“Thanks,” Reid says. “Without readers, I couldn’t do it, but today’s the holiday and Andi’s turn to poison us with her cooking.”
And that’s all, folks. No more blog talk. No more nerves. All thanks to Reid.Duh.
I’m not able to relax entirely, but I do enjoy a glass of wine while Delia gets to know Reid. She repeats little tidbits back to him in what I can only imagine is some sort of memorization technique. “Stats professor, nice.” “Tenure track, but the blog takes up time. Hmm, I see.” “Alone for the holidays. So great you found Andi.”
I watch them, my head swinging back and forth like I’m engrossed in a live tennis match.
My sister and my lover (of five minutes) are talking like I’m not here. My kid is playing in the other room with her cousins. James is fangirling in the corner.
This is not my life, but evidently it is.
“I’m not much of a griller, but I can see how you would make it better,” my sister purrs. Purrs!
Is she flirting with my guy? And is she talking about his blog?
“I think we should eat,” I announce out of nowhere, my wineglass empty.
As soon as I hit the kitchen, I refill the sucker and start pulling pans from the oven, then ladle food into the serving dishes. “James, will you tell the kids it’s time to eat?”
Reid excuses himself to use the bathroom, and I manage to give Delia seven dirty looks in the time both he and James are gone.#winnerwinnerchickendinner
“Sit next to me, Reid,” I hear Gabby say in the hallway.
“Who else would I sit next to?”
My heart does cartwheels, and I have to consciously stop myself from dancing in the kitchen. The way I feel isn’t normal. It’s some sort of Stockholm syndrome with Reid. Yeah, I know I’m not stuck with him, but he’s the first guy to stick with us. I’m crazy for him because he’s here.
The gang gathers around the dining room table, carefully decorated by Gabby, and Delia comes to help me.
“I love him,” she barely whispers.
“Shhh,” I tell her, pretending to be offended by her overt affection. Really, I don’t need any reminders of how much there is to love when it comes to Reidville.
Delia leads us in a round of thanks and gratitude, and then we light the Hanukkah candles earlier than usual, which gives me hope the evening will end earlier than expected.
With Robbie shouting the prayers, I look around our crazy crew. Our kids must be so confused with the Italian food spread in front of them, Jewish prayers they’ve barely heard more than once a year ringing in the air, and a Brit and a hot geek at the table, to boot.
Finally, everyone digs in. Wine flows, and laughter fills the room. Reid compliments my cooking, taking seconds of my potato pancakes. I don’t bother to mention they’re store bought. I can’t think of a better Christmas until ...
James sticks not one, but both feet in his mouth. “What’s on the blog for Christmas tomorrow, Reid?”
“Actually, I’m not doing any grilling this year. I’m doing a post on beard grooming and running a campaign asking for donations to several men’s shelters this holiday season.”
Leaning back in his chair, James knows he’s looking dapper in his cashmere sweater and slacks. “Fabulous,” he says in his dumb-twat accent that makes me want to punch him. “You know, Andi blogs—”
“Blogged,” I say quickly.
James sits forward and looks incredulous, like he’s been reprimanded six ways from Sunday. These damn Brits; they’re so sensitive.
“Blogged,” I repeat, this time more firmly.
“Really?” Reid slides his glasses down the bridge of his nose and eyes me like an old-school librarian. It’s kind of sexy, but I can’t focus on that right now because my heart is in my left foot.
I notice Delia kicking James under the table, and scowl at her obtrusive actions.
“Used to. Mom blogger, guilty as charged.” I raise my hand in the air.
“And?” Reid prompts me to go on.
