Chapter 6
Tom
The table was set, gold-sprayed pinecones catching in the candlelight.
Tom hated it.
Lauren glanced at him, looking for something—approval, maybe.
He wished she wouldn’t.
Everything she’d made was too much: the gaudy napkin holders, the hand-painted ornaments tied around the wine glasses, the awful centerpiece spelling out CHRISTMAS IS LOVE.
He could practically hear his mother’s teeth grinding at the slogan.
The whole house looked like a kindergarten class, and Lauren was standing in the middle of it, proud as if she’d designed Versailles.
Tom felt the familiar heat of embarrassment rise in his neck. Why did Lauren never notice? Glue guns and holly would never impress people who’d grown up with taste.
He caught himself wincing and tried to smooth his expression. His father was watching him with that condescending smile of his—half pity, half commiseration. Tom looked away.
When would she learn restraint? Subtlety?
It was even worse than he’d imagined. His parents being here, being able to see it through their eyes, made it clear that Lauren’s Christmases were getting worse, not better.
He took another sip of wine, letting the noise of the room fade into static. Later, when everyone was gone and the mess was cleared, he’d have to talk to her. Properly.
For now he kept his polite smile fixed and stared at the centerpiece spelling out its message in cheerful red letters. Christmas is love.
He almost laughed. If love looked like this—glue and glitter and desperate cheer—maybe the word had lost its meaning.
They just needed to get through the gifts, through the smiles and the thank-yous, and then this interminable day could finally be over.