiled softly. "When I got pregnant with you, I was convinced you were going to be a boy. We'd already bought baby boy clothes and settled on the name Tate. I was kind of panicking about having another boy after your brother."
She paused. "Then, around seven months in, I started having complications. The doctors didn't give us much hope. I really thought we were going to lose you. But you made it. You came into this world stronger than anyone expected. And when I saw you—a beautiful baby girl—I knew I had to keep the name. Because you were strong enough to survive. And that's why you'll always be my Tate. My strong girl. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise."
Tears ran freely down Tate's cheeks as she hugged her mom tightly.
"Thank you, Mom," she whispered. "I really needed to hear that."
Her mom kissed her forehead and hugged her close again.
"And as for the boy who made you cry at that Winter Ball," she added with a playful but protective edge, "when I catch him… he's dead meat."
Tate blinked, pulling back slightly. How did she know it was a boy?
But she didn't ask.
They spent the rest of the early morning watching shows together, and eventually, both mother and daughter fell asleep on the couch safe, warm, and wrapped in the comfort of each other's presence.