Chapter 15 Christmas Eve Steve
Christmas Eve Steve
Iturned off Main Street, heading toward the Meyer’s house, and marveled at how I felt—different I was—only a month after that fateful Thanksgiving day.
I’d been full of dread and panic. I’d been jaded and annoyed at all the Christmas cheer.
I’d been terrified of running into a man I now knew I was in love with.
The whole town had dragged out the worst in me.
And yet, the only thing I felt now was peace and the kind of happiness that washed over me in gentle swells, like the warmth of the ocean under a starlit sky, or the gentle waves of a lakeshore on a sunbaked day.
I was submerged, but I was safe. I was settled. I was . . .
My phone rang. It was Teagan. She’d been at Tom and Linda’s since early this morning.
They had Christmas traditions to live out and a Christmas Eve meal to make.
I was meeting the family and Sam at the house so we could go to early church service before we dove into a big meal of fancy appetizers, charcuterie, desserts, and more cheeseballs than any one family should eat. But ‘tis the way at the Meyer’s house.
Look at that? I had even found my holiday cheer.
Sam had to work today, so I had done some last-minute Christmas shopping around town, wrapped everything, and then spent the afternoon job hunting for something in Mistletoe and the surrounding small towns for when my long-term sub job ended.
“I’m almost there,” I told Teagan when I answered the phone, running late per usual, but only by ten or fifteen . . . maybe twenty minutes tops. “You guys can start getting in the car if you—”
“That’s not why I’m calling.” Her tone registered suddenly—nervous, distant, whispering.
“What’s going on?”
“Your mom is here, Holly.”
A cold, hard block of ice dropped into my stomach. “What? She’s supposed to be in . . . in Turkey or Dubai or wherever the hell. Why is she home?”
“She’s here,” she hissed, ignoring my question. “My mom invited her to church with us.”
“What?” I screeched, the house coming into view. My mind started spinning with alternate routes of how to get out of seeing her. Plan Bs and Plan Cs and Emergency Protocols. “She hates church,” I added quickly. “She won’t go.”
“She’s going,” she said firmly. “Her new boyfriend is religious.”
“What are you even saying?”
“Steve.”
“What?!”
“Is that her?” someone asked in the background.
“She’s pulling up now,” Teagan said too loudly.
The person—my mother, presumably—cheered in the background.
“I feel sick,” I told Teagan.
“I have a white Russian waiting for you.” Then she hung up.
I parked the car on the side of the street and gripped my steering wheel as I worked through some breathing techniques.
Something shiny flashed in my peripheral, and I looked over to see Celine Haden dressed in a too-tight, silver mini dress, all kinds of skin exposed to the frigid temps.
Her dark hair was teased into huge ringlets that dwarfed her tiny face, and her bright red heels were sky high.
She waved her arm high over her head, her bangles jangling. “My baby! My baby is home!”
Good lord. Was it too late to drive away?
But drive where?
Mexico?
Did it matter?
There was a banging on my window. Then my mother’s fake boobs pressed against the glass as she tried to yank open the still-locked door. The happiness inside me dried up to ash.
“I’m coming,” I hollered but still didn’t move.
“Goddamnit, Holly, open the damn door.” In true form, her excitement and patience had dissolved as quickly as they’d arrived.
Taking one more steadying breath, I braved the cold December weather and got out of the car.
She was there in the next second, pulling me into a crushing hug that somehow didn’t involve her hands touching me—just elbows and wrists. She was probably afraid of breaking a nail.
She smelled like she’d taken a bath in Chanel No. 5. I felt sick to my stomach.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wrestling my voice into something that sounded slightly better than utter disappointment. “I thought you were spending the holidays on a shaman experience?”
“Hot air balloon adventure,” she corrected. “I did the shamans last year.”
I hoped she didn’t mean literally. “Oh, right.”
Another set of hands wrapped around us. These were definitely male but wholly unfamiliar. I jumped back as if I’d been burned.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
A highly botoxed gentleman with gleaming white teeth and bleached blonde hair grinned back at me. “I’ve waited so long to meet you, darling. You must be Holly. This must be Holly, bunny. Is this Holly?”
My mom slithered against his side, tucking under his arm clothed in a white suit coat bright enough to match his teeth.
“This is her. Didn’t I tell you she was a looker?
Especially when she tries. I mean, look at her.
” Then she reached forward and rubbed at the corner of my mouth.
“Oh, sorry, baby, it must be a smile line.”
I was not a vain person . . . but. BUT. Pulling back, I looked at the newest belt notch on Celine Haden’s long list of suitors and forced a smile. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Steve,” he told me enthusiastically, squeezing my mom against him, his hand cupping her boob. “Steve Sminkny.”
“We met at the airport. Can you believe it?” she gasped, patting his chest proudly.
I could absolutely believe it.
Steve laughed in a way I knew he thought was charming.
“I was on my way to a work conference. I sell insurance. Home, auto, life, the whole bit. But once I met your mother, I abandoned all plans and let her whisk me away to exotic locations.” He gazed down at her adoringly.
“She was the best detour I’ve ever taken. ”
“I bet she was,” I said through gritted teeth.
The Meyer family had walked out to the lawn by now, waiting to pile into the cars for our caravan to church.
“We should get going,” Linda called from the driveway, a concerned look on her face.
Then Sam was striding over toward me, all purposeful steps and furrowed brow.
I wanted to throw my body in front of his before my mom saw him.
I wanted to yell at him to duck and cover, to protect this fragile new thing we had from the wrecking ball that was my mother.
Instead, I stood there in abject horror as my mother’s attention swiveled to his impressive form, eyebrows raised in appreciation.
“Is that Sam Autry?” she asked, breathless, already pushing away from Steve. “Sam Autry all grown up?”
Steve’s eyes narrowed at the abrupt competition. I wanted to crawl beneath my car and ask Teagan to run me over.
“Okay?” Sam asked, pulling me into a hug, ignoring the female predator appraising him. He nuzzled his face into my hair, inhaling deeply. “We can go,” he whispered against my skin. “We don’t have to stay here.”
My mother’s gaze evolved from hungry to horrified as she took us in.
My arms had fallen around him like he was a lifesaver, and I was drowning at sea.
His arms had curled around me in the most protective, familiar sort of way.
It had only been a few weeks of dating, but this hug felt like something lasting, something permanent, something . . . perfect.
“I’m okay,” I told him, finding a backbone at the bottom of my childhood trauma. “I’m okay,” I said it again louder, meaning it.
We stepped apart, and I met my mom’s eyes confidently. She had a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, and her long, overly decorated acrylic fingernail was in the air, making circles, as if she had an invisible mustache to twirl.
“Wait . . . is this . . . are you two a . . . thing?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
My confidence trembled. What were we? I was struggling to make heads or tails of my own feelings for Sam. I had no idea how he felt about me, let alone what he thought about us.
But before I could stumble through a nonchalant, half-hearted explanation, Sam said, “We are a thing.” He looked at me, his eyes scanning my face. His brow lifted in a silent question. “A very good thing.”
I nodded, agreeing. My lips lifted in a smile I couldn’t have stopped even if I wanted to.
“For how long?” she pressed, her tone unhappy and cynical.
He purposefully misunderstood the question. “Forever, hopefully.” His grin was shy, nervous.
My mother’s eyes bugged. “Forever?” Then a haughty laugh. “Since when?”
In the background, Linda yelled, “We should go!” None of us moved.
Sam looked from me to my mom. “Since I kissed her under the mistletoe.”