Aaron's Christmas: Part One

Christmas was one of Aaron’s favorite holidays. Despite usually triggering a bad flare of his condition from the overstimulation and stress of the holidays, he enjoyed seeing family and friends. Specifically, he most enjoyed seeing his older brother, Roan, who was coming back from college in the city for the holidays.

Aaron stood in the kitchen with his mother, Ilara, helping her prep for dinner that night. They were expecting a small gathering, but as usual, she had a plan and an extravaganza of food. His leg braces dug into his skin as he helped cut vegetables under her watchful eye, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed cooking with his mom.

His father, Rick, entered the kitchen, casually snatching a freshly baked gingerbread man that was cooling on the kitchen island as he made a cup of coffee. Ilara hit him with lightning speed with her kitchen towel that had been draped over her shoulder. “Rick! Keep your hands off the deserts! You’ll get fat!”

The older man chuckled and rolled his eyes at his wife. “Please, you tell me this every time.”

She gave him a warning glare, and he walked off with his mug of straight black coffee. Aaron smirked at the sight of his parents' little banter. His mother took pride in her cooking and baking skills, and his father enjoyed it because it meant he got the best cookies on the block.

Aaron’s blue eyes drifted to his phone, which lit up with a text notification. He set the knife down and wiped his hands on his jeans before picking it up. The phone quickly recognized his face and displayed the text showing the sender was his brother. Roan sent daily texts, often checking in on his little brother.

Roan was like their father in the sense that he could be described as cold or too direct with his black and white views, but that was only the outside. Internally, Roan was very concerned about his family, especially his little brother. He knew his brother at twenty had a good head on his shoulder, but unfortunately, that didn’t mean that Aaron didn’t get carried away, forgetting to pay attention to his health.

Especially during the holidays, Roan worried the most about his little brother, and Aaron knew that. It showed that it was only eleven in the morning, and yet this was the fifth text message he had received from him. The first one was sent at 7:08 that morning. “Morning, bud. Merry Christmas! I’ll be home to see you guys around three this afternoon :)”. At 8:21, another text followed saying, “Remember to take your morning meds before you get coffee. I know you stayed up all night and will want some, but the meds don’t mix well with coffee.” Aaron had replied to him saying good morning and that he was excited to see his brother around nine when he woke up, purposefully ignoring the text about his meds. On Christmas, his meds were the last thing he wanted to think about, yet the first thing his mom was thinking about, so when he did, in fact, go to get coffee, she had already had his doses out and ready for him, not allowing coffee before meds. “I swear you and Roan are on the same wavelength or conspiring against me,” He had told her.

At 8:46, his brother had texted again, “How’s the pain this morning?” Aaron replied that he was admittedly achy but that it was tolerable. Receiving a quick reply telling him to make sure he wore his braces before it got out of hand. Aaron had rolled his eyes but obeyed.

He tried not to think about his condition during the holidays. It was hard enough every day to know he had limits that others didn’t and a life that definitely wasn’t normal to others. His life consisted of the leg braces, sometimes the use of a cane, sudden weakness or fainting spells, waves of chronic pain that could end up spasming into seizure-like jerks, constant doctors' appointments and therapies, endless prescriptions of injections and colorful pills with names he could perfectly pronounce at this point. Aaron had dealt with this his whole life, Neurovascular Instability Disorder (NVID), the doctors had called it.

His brain often misfired signals to his muscles, and his blood pressure was constantly fluctuating, causing instant weakness or dizziness. But that was all the usual stuff. What wasn’t regular but still consistent was his flare days, where his body rebelled completely, making him completely bedridden in pain and weakness until it passed, and that was what everyone was trying to avoid because everyone knew stress and overworking his body made Aaron more susceptible to triggering one.

Ilara had been keeping Roan in the loop because he had been constantly texting his mom about Aaron. Roan, being the older twenty-five-year-old brother, was protective and watchful, as more people his age should have been. Ilara had let her eldest know that Aaron was doing very well. He was listening and taking it easy, making sure not to overexert himself by taking breaks and drinking lots of electrolytes. She hadn’t caught his hands trembling yet; there had been no sensory overload, no cognitive fog, no sudden weakness, no sudden spasms or jerks, and no motor skill delay. It was a rare, peaceful day for Aaron. He had admitted to her he was achy, but it was tolerable.

But now, at 11:02, Aaron had gotten a message from Roan to take a break. Aaron rolled his eyes, flipped his phone upside down, and went back to cutting. Ilara caught the soft scoff that escaped his lips. She paused, “You okay?”

Aaron glanced at her through his blond bangs and nodded as he went back to cutting the veggies, “Yeah Roan is just being a pain. He’s been texting me all morning.”

“Good things, I hope?” She asked turning back to her cooking.

Aaron shrugged, “Yeah. He keeps asking how I’m doing and told me to take a break. It’s annoying because I want to cook, and everyone is more worried about me sitting down than cutting off a finger!”

Ilara put a comforting hand on his back, having to reach high to his shoulder blades because her twenty-year-old was now six feet, no longer a little boy. She frowned when she could feel the lean muscle already tense from strain, “Maybe sitting down would be a good idea, baby. You have been standing for a while. You should give your legs a break.”

Aaron sighed and caved. He put the knife down and washed his hands before moving to one of the chairs in the connecting dining room. He did need to take the braces off, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. The braces were beginning to rub into his skin. He took them off slowly, unclipping each clasp and sighing as they released their grip on his legs as they came undone. He rubbed his calves through the sweats and sighed in relief.

Rick handed him a mug with hot cocoa with a peppermint candy cane hooked into it. “Added something a little extra in there, don’t tell your mom.” He whispered into his ear. Aaron smirked, knowing the “extra” was a small shot of alcohol, something his mom practically forbade from his routine altogether.

Rick knew his wife was a “crunchy mom,” constantly surveilling Aaron’s intake and daily nutrition requirements. Anything that was slightly off, she would over-worry about, but to Rick, it was the holidays. He’d let his son have a little extra today. He took a seat adjacent to him with his own cup of hot cocoa, with something a little stronger in his own. “What are you most excited about? Last year it was Gramp’s homemade eggnog.”

Aaron smirked, his blue eyes flicking up to his father’s matching ones as he stirred the peppermint in his hot cocoa. “Roan. I haven’t seen him at all except through FaceTime.”

“Ah,” Rick replied. He took a long sip from his cocoa before going on, “You get him anything for Christmas?”

Aaron nodded, “He said he wanted this book, and I managed to get it from Ms. McCrill next door. You know how she bought all those books from the old bookstore? Well, she apparently was gonna throw it out, but when I asked if she knew where to find it because I ran out of time online, she said she had a copy!”

Rick smiled as he listened to his youngest go on, admiring the way his son’s eyes lit up as he rambled about how he also researched the book and is confused about how Roan would even ask for it, since it has a horrible rating. Rick loved how Aaron’s eyes lit up like that. The boy, well, young man now, dealt with so much and yet still found the joy in the most minor things, like finding a boring book for the brother he adored and looked up to.

When Aaron finished his ramble, Rick asked, “What movie do you think you and the cousins should watch?” Rick often gave Aaron small tasks during the holidays, knowing that, despite his very much not-normal life, Aaron enjoyed having the authority to make his own choices.

Aaron thought for a minute about the DVDs they had on hand. “Last year we watched The Grinch, so I think this year we’ll watch Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Keep it to the classics, you know?”

Rick nodded. “You gonna sit with the kids or adults for dinner tonight? Roan will most likely sit with us adults and tell us about his college and internship.”

“I’ll sit with Roan then. But not if Uncle Max sits next to me because I swear if he tells me one more time I eat like a chipmunk, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Rick raised an eyebrow at this. Out of sympathy for his condition, he and his wife had taken discipline lightly with Aaron, which often led to him now having a bad temper and tantrums. Aaron, over recent years, had been going through behavioral therapy, and it did significantly help, but Rick recalled last Christmas’ fist fight between Aaron and a cousin. The cousin had won, but it all started because Aaron took it too far. Hearing this about Uncle Max, Rick quickly made a mental note to begin assigning seating tonight. “I’ll make sure you two don’t sit next to each other then,” Rick promised, but then, with a firmer tone, “But only if you promise me you’ll keep your temper in check.”

Aaron scowled.

“I’m serious, Aaron.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron mumbled as he took a sip.

Rick realized he needed to take a more warning approach. He set his mug down. “Aaron James. I’m telling you right now, if you start a fight with someone, you will be spending movie time alone in your bedroom, lights out. Understood?”

Aaron glanced up at him and sighed, “Yes, sir.”

“Good man,” Rick said as he stood up. “I'm going to steal another cookie, do you need anything?”

Aaron shook his head, “Mom is gonna lock them up if you keep stealing them.”

Rick winked at him, “Ah, but I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t intrude on her kitchen time. Plus, someone has to make sure they aren’t poisoned.”

Aaron gave him a look, “She will personally poison yours.”

He shrugged in return, “Worth it. Your mother is an amazing cook. I would be going down with a victory.”

Aaron strapped his braces back on his legs as his father walked off. As he stood up, he tested the fastening as he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet. He heard a towel snap and a following yelp from his father.

He picked up his phone and headed to his room to call his brother and check on his drive home.