Chapter 1 #2
“Uh-uh.” Mom wags a wooden spoon at her. “You’re none of those unruly teens from my school, dear. Call me Rebecca. I’ve told you a million times.”
“Sorry, Rebecca.”
“Much better, dear.” Mom turns back to the pot, making sure her homemade syrup burns off the right amount of bourbon and keeps the right amount of cardamom—Christmassy, with a twist. “Robyn, leave the bacon alone and stir my syrup.”
I should’ve warned her Robyn can fucking burn air.
“Mom.” I butt in, taking the spoon before Robyn does. “Let me handle that so you can do your nog, yeah?”
Mom snorts. “You don’t get presents until we’re done eating breakfast and I’ve had at least two cups of nog. Nothing’s swayed me in thirty years, Nathan, and I won’t be swayed now.”
I hold up my hands. “I wasn’t—”
“You absolutely were.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Every Christmas since you turned five, getting me distracted while you run off to snoop. Let me have my traditions.”
Robyn nudges me, siding with Mom … as always. “Yeah, Nathan, traditions are Christmas.”
“Thank you,” Mom states. “At least someone respects the order of things around here.”
I can’t even pretend to be annoyed. Watching them together is Christmas magic—two opinionated women bonded by caffeine and making fun of me.
The banter doesn’t stop while Mom wraps up and hands us each a plate with French toast casserole, crispy bacon, and roasted apples.
Mom unties her apron, and Robyn’s eyebrows shoot up as soon as her gaze lands on the sweater.
First confusion, followed by dawning horror, then a hand flies to her mouth as she chokes out a laugh.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, shoulders shaking. “Rebecca … no.”
Mom beams. “It’s festive!”
Robyn looks at me wide-eyed, delighted, and leans into me as I pull the chair out for her. “Nate, how could you not warn me?” she mutters.
I shrug, brushing my lips against her ear. “Some things you have to experience raw.”
Mom smiles at us, taking her own chair, and pours nog into three glasses, the good brandy already mixed in.
Robyn and Mom chat with ease. From the outside looking in, they look like longtime friends, nothing like the stale dynamic some girls manage to sustain with their boyfriend’s mom.
They just click. They get each other’s ambition—Mom rarely had career-driven women to talk to in our rural town.
Robyn mentions a patient; Mom counters with a struggling student.
Then they rant about collapsing funding in both education and medical research.
And I’m just … basking at the warmth that spreads in my chest every time their eyes light up in shared passions.
Robyn sets her mug down, fingers brushing mine, a little spark in her eye. “So … there’s this opportunity I’m thinking of applying for. It’s competitive. Really competitive. But it would give me a huge edge going into the attending hiring pool, or even with fellowships.”
Mom perks up immediately. “Oh? Tell us.”
“It’s an optional program to develop specialized diagnostic skills. Twelve months. They take candidates from all specialties for better collaboration. Hands-on time with top attendings.” She tucks hair behind her ear. “It’d be … huge.”
“Would you be working with Julian?” I chew quickly, coughing around a piece of bacon, to get the question out.
My stomach dips—not in jealousy. Julian’s been Robyn’s best friend forever.
Once, back in med school, they made out, and it didn’t work for either of them.
He isn’t into my girl, but he is annoyingly brilliant.
On his way to becoming a groundbreaking neurosurgeon, or so Robyn says.
And when they talk doctor or call themselves Team Neuro, the knife and the genius behind it …
well, I’m sidelined by expertise and become a fixture.
My stomach clenches at the thought of Robyn applying for yet another year of a grueling schedule that leaves little to no time for us.
Tilting my head to Robyn, though, her eyes glow with excitement brighter than the tree topper, the golden ring in her eyes gets larger with every word. She wants this.
“Yeah. He offered to put in a good word. He’s already been selected.” She looks at me then, decision forming in her eyes. “I don’t want a handout, and it’s a lot. Hard to get. I don’t think it’s even worth it for me to—”
Mom shoots her hand up. “Nonsense. Go after what’s yours.”
I nod. “Apply,” I add, no hesitation in my voice.
Robyn’s cheeks flush with that shy pride she gets when she lets herself want something big. “Nate,” she whispers, “this is big. We should talk about it.”
“If you want it and your career needs it, there’s nothing to talk about. We’ll make it work.”
Wearing a smile, she squeezes my arm. “Okay. I’ll apply.”
“So, Nate,” Mom says around a bite of French toast. “Have you heard from Tessa lately? Her mom mentioned she might be moving back to Chicago.”
She’s got a relaxed smile on her lips as she scoops some apples on her fork. It doesn’t fool me. Mom doesn’t like Tessa.
“Yeah.” I put my utensil down and pour myself more nog. “She’s thinking about it. Not now, maybe next year. I told her to just say the word and I’ll help her find the right apartment by visiting them and video calling.”
Mom scoffs, then faces Robyn. “How do you feel about Tessa?”
She chews and shrugs. “I’ve only met her in passing, so I don’t have much to go on. But she’s Nate’s friend. Why wouldn’t I like her?”
Fuck yeah. That’s how solid Robyn and I are. We both have best friends of the opposite sex and neither of us bats an eye.
We finish eating, and Mom finally grants permission to move to the living room.
Robyn and Mom curl up on the couch and watch Is It Cake?
while I listen from the kitchen and clean up so Mom doesn’t have to.
They’re yelling, “That’s definitely fondant!
” and my girlfriend’s going on a rampage about their lighting tricks and pliable sugar sheets. Robyn’s the real show.
Once I’m done, it’s gift time. We all move to the tree, and Mom drags the ottoman next to it. Robyn and I sit cross-legged on the hardwood, surrounded by pine and wrapped gifts. I’m reaching for one of them when Mom coughs. I scoff. What now?
“You guys look so cute. Let me get a picture real quick.”
Her glasses dangle on a chain around her neck, and she fumbles to put them on her nose while grabbing her phone.
She aims the camera at us, and I move even closer to Robyn and wrap an arm around her.
Her arm goes around my waist, and after a few poses, I kiss her on the cheek, quick and firm.
Smiling, her cheek lifts against my nose, and I nuzzle her before pulling back.
Mom squeals. “I love them. I’m getting them printed at Walgreens before you leave. Nate, you’ll hang one or two up for me?”
My chest tightens. Seven months after Dad left, Mom took down all his pictures. For years, the only faces on those walls had been Mom’s and mine. Now, Robyn’s is going up there because Mom knows she’s folded in, family. All that’s left is timing and formalities.
Something must show on my face because Mom shifts the mood by pushing a gift into my lap.
I carefully lift a corner of tape, peeling the paper back without a tear, and ignore Robyn’s gleeful screeches as she rips the red wrapping paper from the present Mom dropped in her lap.
The cycle continues, and the gift hidden in my pocket presses against my thigh, but before I can bring it out, eager to give it to my girl, Robyn beats me to it.
She pushes up to her knees and hands me a small envelope.
“Open it.” She’s got her fingers intertwined, sitting impossibly still, and the eagerness in her voice tells me my girl isn’t asking.
Inside are three folded certificates—two entry tickets each, valid for a year.
House on the Rock.
Taliesin.
The Rudin House.
These are buildings just a few hours out of Chicago I’ve talked about since we got together. Two designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. It’s architecture heaven.
I stare at her. “Robyn. Baby. This is—”
“You always talk about wanting to go,” she says, eyes bright. “And I want us to. We deserve this, Nate. You deserve us making time for this.”
I hug her to me and kiss her temple. “You’re—”
Mom clears her throat from the couch, hands clasped to her heart.
“My turn?” I ask.
I hand Robyn an envelope of my own. She opens it and gasps.
“I know it’s a bit unconventional …” I scratch the back of my neck, bringing my gaze to the floor. “But there’s a lot of tools and ingredients in that box and—”
Robyn’s lips land on mine. When she pulls away, I finally dare to look at her. She’s flipping through pictures of different types of flour, colors of fondant, and tools.
“A DIY sculpted cake kit? Nate—this is amazing.” She throws her arms around my neck. “We’re going to make something ridiculous.”
“Something edible,” I correct. “Ideally.”
She kisses my cheek. “I love you.”
Mom pretends not to watch us, but when I glance at her, there’s a tenderness in her blue eyes she doesn’t bother hiding. Eventually, Robyn heads to the kitchen to refill nog, humming under her breath.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I clear my throat. “Hey … Mom?”
She raises a brow. “That’s not your checking-in tone. What do you want?”
“Yeah, uh …” I rub my neck. “Your mom’s engagement ring. Do you still have it?”
Her expression softens. “I do.”
“I want it,” I whisper. “For Robyn. I’m ready. Maybe on that trip. As soon as she figures out her next step—fellowship or attending. I just …” My chest tightens. “Mom, she’s it.”
Mom’s eyes shine. “I know she is.”
“You’re okay with giving me the ring?”
“Nathan”—she grabs my hand—“your grandmother would’ve adored Robyn. She’s strong. Smart. Kind. She challenges you, loves you. She’s exactly the kind of woman we pass that ring to.”
A breath leaves me, shaky and relieved, and she hauls me into a cinnamon-and-bourbon hug. “Thank you.”
Robyn reappears then, two mugs in hand, cheeks flushed. She settles against my side with such ease I thoroughly believe there’s no place she’d rather be.
Mom smiles. “I’ll bring it on my January visit. We’ll do brunch. Maybe a show. I’ll make sure it’s a perfect fit.”
“Perfect fit for what?” Robyn asks, confused but amused.
“For the future, dear,” Mom says, and winks.
Robyn looks at me, puzzled, but shrugs it off. Mom smiles at us, and I know she can’t see what I do. A future as bright as the snow outside.
I’m going to marry this woman.