Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Alex
After I leave Finley and go back into the kitchen, I’m ready for my mother’s inquisition.
She looks up coyly from stirring the cocoa. “So, Finley…”
There’s no emotion in Mom’s voice to tell me what she’s really asking. It’s an open-ended question, leaving me to fill in the blanks. My back bristles and I go on the defensive. “What about her?”
Mom’s never been shy about her dislike for my girlfriends since college.
I used to shrug it off. Now I’m on edge in a way I haven’t been before.
The only logical explanation I can come up with is Finley’s sweetness.
She’s like a baby bird that’s fallen out of the nest. Or a baby bunny whose nest has been rooted out by the neighbor’s dog. How can I not feel protective?
“She’s sweet,” she says with a soft smile. “I like her.”
The relief I feel at her approval is both welcome and irritating.
“Yeah,” Mallory says. “I do too.” Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “What’s up with that?”
I expected this from Tyler and Grant but not my sister. I try to play clueless. “What’s up with what?”
“Like Mom said. She’s sweet. Nice.”
The defensiveness is back. Is she insulting Finley? “What’s wrong with nice?”
“Nothing’s wrong with nice,” she says. “I love nice. I love Finley. But you have to admit that nice doesn’t describe your typical girlfriend. Driven. Ruthless. Glamorous is your usual type. Not girl-next-door nice.”
I have to admit she’s right, but I’m still annoyed. “There’s nothing wrong with Finley.” Then a new fear hits me. What if she walks in and hears this conversation? The last thing I want is for her to feel like she’s being attacked.
Mallory rolls her eyes. “I thought I made it pretty clear I love Finley. It’s your previous girlfriends I’m dissing.”
Maybe I should defend the honor of my past girlfriends, but I don’t see the point. “Those women are in the past. Why are you bringing them up?”
“I’m just trying to figure out why you changed your type,” she says as she walks over to a cabinet and pulls out a bag of marshmallows.
“What can I say?” I force a smile. “She won me over.”
“I can see why,” Mom says. She’s been strangely quiet during our exchange. “She’s a lovely girl, Alex. What happened to her mother?”
I feel a moment of panic, but realize I actually know the answer to this. “Breast cancer.”
Mom shakes her head, looking sad. “She said her father died when she was young. She doesn’t have any grandparents?”
The panic is back. Why didn’t I think to find out these things? Then I remember what she said at dinner. “Her father was estranged with his family.”
“And her maternal grandparents?”
“I’m not sure,” I say truthfully. “But she currently lives in a low-income apartment complex for senior citizens.”
Mallory gapes at me like I announced she eats rocks for snacks.
“What?” I ask, my defensiveness back. “You heard her say she inherited medical debt from her mother. She’s been working two jobs to pay it off as well as going to school part time.”
Mom shakes her head. “I know. That poor girl.”
For the first time, I let Finley’s past really sink in.
When I was nineteen, I was in a frat, partying without a care in the world, while letting my parents cover whatever scholarships didn’t.
Finley had been slogging through minimum wage shifts to pay off medical bills after her mother died.
How much debt had she been saddled with?
How long had it taken her to pay it off? How much does she still owe?
I can’t imagine shouldering medical bills alone after the person you tried to save still died. I’ve drifted from my family for years, but they’d be there if I needed them—she didn’t have that.
The respect I feel for Finley is now mixed with a deep, uncomfortable shame.
“Well,” my mother says as though she’s the chairman of a board announcing a decision as she reaches for one of the mugs. “We’ll make sure Finley has a wonderful Christmas.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I know she’ll do everything in her power to make that happen.
Mallory looks up and smiles at the doorway. “Did you check in with your friends?”
I turn around to see Finley walking into the kitchen. She seems lighter than she did when she got home from caroling.
“I did,” she says, coming to the island and resting her hands on the edge.
“I assured them I wasn’t on a pirate ship being shipped off to who knows where.
” When we give her surprised looks, she laughs.
“My friends have very overactive imaginations.” Her gaze drops to the pot on the stove. “The hot chocolate smells amazing.”
“I was just ladling it up.” Mom scoops some into a mug. “Would you like marshmallows? Whipped cream? A candy cane?”
“Or all three,” Mallory suggests.
Finley laughs. “Marshmallows are fine.”
Mallory dutifully dumps a handful of mini marshmallows into the mug before handing it over. “Mom’s secret recipe.”
Finley laughs then takes a sip and smiles—truly, genuinely happy. Over hot chocolate.
When was the last time I was that happy over something so small?
How can she have lived through what she’s been through and not be jaded and bitter?
Mom serves the rest of us. I’m just about to say no—I haven’t had hot chocolate since I was a teenager—but decide to accept. Maybe the secret to happiness is at the bottom of a cup of cocoa. I take a sip, and while it’s delicious, I’m not any happier than I was before.
“Alex says you live in an apartment complex with senior citizens,” Mom says conversationally.
Finley looks a little surprised. “Yeah. After my mother died, I tried living with roommates, but I seem to be a magnet for bad ones. One stole from me, and another had a boyfriend who liked me a little more than he should have.” She makes a face.
Something in me tightens. She’s downplaying it—and I want to know who that asshole was and what he did so I can track him down.
Whoa, where the hell did that come from? I’ve never been a jealous guy, but this isn’t jealousy. It’s a primal urge to protect her. She’s had such a hard life, and I hate that someone made it harder.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Finley continues, “So after four disastrous roommate experiences—”
“Four?” Mallory asks incredulously.
Finley’s eyes twinkle. “I told you I’m a bad roommate magnet. It made sense to live alone. Apartments are expensive, but I heard about a low-income complex and applied. Thankfully, I was approved.”
“Even though it’s for senior citizens?” Mom asks.
“I don’t know how I slipped through the cracks, they said it was a paperwork mix up, but let me stay. I’m grateful they did. I met two women there who are now my honorary grandmothers.” Fondness softens her face. “They were the ones checking on me tonight.”
Mom frowns. “Were they worried about you meeting us?”
Finley freezes, then smiles, “No—they’re just very overprotective. But I told them how lovely y’all are and about the caroling tonight and baking tomorrow.” She cringes at her excitement. “Sorry, this must seem so lame.”
“Absolutely not,” Mom says firmly, setting her mug on the counter. “I love your enthusiasm. It’s refreshing.”
Finley lifts her hand to cover her mouth when she releases a big yawn.
“You must be exhausted,” Mom says. “Alex, why don’t you show Finley to your room?”
“Yeah,” I say, sliding off the stool. “Good idea.”
Finley drains the rest of her cup and heads around the island to put her cup in the sink, but Mallory intercepts and takes it from her. “I’ve got this.”
“We’ll probably get started around eight,” Mom says, “You don’t have to be here when we start—sleep in if you want and come down when you’re ready.”
“Oh, no,” Finley says, all determination. “I’ll see you at eight. Good night.”
I lead her up the stairs and stop outside my old bedroom. When I push the door open, I brace for nostalgia. The last time I’d slept here it felt like a time capsule—Grant and my high-school trophies. Twin beds with the same bedding we had a decade ago. Mom hadn’t changed a thing.
Only… she has.
The two twin beds have been shoved together and turned sideways into one enormous bed. A California King where my twin bed had been.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Finley freezes in the doorway, and her whole body stiffens. “Wait. You said we would be sleeping in separate beds,” she whispers, stunned.
“I know.” I slip past her and shut the door, then gesture helplessly at the monstrous bed. “My mom must have put the beds together. She probably thought she was doing us a favor.”
“Well, take them apart,” she hisses, whirling on me, furious. “I’m not sleeping with you, Alex!”
I stare at the bed, trying to come up with a solution. “We can’t take the beds apart. How will we explain it to my mother?”
She presses a hand to her forehead, looking even more tired than she did downstairs. “I don’t know. Maybe you can tell her we’re so new that we aren’t sleeping together yet.”
“No one is going to believe that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Trust me.”
She drops her hand and props it on her hip. “Why? Because you’re just so damn irresistible?”
I stepped into that one. “Well,” I hedge. “I seem to do okay with women.”
The flash in her eyes confirms I just made things worse.
“Well, good for you.” She stabs her finger into my chest. “But I must be immune to the Alex charm, because I am not sleeping in the same bed with you.” She marches over to the bed and grabs a pillow. “I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
I step in front of her and block her path. “Finley, where do you plan to go?”
She lifts her chin defiantly. “I’ll sleep in your parents’ office.”
“You can’t do that. My dad goes in there early. What if he—what will it look like?”
“That’s not my problem.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, my word! Was this your plan all along?”
“No!” I shout, then lower my voice when I realize my family might hear me. “I had no idea Mom would do this. She never has before.”