Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ridge
I’m quiet on Christmas Eve as I watch Whitney throw back the rest of the bottle of bubbly she’d opened earlier for a toast. She isn’t even using a proper champagne flute; it’s sitting empty next to mine.
The bottle sits between her legs, and I watch her take swigs every so often as we relax on the sofa.
Roman is asleep against my chest, while Sylvia nods off in the armchair in the corner.
The Grinch plays on the big screen in the background
Since I arrived, I’ve been playing along with whatever holiday vision Whitney’s concocted.
All of us, including Sylvia, are wearing matching red and green plaid pajamas with feet.
The night started out normal, with Whitney insisting we pose for numerous photos in front of the gaudy tree we decorated, her mother playing photographer.
Mira has the holiday off, and I insisted on taking over parent duty while Whitney played hostess; Roman parked in my arms for most of the night.
She did not object. Instead, she brought out the champagne.
When I first showed up for the festivities, the amount of decorations she had strewn throughout the house shocked me, especially the giant Christmas tree she positioned in the middle of the great room.
With lively holiday music playing in the background, we decorated the pine boughs with bright fuchsia and white feather boas, multicolored lights, and ornaments resembling exotic birds and animals, the textures and colors obscuring the evergreen pine needles.
Once we finished, she brought out a mountain of presents and placed them under the monstrous tree; the boxes wrapped in various shades of hot pink and lime green.
Her color scheme is anything but classic Christmas, more flamboyant with a bit of rock and roll. It actually suits her.
Whitney flitted and floated in and out of the kitchen as if she were genuinely happy.
She offered us various appetizers including chicken fingers, pizza bites, and jalapeno poppers, insisting the junk food of her childhood was part of the fun, and that no one should have to cook a full-course meal on Christmas Eve.
For the most part, Sylvia and I played along, eyeing each other with underlying concern.
It was one thing to witness Whitney enjoying herself while accommodating her guests.
Quite another to watch her drink so boldly in front of us without a care in the world.
But neither of us wanted to confront her after she’d spent so much time preparing for the holiday.
I had to put that conversation on the backburner for later.
“Don’t you just love the bold colors and costumes in this movie version?” Whitney whispers. “This was the vibe I was going for while decorating for the holidays.”
Roman is fast asleep with his little head against my shoulder, and I’m glad she’s using a softer voice. I turn and look at her profile. Her features are relaxed, and her lips are glistening with bubbly. “Well, if you were going for a colorful wonky vibe, you nailed it.”
Her eyes dart to mine, and she giggles, playfully swatting me on the arm. “Stop it. I made it whimsical and bright. You know, magical, for Roman.”
I nod. “Oh, yes. Magical, for Roman.”
“I kept our pajamas classic.”
“Thank God.” I tense as I feel her loop her arm through mine and lean her head against my other shoulder. I clear my throat, careful not to wake our sleeping child. “Hey, let’s pause the movie. I think our son has had enough of the Grinch for his first Christmas.”
Sylvia stretches and chimes in. “It’s past my bedtime too. I can take him up if you’d like.”
“Yes, Mother. Why don’t you take Roman up to bed so Ridge and I can clean up?”
Roman stretches and yawns as Sylvia gently lifts him from my arms. I don’t want to let him go. “Are you sure?”
The look on her face as she peers down at her grandson is precious. “I’m sure. Do you mind?”
I swallow hard, not about to tell her the truth. “Of course I don’t mind. See you in the morning.”
“Goodnight.”
We watch Sylvia slowly exit the room with Roman in her arms, and I’m struck with how uncomfortable I feel being left alone with Whitney. This is inappropriate, and I want more than anything to make my getaway to the guest room.
“Hmmm,” Whitney sighs. “Tonight was amazing. Thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” We’re still sitting on the couch, dangerously close to one another. I sit up and slap my hands across my plaid-covered thighs. “Well, Santa won’t visit if we stay up much longer.”
“Oh, come on. You can hang out for a few more minutes. This is the first time we’ve been alone in a while.”
“Mm-hmm,” I utter.
“Besides, I can’t wait to give you your present until the morning. I want to give it to you now.”
Before I can respond, Whitney has hopped up from the couch and bends low to retrieve a small package from underneath the garish tree.
I lick my lips, hoping it’s not anything too crazy.
I bought her a spa package from her favorite, pricey retreat center and a few Bohemian bracelets in a calming color palette of cool grey and blue stones; nothing incriminating to suggest we are a couple except as co-parents to our little boy.
“It’s not officially Christmas yet. Shouldn’t we wait until morning when your mom and Roman are with us?”
She shakes her head and slides across the floor on her knees before she leans back and presents me with a small box. “I don’t want an audience, Ridge. I want to give you this present now when it’s just the two of us.”
My shoulders rise in a deep sigh. “Well, if that’s what you want.”
“Open it,” she says.
I take the box from her hands and rip off the wrapping paper. Flicking open the lid, I uneasily stare at what’s inside and frown.
“Go on, it won’t bite you.”
I stick my fingers into the box opening and pull out a hard gemstone, the smooth, pale blush coloring reminding me of Beverly’s cheeks when she’s being bashful. “What is it?”
Whitney sits a little taller, as if pleased with herself. “It’s a rose quartz, also known as the ‘Heart Stone.’”
“The ‘Heart Stone’?” I repeat.
“Yes. It delivers exactly what it promises. It’s supposed to deepen the love present within your relationships.”
I frown, putting the stone back into the box. “Whitney, we don’t have a relationship. You know I’m seeing someone else.”
She blinks a few times before she responds, as if mulling over my words.
“I know,” she replies with care. “It doesn’t have to be romantic love.
It can be… family love, or platonic love too.
” She takes the stone out of the box and reveres it in her hand.
“Rose quartz is a powerful healing crystal. The pale pink is soft and gentle. It’s a stone for giving and receiving love. ”
I lick my lips and keep quiet as I try to understand the meaning behind her gift choice.
“I want you to have this, Didge. I want it to be a reminder that what we created together is pure love.”
“You mean Roman?”
“Yes.” Her smile is broad, and her eyes glisten with tears. I’m unsure if it’s the alcohol talking or if Whitney has come to a crossroads where she’s finally accepting we are not a couple. That I’m her friend, who just happens to be the birth father of her son.
“I love you, Ridge. I will always love you… and Roman. You are the best gift the universe could have ever given me. We’re bonded for life because of our son, and I want you to know, I’m seriously considering joint custody with you.”
“You are?” I’m alert, my voice hoarse in my response. My heart thunders in my chest as I realize this is the breakthrough I’ve been praying for.
“Yes.” Her one-word reply is hushed as she presents me with the box again. “So, won’t you please accept my gift of love?”
I reach for the box and take the rose quartz out, shoving it into my pajama pocket. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” She sniffles, and we awkwardly look at one another.
“Let me help you up.”
I stand and reach for her hand, hoisting her to her feet. She takes it a step further and hugs me, her whispered words in my ear sincere and said with earnest. “I want us to love Roman with everything we have. He needs us. He needs you. You’re a great daddy.”
I reciprocate for a few quick seconds and hug her back. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” We pull apart, and I offer a timid smile. I’m careful, because I know if I give Whitney an inch, she’ll take a mile. “I’ll grab these plates and bag up the food.”
“Okay. Do you mind if I sit here and finish the movie? It was one of my favorites growing up.”
“No, go right ahead.”
I gather up the dishes and take them into the kitchen.
It doesn’t take me long to put away the food and wipe down the counters.
I turn off the lights and walk past the great room, the tree still glowing and the television lighting up Whitney, who’s curled up in the corner of the couch.
She’s staring at the colorful images in front of her as she takes another sip from the champagne bottle.
“Merry Christmas, Whitney,” I say. “I hope tonight was everything you wanted it to be.”
She slowly turns toward my voice with tired eyes and smiles. “Merry Christmas, Didge.”