“Bechdel Test,” Cassie mutters, like it’s a safe word.
Garrett furrows his brows. “Pardon?”
I wave it off. “So how many trees do we need to sell today, Dad?”
My mom bustles in from the back room, holding a notepad. Her face is shiny from crying, but she’s putting on a brave smile now. “Are you girls going to the market this afternoon?”
When my dad put in the skating trail, he got a permit from the town to run a horse-drawn wagon between the farm and Main Street on Christmas Eve. And the followingyear, some of the downtown retailers organized a Last Minute Christmas Market. When we sold out of trees, my dad gave us each some spending money and put us on the wagon to get treats for Christmas Eve.
A sister tradition was born.
“As long as they sell the remaining twenty-eight trees on the lot,” my dad jokes.
“Oh, we’re going to do that by lunch!” Jules declares with confidence.
“Do you want us to pick stuff up for tonight or tomorrow?” I ask. “Text me a list.”
My mom tears a sheet out of the notebook and sets it next to my plate. “That would be a big help, thank you.”
Garrett reaches across, grabs the handwritten page, and takes a picture. He taps on his phone screen. “I’ll text it to you.”
Mom beams at him. “You’re so helpful, Garrett. Maybe you should have a talk with Nate?—”
“Bechdel Test,” Jules yells.
My mom looks at her, startled. “What do you mean?”
Jules gives me an expectant stare.
Right.
My idea, my explanation. “Mom, we want to focus on the holidays today. No more talking about men. And I asked you to text me a list. Garrett was just doing that for you, because you ignored me whenIsaid it.”
Her face pinches up. “Well, I’m sorry, I guess.”
It’s Christmas Eve, so we’ll move past the qualifier. “Thank you. I love you.”
“Of course, I love you, too. But I don’t see how it’s a bad thing to notice how helpful Garrett is. Anyway,” she adds, blazing right past the passive aggressive guilting, “you’reright that we should focus on the holidays when we only have you girls here for such a short amount of time.”
“About that,” Jules says, wincing. “I need to leave right after Cousin Lunch on Boxing Day.”
“Okay,” Garrett says, cutting off my mother’s protest. “So we need to maximize every single second of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, right? That’s what we’re all saying? Twenty-eight trees to sell. Where do you need me, Dante? Put me to work.”
Chapter 13
Garrett
When we’re upstairs in Rory’s room, she flings my shirt onto the bed.
“Close your eyes,” she says, which is ridiculous, because I’ve seen her naked on a daily basis for more than a decade.
Instead, I shut the door and lean back against it. “Bechdel Test?”
“It’s like a safe word for mother daughter relations.”
“Ah.”
She peels off her PJ pants and digs out a pair of leggings. “What’s the temperature today?”
