His hand covers mine, and my body melts like a popsicle sitting next to a pool in August. “I can and I will. Plus, we’re going to Lizzie’s. Remember?”
I nod, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, he chooses that moment to kiss me. We finish our drinks and skedaddle to my place for a quick twist in the sheets.
Which leads to the panic attack I have a week later ...
Christmas Eve is finally here, and I’m not going to lie ... it needs to end fast.
Delia and James are en route, and the wordclusterfuckkeeps flashing in my brain. Not because of their holy terrors in tow, but Reid. Yes, Reid, the blogger my brother-in-law and I are both equally infatuated with. Okay, maybe me a bit more.
Last week, in some post-coital glow, I asked Reid to join us tonight. I blame the wine or the way he held my hand. Later, after we did the deed, he said he’d love to meet my twin. It was pillow talk, but I fell for it. I blame some post-orgasmic haze, or whatever thing he did with his tongue.
I text my sister, amending my swear words like we usually do in case one of our kids sees our conversation.
ANDI: Ducking Reid.
DELIA: What are you talking about?
She texts me back, hopefully keeping her phone away from the eyes of babes.
ANDI: Because he ducking pushed his way into tonight.
DELIA: I thought it was sweet. He wants to bring dessert and meet me. You said so yourself.
Leave it to Delia, always the needier one. When she needs me to commiserate, I’m there for her.
ANDI: It was, it is. BUT JAMES.
Yes, I shouty-cap scream the last part. James could be a big problem when it comes to Reid stopping over.
Yes, I told Reid my brother-in-law likes his blog.
No, I didn’t tell him I’m Andrea of UAB, and all of the above.
Yes, Delia reminded James not to mention my profession, but she couldn’t tell him I knew about his reading the blog. We’d already spent way too much time on the phone dissecting the James–Reid–Andi love triangle.
No, I didn’t tell Reid I’m not supposed to know James reads his blog, so perhaps keep that tidbit under wraps. Maybe he forgot I said it?
You see the dilemma, don’t you? It’s a disaster in the making.
DELIA: James doesn’t know it’s Reid-Reid. He’ll be fine. As long as he doesn’t take his shirt off. JK. It will be a BIG surprise for James and make his day.
I slam my phone on the counter and decide not to answer her.
Duck Delia and James. Couldn’t they stay in Ohio?
Next, I hear an awful clanking in the kitchen, and turn to see the top blown off the pot of water I set to boil. “Fuck,” I mutter.
Gabby is busy coloring place mats in her room, a baggie of Hanukkah coins keeping her company. Right—we always do both holidays. Traditional Italian seafood and pasta for Christmas Eve, with a side of potato pancakes and menorah lighting, no matter what date Hanukkah falls that particular year.
Noticing it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, I count how many minutes I have until Delia and her family invade my small place. Forty-eight, if I’m correct.
Taking seven deep breaths, I tell myself we’ll eat at about four, open gifts, let the kids play, light the menorah, eat dessert, and they’ll be back on their way to Ohio. Five or six hours maximum is all I have to survive.
It may work. Probably not, but too late to worry.
I boil my ravioli and defrost the shrimp, checking on the crabmeat-stuffed mushrooms in the oven, and spend all of six minutes freshening up and changing clothes.
“Merry everything!” James calls when I open my door.
