Chapter 12
Simon
Mom
Can someone please wake up Nana Holiday? Our group ski lessons are about to begin.
Dad
Just be careful. You know how she gets.
Grandma Houlihan
Google sexy ski instructor
Aunt Minnie
What?
Grandma Houlihan
What’s this thing doing hello hello why is it typing what I say show me pictures of sexy ski instructors why are you typing what I say stop it stop it stop it
Mom
Mom, you’re texting the family chat.
Tonya
BUT WHY GRANDMA??
Dad
Did anyone wake up Nana Holiday yet?
Grandma Houlihan
What happened how did I get here how do I leave I don’t want to be here make it stop I just want to look at handsome men just show me a sexy ski instructor
Aunt Minnie
Ahh yes
Life’s most pressing questions
Dad
It’s getting weird in here.
Sounds like you guys are having a good time
Mom
We miss you Simon! We’re having the best time. When do you think you’ll join us?
Idk another day or two?
We’ll see
Aunt Minnie
I love that you stayed to take care of Violet
She’s sweet
Grandma Houlihan
Sexy ski instructor
Dad
DID ANYONE WAKE UP NANA HOLIDAY??
Never mind.
I’ll do it myself.
“Everything okay?” Violet asks.
“If you can call anything that happens with my family okay…” I close my phone and shove it in my pocket. “God help the people at that resort—the guests, the staff, the ski instructor—especially if Nana Holiday finds him attractive.”
Violet cocks her head, rust-red hair falling over her shoulder. “I’m not sure I know what that means. And I’m not sure I want to know.”
I point a finger her way. “Exactly.”
The living room has disappeared in an army of totes and bins we pulled from the attic, all of them marked Christmas Stuff.
On the mantle sits the card I made Violet yesterday for the mocha, and the one I left on her porch this morning with a pair of warm fuzzy socks, bright, bold, red and green with jingle bells at the ankles because Violet needed a break from bleak and black.
“It’s a lot,” she says, looking at the disaster in front of us. “Like, a lot a lot. Right?”
“Nope, that’s the wrong attitude. Did my warm fuzzy socks teach you nothing?”
“Were they supposed to?” Violet asks on a laugh, looking down at her red and green clad feet.
“Yes, Violet, yes. Everything is a lesson. And this one was: colorful vibes fix everything.”
She gives me a skeptical look. “Somehow I didn’t get that.”
“Obviously. So here I am, having to repeat the lesson. Let’s turn on some Christmas music, have a glass of wine, and look at these boxes as an opportunity instead of a challenge.”
“You should be a motivational speaker.”
“Babe, I am a motivational speaker. Look how motivated you are. Just look. I see it on your face. You’re the most motivated you’ve ever been.”
“This is true,” she says, laughing. “I’ve never been so eager to get you to stop talking.”
With the help of music and wine, we dive in, lifting lids off totes, moving things into the appropriate rooms, then start with the tree.
Once it’s assembled and the lights are strung, we pick decorations out of their tins.
Violet smiles at some of the ones from her childhood, cooing over things her grandmother made, or her mother, or a handprint from kindergarten.
I watch and listen, happy to be part of her stroll down memory lane.
Happy just to be near her.
Okay, wow. That is a side effect of this little venture I did not see coming.
“Oh my goodness, look at this one!”
Violet passes an ornament my way: a picture of the two of us, young and in love, wearing matching holiday sweaters, my arm around her shoulder in front of the tree in this very room.
“Look how young we were.”
“Just babies. Man, I felt grown-up, though.”
We were happy. That much is clear in the picture—beaming, thrilled to be in love. Over the years, my memory had dimmed on how good we were together.
How important she was to me.
How important she apparently still is to me.
“This belongs in a place of honor,” I say, handing the ornament to Violet.
She purses her lips, cartoonishly examining the tree before placing it on a branch at the bottom near the back.
“Oh, ouch.” I place a hand to my chest. “Really?”
“Consider yourself lucky it’s on the tree at all. It didn’t make the cut the last three years.”
I inwardly grimace but say nothing. Can’t exactly say I blame her.
“I’ll consider myself lucky all right. Look at you, smiling. Dare I say it… having fun.”
“Yes, yes, yes. You were right. A little company, a little decoration—good for the soul. Blah, blah, blah.”
We finish decorating the tree, set out the rest of the ornaments, then dim the lights and sit on the couch to admire our handiwork.
A soulful rendition of I’ll Be Home for Christmas comes through the speakers, and before I think twice, I set down my wineglass, take hers, put it on the table, and pull Violet into my arms.
We sway in the living room. She’s soft and warm, fitting exactly as she’s supposed to.
Like she never left my arms. It feels so good, so right.
Violet drops her head to my shoulder, her breath whispering against my skin.
I drape my arms around her, fingers sliding under the fabric of her shirt to the soft skin of her back.
A sigh escapes me—contentment, like an ache in my heart I didn’t know existed has finally been soothed.
I press a kiss into the top of her head. She stiffens, then pulls back, palms flat against my chest.
“Sorry,” I say. “Got carried away again.”
“Yeah,” she replies. “Me too.”
The energy of the evening dulls after that. The smiles feel forced. The jokes land flat. And I realize how much I hate it being this way between us. How much I've missed her these past three years. How much of me never stopped loving Violet Sterling.
Watching her thaw?
Seeing bits and pieces of the woman I used to know peek out, like the first hints of green in spring? It's perfect. It's wonderful. I want more.
I know I should talk to her about the contract. The longer I wait, the harder things will be. But I don't want to ruin what I've started. I don't want to watch her freeze over again.
I don't want to lose her again.
And considering my life and livelihood are in New York, I don’t know what to do about that.