December 25th #2
My little sisters meet us at the front door, all dressed up. One is a princess, and the other is a fairy with wings.
“Day-Day!” they both scream. “Don’t we look beautiful?”
“You do. Did Santa bring you those dresses?”
“Yes,” Weston says. “Santa was here last night while we was asleep. And he ate all the cookies!”
“And drank all the milk!” Easton chimes in.
“And there were chunks of carrots all over the floor,” Weston continues. “Mama says reindeer must be messy eaters! That means a reindeer was in our very own house!”
“Do you want to show me and Ainsley what all Santa brought you?” I ask.
They both cheer, “Yes!” take our hands, and lead us into the family room.
A bit later, I can tell Easton is getting tired.
She goes and curls up next to Ainsley and puts her little hand on Ainsley’s belly. “I be auntie to baby Summy.” Then she looks up at Ainsley and says, “I want to kiss her.”
For a second, Ainsley looks like she doesn’t know what to say, but then Easton grabs Ainsley’s shirt, pulls it up, and kisses her belly. “I already love baby Summy.”
I’m getting choked up when my dad puts his hand on my shoulder.
“That makes me want to cry,” he says.
“They are so sweet,” I agree. “Although I’m not sure about the name Summy.”
To which my dad laughs.
Once the girls have a little rest, we head over to my mom’s house for Christmas dinner. Since we already exchanged gifts with them on Sunday, this should be pretty low-key. Just food and probably some football watching.
We’re almost to their house when it starts snowing.
“A white Christmas,” Ainsley says in a singsong voice. “It couldn’t get more perfect! It’s so pretty.”
“Hopefully, the roads don’t get bad,” I say.
“Who all will be here today?”
“Well, Treyvon and his family. They’re staying in Mom’s guest cottage, which should work out well because it means they can still do some of their own family traditions and not be with us the whole time.
But I know they are coming to dinner today.
Not sure who all is coming from Van’s family.
I think it depends on when their in-laws celebrate with them. Us, of course. Your uncle Tripp.”
“That will be fun.”
“It will be. And I can’t wait for dinner. I feel like we’ve been doing a lot of snacking. This will be a full sit-down meal.”
“Sounds wonderful,” she says. “Mostly because you are here with me.”
The real reason.
Ainsley
We’ve had an amazing Christmas dinner, and I’m feeling quite full. It may be because I gorged on potatoes—both candied yams and mashed potatoes and gravy. For some reason, I wasn’t as into the beef tenderloin as I would normally be, although it was cooked to perfection.
I go into the kitchen to help clean up afterward, but am told pregnant women get a free pass.
The guys have moved out to the covered porch and are watching football.
I decide to go into the den for a few minutes and text my mom.
I know she was nervous about spending the holiday with Hayes’s family, and I want to check in and see how it’s going.
Me: Hey, Mom. Just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas again! Hope all is going well and everyone loves you.
Mom: It’s going very well. We’ve had dinner, and we are getting ready to do the gift exchange. His family is great, and he really did a good job of raising them on his own. They’re very close because of it. And it just makes me love him even more.
Me: That’s such good news. I have been thinking about you all day. Have fun, and we’ll catch up tomorrow!
Mom: Will do. Love you!
I get up out of my chair just as there’s a knock on the front door. Everyone else is either outside or still in the kitchen, so I open the door.
“Dad!” I say in shock. “What are you doing here?”
He looks at me like I’m dumb and says, “It’s Christmas. Can’t blame me for wanting to see my girl.”
“Were you invited?”
“Family is always invited. Or at least so they say,” he fires back. “Come out here so I can talk to you.”
“Okay,” I say, stepping out of the door.
Dad grabs my hand and pulls me out to the driveway.
“It’s just … I haven’t heard from you since you randomly showed up in October.”
“Hey, it’s not like you called me.”
“I didn’t call you because I don’t have your phone number, Dad. But you certainly have mine.” I take in his supple leather jacket, designer shirt, expensive shoes, and the open bottle of wine in his hand.
He takes a swig. “True. Whatever. Just thought I’d come home for the holidays.”
“And where is home now?” I ask as I study him some more.
He looks confident. Put together. But I’m a little confused about how he got here.
“Vegas. Still.”
“Of course. What a great place for a gambling addict.”
His expression shifts, just slightly. Not enough that anyone else would notice, but enough for me.
“I’ve never been an addict,” he says in a way that makes me want to believe him. “Regardless of what my brothers have told you.”
“So, it’s normal to gamble away millions?” I ask him. “Your trust? Your inheritance?”
He shrugs like we’re talking about the weather. “It’s only money.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“You don’t agree, do you?” he asks, glancing around. “Look at this place. Van’s doing pretty well, don’t you think?”
“I think Van has worked hard to create a life for his family,” I say evenly. “And he’s handled his money well. Not just for himself, but for future generations.”
His gaze suddenly drops to my belly, and it’s easy to see the moment he realizes that I’m pregnant.
“Speaking of future generations,” he says. But instead of giving me a hug and congratulating me, he goes, “Well, if you had to get knocked up out of wedlock by someone, at least it’s with a guy who’s already earning serious money. I read his NIL deals are worth—”
“Don’t say it, Dad.”
He shrugs again. “Fine. You don’t love him for his money. But you should.”
“I don’t.”
“And I hear you’ve got a ritzy new job yourself.” His tone turns almost conversational again. “Just be careful. I worked in the family business once too. Bored out of my freaking mind.”
“I’m not you,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees, “you’re not.”
And there’s something in the way he says it. Something softer, like the way he used to speak to me when I was a little girl.
But it disappears as quickly as it came.
“And it’s bowl season,” he continues, like he can’t help himself. “Best time of the year.”
I exhale slowly, already knowing where this is going. “Do you bet on every game?”
“Only the ones that really intrigue me.” His eyes sharpen, and he grins big. “Like the one your beau is playing in, in Dallas in a few days.”
“I can’t—and won’t—talk to you about that.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “I’ve already done my due diligence. Placed my bet.”
“Awesome,” I reply flatly.
His eyes light up. Like he’s suddenly in his element. “Aren’t you going to ask who I bet on to win?”
“No, Dad, I’m not.”
“I’ll tell you anyway,” he says with a grin.
Of course he will.
“I’m a little down on my luck right now. Nothing I can’t handle,” he says, lowering his voice slightly, like we’re sharing some secret.
I don’t respond. I don’t give him anything. I absolutely can’t.
He leans in closer to me. “And guess what. I bet against your boy. Big.”
The words land exactly the way he wanted them to, but I don’t react.
I just go, “Cool.”
He studies me, waiting. “Hmm,” he says. “You must not love him that much.”
Which pisses me off.
“I love him regardless of his win-loss ratio.” And then—because I need this to end, because I need him to stop pretending this is normal—I add, “I think you should leave.”
“Can’t,” he says breezily. “Gotta talk to my brothers. Wish them a Merry Christmas.”
“By asking them for money?”
“No.” He snorts, but then he glances at my belly again. “But speaking of money … this one getting a trust fund?”
“No,” I say. “Why would it?”
“Because that’s what trust funds do. Fund future generations. And what about you? You get yours yet?” he presses. “Your uncles led me to believe I spent all yours, but I’m starting to wonder.”
And there it is. The real reason he’s here.
But at the same time, my possibly having a trust fund is news to me. “What are you talking about?” I ask him. “I don’t have a trust fund.”
“Yeah, you do. Everyone has one. It was set up by my parents. I talked to a guy about all that recently.”
“What kind of guy?”
“An attorney. He thinks I have a case. I’m going to sue the family.”
“Sue them? For what?”
“What’s rightfully ours,” he tells me.
For a second, I just stare at him, feeling like I’m looking at a stranger.
But I’m not going to argue or engage. I can’t.
I just turn and walk toward the house and hope he doesn’t follow me.
But he does.
And instantly, my chest tightens.
Because this is starting to feel like it did in the Ozarks. When he showed up there. The way it escalated. The way I ended up stumbling, falling, Damon pulling me out of the bushes—