“I have a loft with a bunk bed. Will that be okay?” she asks.
“Yes, it’ll do.” I cross my fingers and hope Sammie can pass for a sixteen-year-old. Let’s see, I left home when I was eighteen, and I’m almost thirty-five years old.
“Great. Son or daughter?”
“Daughter.”
“Wow, what a surprise. Jon will be so thrilled,” Jolene gushes. “She can play with Collie.”
Right, Collie, or Colleen, Ben’s daughter, is named after our mother and only three years old.
“Yeah, she can.” I pull my fingers through my hair to detangle it. Wish I can detangle my lies as easily.
“What’s her name so I can prepare a stocking for her.” Jolene is ever so efficient like stepmothers are.
“Sammie, short for Samantha.”
“Samantha Powers. I like it. And what would little Miss Powers like from Santa?” Jolene puts on that cutesy voice older women get when they’re gushing over children.
“She’s almost sixteen.” I give a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’m sure she wants a car but will settle for makeup.”
“Sixteen! Wow!” Jolene’s voice rises. “And you kept this a secret for this long? Braden, I know you’ve been in some pretty tight situations, but is there anything else we need to know?”
“Nothing you need to know. We’ll be there sometime tomorrow.” I hang up as soon as all the pleasantries are done, and no, I didn’t want to talk to my father—not yet. I’ll let Jolene give him the big surprise, but the silver lining is that no one will be mean to me in front of my supposed daughter.
Nope. They’ll have to be nice, and Sammie will be well-paid to spend a traditional Christmas on a ranch with a large family and all the trimmings.
What could go wrong?
