Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“And we’re going,” Christi finished triumphantly. “Selena wasn’t sure, but Mrs. Kloss said there was no way she could do it without us.”
“That sounds great,” Jake said enviously. “My mom and Uncle Nic went once when I did that semester abroad–you remember when I went to Italy, Selena?”
I nodded. I remembered. It had been what broke us up. We’d talked about how I’d visit at least twice and it would be so romantic and fun, and then…we just never planned the trips. His schedule was so busy; mine was so erratic. And so things had just fizzled out. I’d picked him up from the airport at the end of it, and he’d started to kiss me, and then we’d both frozen, our lips a few inches apart, and started laughing.
“My mom said they didn’t have that much fun, but it didn’t look that way from the pictures I saw,” Jake continued. “But they didn’t want to go the next year.”
“Don’t you guys have a whole routine?” I asked absently, bits and pieces of it coming back to me. They always watched a certain movie, and there was something quirky they did, but I couldn’t remember exactly what it was.
“We do have a whole routine,” Jake confirmed, moving into storyteller mode for Christi’s benefit. “First, we trim the tree.”
“The fake tree,” I remembered.
“That’s right,” Jake pointed at me. “The fake tree.” He continued the explanation.
“Wait, you always watch A Christmas Story on Christmas Eve?” Christi said. “Like, you never say, ‘hey, let’s watch Elf instead?’”
“It’s happened maybe twice,” Jake allowed. “It puts my mom in a weird mood though. She’s really into tradition.”
I never would have said this to Jake, but it sounded like his mom was permanently haunted by the Ghost of Christmas Past. They’d been recreating the same tableau for almost twenty years. Once, I’d thought it was sweet that his uncle had stepped up to be his surrogate father. Now it hit me differently. Now it made me wonder if it was why Dominic had never married and had a family of his own? Because he had been cast in the role of Jake’s replacement father? Destined to relive Jake’s fifth Christmas over and over again for the rest of his life?
It made me sad for all of them, and thoroughly miserable for myself. There were already so many obstacles between Dominic and me. My history with his nephew, my current position with his company. His age, my virginity. How could I compete with ghosts as well?
“What about Thanksgiving?” Christi asked, trying and failing to keep a gobsmacked look off her face. “Is that set in stone, too?”
“Less so,” Jake said. “Once, Uncle Nic even brought a date.”
I was spreading cream cheese on my toasted bagel, but at the word date, the knife slid off the crisped surface of the bread and smeared the cream cheese across my thumb. I stuck it in my mouth.
“Did you cut yourself?” Christi asked, alarmed. I was known for kitchen mishaps.
“No.” I pulled my thumb free and turned to the sink to wash my hands. “Just cream cheese.”
She sighed with relief, and then explained to Jake, “We have our own tradition. It goes like this – every time Selena tries to cook, we end up eating out of a hospital vending machine.”
“That was one time,” I called over my shoulder, though it might have been twice, and God knew there had been more close calls than I could count.
“Wow, I hope your parents put baby gates on the kitchen for Thanksgiving dinner so she doesn’t accidentally wander in,” Jake joked.
I turned off the water, and the silence was very loud. I turned to look at Christi. She looked back at me. Jake looked between both of us. “What? What did I say?”
“We’re not invited to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner,” Christi said after a moment. She’d trained her voice to sound flippant, but it was a wasted effort. Neither of us were fooled.
“You’re not invited?” Jake repeated. “What, like, they’re going out of town?”
“No, they’ll be in town,” I said grimly. “They’re hosting two couples from their church. They’re bringing their kids.”
“And their grandkid,” Christi added, a bitter note slipping into her voice. Our parents had had nothing to do with her for almost six months now. They’d renounced her when she decided to live in sin with her no-good boyfriend, and they didn’t bother coming back into her life to say I told you so when he knocked her up and rolled out. When I talked to them last week, hoping for a thaw, they’d made it clear they’d meant what they said.
Christi was no daughter of theirs.
“That’s fucked up,” Jake breathed, getting the full picture without needing another word of explanation.
“Yup.” Christi picked at her nail. Another silence fell. This time, no one was trying to meet anyone’s eye. I felt prickling embarrassment spreading like a flush across my cheeks, down my neck. Jake must think–