Tom appeared at last, kissed his mother’s cheek, clapped his father’s shoulder, and that was that. He didn’t seem to pick up on the silent conversation passing between his parents, or notice the tone when Judith asked, “And did you make all this yourself again?”
“Oh, yes,” Lauren said as cheerfully as she could.
Tom didn’t say anything, but he never would. Lauren knew that by now.
Her fingers brushed her bare throat. After dinner, a necklace would be there.Thatwould be Tom’s statement.
Her smile softened into something genuine.
At last the doorbell rang again, and relief washed through her. Jake and Mia—thank God.
Mia swept in with snowflakes on her coat and a bottle of wine in her hand. Judith’s expression warmed; Richard took her coat himself.
Lauren hugged them both, grateful for the warmth of their smiles. They were allies, always kind. Judith’s eyes lingered on Mia with a glint of approval Lauren had never once earned.
Lauren smoothed her apron, forcing another bright smile. She wasn’t going to be jealous of her new sister-in-law.
She looked at her tree. Its branches full of bespoke ornaments, its colored lights dappling the wrapped gifts beneath it.
Soon, Tom would lift the quilt from its wrapping and trace the appliquéd scenes with his fingers—two coffee cups for their first date, the red door of their first place, the church, the beach. He would see the blank squares she’d left at the bottom, the future left open. He would understand.
And then he would hand her her own special gift.
None of the in-law scrutiny mattered—not the tight smiles, not the comparisons, not the careful silences. None of it could touch her as long as she had Tom.
Tonight, when she revealed the quilt and when Tom gave her the necklace, it would all be worth it.
CHAPTER 6
Tom
The table was set,gold-sprayed pinecones catching in the candlelight.
Tom hated it.
Lauren glanced at him, looking for something—approval, maybe.
He wished she wouldn’t.
Everything she’d made was too much: the gaudy napkin holders, the hand-painted ornaments tied around the wine glasses, the awful centerpiece spelling out CHRISTMAS IS LOVE. He could practically hear his mother’s teeth grinding at the slogan. The whole house looked like a kindergarten class, and Lauren was standing in the middle of it, proud as if she’d designed Versailles.
Tom felt the familiar heat of embarrassment rise in his neck. Why did Lauren never notice? Glue guns and holly would never impress people who’d grown up with taste.
He caught himself wincing and tried to smooth his expression. His father was watching him with that condescending smile of his—half pity, half commiseration. Tom looked away.
When would she learn restraint? Subtlety?
It was even worse than he’d imagined. His parents being here, being able to see it through their eyes, made it clear that Lauren’s Christmases were getting worse, not better.
He took another sip of wine, letting the noise of the room fade into static. Later, when everyone was gone and the mess was cleared, he’dhaveto talk to her. Properly.
For now he kept his polite smile fixed and stared at the centerpiece spelling out its message in cheerful red letters.Christmas is love.
He almost laughed. If love looked like this—glue and glitter and desperate cheer—maybe the word had lost its meaning.
They just needed to get through the gifts, through the smiles and the thank-yous, and then this interminable day could finally be over.
CHAPTER 7
