Chapter 9 #2
As their footsteps fade, Tyler turns to me. “What the hell is up with you?”
I shot him a look of challenge. “What are you talking about?”
“Since when do you go caroling? You fought Mom for years to get out of it.”
“I was a kid,” I say, eating the last bite of cake, then slide Finley’s plate closer and take a bite of her unfinished piece.
“The last time she asked you were twenty-five.”
“Look,” I say, exasperated. “Finley’s wanted a Christmas like Hollybrook’s her whole life. Part of the reason she came with me is to finally have it.”
His brow shoots up. “So… the only reason she’s here is for a real Christmas?”
“No, it’s part of the reason, like I just said.
” I flick a glance over my shoulder, checking if Mom’s within earshot, but she’s gone—probably upstairs getting ready.
When I turn back, Tyler’s still watching me, one eyebrow arched, waiting for me to slip.
“Finley told you guys that we’re still pretty new. ”
“So why bring her home?” he asks, still in interrogation mode.
My dad watches us both, listening.
“Because she would have spent Christmas alone,” I say, the words catching in my throat. The image of Finley spending Christmas Day alone with her cat twists something in my chest. “And I knew Mom and Mallory would love her.”
He studies me for a long beat, then says flatly, “Right.”
“You don’t believe me?” I ask my voice harder than I intend.
He shrugs, pulling a face. “What’s not to believe?”
“For what it’s worth,” Dad says, “she seems to be a lovely girl. Even if it’s new, I’m glad you brought her. You’d have felt terrible knowing she was alone.”
Tyler coughs into his fist, then pats his chest. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
Dad buys it, but I don’t. Tyler’s convinced I’m too self-centered to care about anyone else. He’s accused me of it before, and no matter how many examples I throw at him that I’m not, he always walks away unconvinced.
Maybe because part of me knows he’s not wrong.
“Do you need to change?” Dad asks.
“I should be good.” I’m wearing jeans and a sweater, and my parka, hat, and gloves are hanging in the mudroom.
“I put your suitcase in your room,” Dad says. “And I’ll take Finley’s up too.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say.
“And Tyler will help clean up the kitchen.”
Tyler shoots him a blank look, turns back to me. “Is this why you’re going caroling? To get out of helping with the dishes?”
“Of course not,” I balk. “I’m going to make my girlfriend happy.”
His brow ticks up. “Your barista girlfriend.”
“That’s right.” I lift my chin, pressure building in my chest. Like hell am I letting him take a shot at her for what she does.
Yeah, the irony isn’t lost on me, but rational thinking left the building the moment Finley walked off the plane.
“Do you have a problem with what my girlfriend does for a living?”
“I don’t.”
The insinuation that I do hangs in the air.
“People are more than their profession,” Dad says gently. “It’s what’s in their hearts that matters.”
I force a laugh. “You love her because she has a cat.”
“You can often tell a person’s heart by how they treat animals,” Dad says. “I suppose she’s close to hers?”
“She is. She was a wreck when it got sick.”
“And you noticed she was upset,” Tyler says in a challenge, not a question.
“Yes, actually,” I reply, smug. “I did. Finley’s one of the sweetest, most outgoing people I know, and she was unusually quiet.
The first day, I figured it was just an off day.
By the second, I knew something was wrong, so I asked if she was okay.
She told me her cat was sick and might not make it. ”
Guilt twists in my gut. While it’s true I noticed, I forgot about her as soon as I walked out the door that day. Why didn’t I ask if she was okay? Especially after she asked me, just nine months earlier.
Tyler lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Okay. I stand corrected. But you have to admit that’s not typical for you.”
I scowl and stack Finley’s now empty plate on mine.
“I thought you were cutting back on sugar,” Tyler needles, refusing to let this go.
“It’s Christmas, Ty. Everyone eats sugar at Christmas.”
“He’s right,” Dad says, patting his belly.
“You always eat sugar,” Tyler says with a laugh. “Especially when Mom’s not looking.”
Dad grins and points his fork at my brother. “What your mom doesn’t know, doesn’t always hurt her.”
“What don’t I know?” Mom asks as she enters the kitchen, wearing a red sweater over jeans.
Dad’s face softens when he sees her. They’ve been married for thirty-three years and are still each other’s best friends. The magic is still there—I see the way they sometimes look at each other, like they’re the only two in the world.
It hits me that none of the relationships I’ve had have even come close to what they have. Is it because love like theirs is so rare it’s almost unattainable? Or have I been picking the wrong women?
I don’t like the answer, mostly because I know it’s true.
Dad’s eyes now gleam with mischief. “What I got you for Christmas.”
“I don’t buy that for a second.” She makes a face at him as she walks over to the sink but then she’s grinning at him like he’s incorrigible.
“You step away from those dirty dishes,” Dad says as he gets to his feet. “Tyler and I have it covered.”
I grab the plates and bowls and head over to the island while Mom gives me a speculative look. “What?” I ask defensively.
“I’m just surprised that you want to go caroling.”
Do I want to go caroling? Not even a little. I’d rather smash my hand with a hammer. In hindsight, I should have suggested Finley go with them while I stayed behind to clean. But Mom’s glowing and Finley’s beaming—maybe I can survive fifteen minutes then slip away.
And yet I can’t ignore the tiny spark of excitement brewing inside me. I actually want to see her reaction when she’s singing carols.
That’s how I know I’ve really lost it. Maybe my plane lost cabin pressure and I’m suffering from slow-onset brain damage.
“I knew Finley would like it,” I set the dishes on the counter and lower my voice. “Coming here means a lot to her. Hollybrook’s like a dream come true, and I want her to have every bit of it.”
Mom studies me then lifts a hand to my cheek, tears filling her eyes. “Alex, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
She makes a face and drops her hand. “Well, you have a habit of—”
“Only thinking about yourself,” Tyler finishes as he walks behind me.
“I think about other people,” I snap.
“Bullshit,” Tyler scoffs. “Ever since you left for college, it’s all about you and how everything fits into your perfect life plans.”
My anger spikes. “What are you talking about?”
He stands up, a dirty bowl in his hand, and meets my glare. “You really want me to spell it out? I thought you were the genius with an MBA.”
Where the hell is this genius stuff coming from? He’s the one with the advanced engineering degree.
I open my mouth to tell him to shove it, but Mom steps between us, one hand on my chest, the other on his arm.
“That’s enough, boys,” Mom says wearily. “Can you at least wait a couple of days before you start in on each other?”
I bristle. Start in on each other? That makes it sound like we’re twelve arguing over the remote. But what lingers is Tyler calling me self-centered. Because as much as I want to deny it, he’s not entirely wrong.
I could make excuses—the charities I’ve donated to. The money I send every month to…
No. That’s not generosity. That’s guilt. And no one here can ever know.
It’s been easier to shut myself off from everyone—my family included. It’s easier not to get too close, not to feel. Because feeling too much has the power to destroy me. It damn near did six years ago.
I could claim I came home for Mom, but the truth is I need them. I need my family, even if I feel like I’m always walking into a minefield.
And if I’m being really honest, that’s part of why I brought Finley. I’m hoping she’ll soften the explosions, or maybe even disarm them.
I force the knot in my throat down and turn to my Mom. “In any case,” I say, forcing calm into my voice, “thank you for inviting her to bake. It means a lot to her.”
“Of course,” she says warmly. “She’s delightful.”
“Better than any other girlfriend you’ve bothered to bring around,” Tyler mutters as he loads the dishwasher.
“Tyler,” Mom warns. “You need to rinse those off.”
“Actually, you don’t,” he says, sliding bowls into the slots. “Dishwashers are designed to handle dirty dishes. In fact, the detergent works better that way.”
“Look at you, all domesticated,” I mock.
He shoots me a smug look. “I’m an engineer, dumbass. I know these things.”
“A domestic engineer?”
“Alex,” Mom sighs, exasperated.
“Sorry, Mom,” I say, but I’m still glaring at my brother when footsteps echo on the back staircase.
Mallory appears first, bundled in a pale blue ski parka, knit hat, scarf and mittens. A second later, Finley follows and I’m stunned.
She’s wearing a red wool coat that hits mid-thigh, the reindeer pin from the day I invited her is fastened to the lapel.
A white scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, and a white knit stocking hat is pulled low over her head, leaving her dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
The crisp white against the bold red and her dark hair makes her eyes brighter and her cheeks flushed.
I’ve always thought she was pretty. At the airport, I thought she was beautiful. But now—layered up and glowing—she steals the breath from my lungs.
She’s wearing more fabric than I’ve ever seen her wear, yet something about her stirs a hollow ache inside me. A longing for… what? There’s no question she’s the cause, but it can’t be a longing for her.
Right?
Maybe I’m getting to the age where settling down doesn’t sound so bad.
My parents were married right after college—Dad was in veterinary school—and they’ve made it work for over thirty years.
The start-up’s almost ready to launch, and I’m already wondering what comes next. Is a real relationship part of that?
If so, then why has that thought never crossed my mind until now?
This is way too many deep thoughts hitting me all at once. It’s only because I haven’t been home in over a year. I’m too damn young to be having a midlife crisis.
“We’re ready,” Mallory says, looping her arm through Finley’s.
Finley beams, practically bouncing.
“Get your coat, Alex,” Mom says. “We’re already running late.”
I drag my eyes away and stalk to the mudroom, pissed at myself. Finley’s clearly not interested in me, which makes me doubly irritated. With myself, for caring. With her, for… looking like that.
I’m not supposed to be interested in someone like her. I mean, she’s an amazing person, but she’d never fit into my world.
Still, I’m irrationally irritated that she’s not interested in me. Why? Seriously. She could do worse. I bet she has done worse.
I shove my arms into my coat, grumbling under my breath. Maybe that’s why caroling sounds doubly like hell—because standing next to her, pretending I don’t want something I can’t have, is torture.
Still, I’ve boxed myself in. Tyler already suspects me of being a selfish bastard, and a good boyfriend would go caroling with his girlfriend, right?
So, here’s the plan: I spend twenty minutes, max. Then I bow out gracefully. Or, better yet, Finley gets cold, and I swoop in as the gallant boyfriend who “selflessly” takes her home. Two birds, one stone.
Honestly, maybe Tyler’s right. Maybe I am a genius.
If my family sees how attentive I am, maybe they’ll stop saying I only think of myself. And if I happen to get something out of it too? That’s not selfish. That’s efficient multitasking.