“If it makes you uncomfortable, Carlie will be here soon …” I start. The last thing I want is to force her to do something she’s not okay with. I’ve had to set a lot of boundaries with Shelby—that she doesn’t know about since she won’t answer when I call—so I don’t want to ignore any that Ivy has set for herself, as compelled as I am to repay her for all her help.
She waves a hand to stop me. “No. It’s not that. I don’t want to be a burden. I’m sure you have stuff planned with your girls. Not staying at the hotel and taking care of me.”
“Actually,” I say, “I wanted to keep all our same Christmas traditions that we do at home, and all of that involves staying intonight. Carlie and Law are joining us as soon as he gets back from picking her up.” Even though I planned this trip for the holidays so there wasn’t an obvious Shelby-shaped hole missing from our celebration, I still wanted to keep the familiar things the girls love.
“Okay,” Ivy relents. She bites her lip, and the shadow of a smile starts.
“Speaking of Carlie,” Law says, picking up Ivy’s carry-on and slinging her backpack over his shoulder, “I need to head to the airport.” He strides across the hall and disappears into my room, coming out a moment later. “See you guys in a couple hours.”
We wave, the girls bouncing around and chanting something about seeing Carlie, and then I step over to pull Ivy’s door shut. “Let’s go. We’re watchingElf,” I say. The girls run into our suite, and Ivy and I follow at a slower pace. “I was about to make fancy ramen.”
She freezes in my doorway. “Fancy ramen?”
A smile breaks over my face. “You don’t have ramen on Christmas Eve? That’s weird.”
“Fancy ramen,” she repeats, emphasizing each word and raising her eyebrows.
I gesture for her to come inside and take a seat on the couch in the suite’s living room, then scoot the footrest next to her so she can put her leg up. She watches me, even as I help her situate her ankle in a comfortable position.
“There’s a story,” she says. I take her crutches from where she leaned them up against the couch and put them out of her reach, inside the closet next to the door, just in case. She shakes her head.
“There is.” I move to the small kitchenette and pull out a pot. “You can have fancy ramen with me, or you can order something.”
She tilts her head. “I want to hear the story, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Shelby and I had it our first Christmas together.”I pull packages of Top Ramen from the sacks of groceries the girls and I got after leaving Ivy in the ER with Law. “We got stuck in Fort Collins and couldn’t get out until Christmas afternoon. On Christmas Eve, Shelby was bummed that she didn’t get to have the big dinner her mom always made, so I said I could make it.” I pause with a can of pineapple in my hand and turn to her. “Only … I couldn’t. I burned the turkey, the potatoes were like glue, and the gravy was lumpy, to name a few things wrong with it.” I’m chuckling to myself now, remembering the horrified look on Shelby’s face when she tried to dish up some potatoes and they wouldn’t come off the spoon. “I had to regroup. Fancy ramen was my only option. And then…” I shrug. “We laughed so much that night, and it ended up being such a good memory that it became a tradition.”
Her expression is contemplative as she watches me. “Even after … everything,” she says.
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter. “I thought I wouldn’t want to either. And maybe it’s because we’re not at home or something, but when we went to get groceries this afternoon, I wanted to make it. And it’s something the girls remember. They’ll only eat a few bites, but they called it Mommy’s ramen and I couldn’t resist.”
It’s bittersweet to share these memories with Shelby. On the one hand, she broke everything. I’ve held myself accountable for the part I played in making us unhappy, but alongside the guilt I feel for that, there’s still an ache over the loss of our family. But she’s also the only person who shares these memories of our daughters—the Christmas mornings together, the silly fancy ramen dinners with just the two of us, then three, and then four as our family grew. The days the girls were born. Their birthdays. When Scarlett started preschool. They’re things that will always tie us together, no matter what.
Maybe that’s why I bought the ramen.
She nods. “What is fancy ramen?”
“Pineapple, veggies, chicken, and egg.” I point to the ingredients as I say them. “You in?”
“Absolutely.” She leans into the couch. “But how would you feel about having some cookies delivered? Cookies and milk is a must-have in the Hart family.”
I unlock my phone and bring it over to her. “Go crazy.”
She doesn’t take it. “No. This isn’t what I meant. I can get the cookies, at least, considering you’re providing my fine Christmas Eve feast.”
“Let me buy the cookies. As a thank-you.”
She puts a finger to her chin and pretends to mull. “My babysitting rate is climbing pretty high. Maybe I should consider a career change.”
I keep my phone, an idea occurring to me. “A friend of mine from college lives in town. I’m going to ask him where the best cookies are.”
She points at me sternly, and I have the urge to lean over and kiss the tip of her finger, then lean in to kiss her lips. I blink the image away. Not the best way to just be friends.
“And after you ask him, you’ll tell me so I can order them, right?” she says.
I hold back a laugh as I go to check and see if the water’s boiling. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Malcolm used to do that.” She lets out a long-suffering sigh.
