“And you’re not?” I wait but she’s quiet. “There’s nobody here but me.”
“Well, I just don’t love it the way she does.” She pulls out a string of Christmas lights. They’re the big, colorful kind that twinkle when you put them on setting three.
I take them from her and plug them into the socket, inspecting the strand for broken or burned out bulbs. “So tell her that.”
“I can’t. I’m the oldest daughter.”
I look up from my inspection. Maybe it’s one of those things that I don’t understand since I’m a triplet.
She sighs like I should understand this without explanation. “I always do what everyone else wants.”
“Sounds like a perfect way to be miserable.” I twist a burned out bulb free and replace it with a matching red one.
“You don’t understand my mom,” she answers. “My dad died when my sister and I were young, and the family business was all she had left of him. If I let go of it, she’s going to think I’ve forgotten about him.”
“I don’t know your mom. But I know that I’d never want a kid of mine to feel like they had to paste on a smile around me. I mean, that’s not really being authentic.”
She’s quiet for a moment then she finally admits in small voice, “Sometimes parents don’t want you to be authentic. They want you to smile in all the right places and make them look good.”
I frown and ask, “Who said that was your job?”
She blinks.
“You don’t have to be the happiness coordinator forever. Maybe it’s better that you resign from the job and find something that makes you happy.”
I watch as the realization dawns on her face and my heart twists. I don’t think anyone has ever told my girl that she doesn’t have to be what everyone else wants.
Fuck. When she is finally mine, I’ll make sure she knows that I never expect anything from her. I never want her to be anything other than exactly what she is–adored, loved, perfect.
“I could do that?” she asks in a quiet whisper.
I nod.
“It can’t be that simple,” she murmurs, but I can tell from the way she says it that the idea is taking root.
“Just think about it,” I answer as I pass her the strand of lights now that I’ve fixed the bulbs.
We wrap several strands of glowing lights around the tree until it’s practically glowing. Every time our hands accidentally brush, she looks away from me.
Her stomach finally growls just as we finish with the lights.
“It’s time to eat,” I tell her even though she reaches for a box of Christmas decorations. For someone who says she hates the holiday, she’s good at decorating for it.
“Good idea,” she says and sets the box down again. She pads into the kitchen like she owns it. I follow behind, loving the sight of her in my space. I can’t wait until she moves in and decorates the place just the way she likes.
If she’ll be mine, I’ll be the happiest man in the world. I’ll let her do whatever she wants with the cabin. It’ll be hers in every way, just like my heart is hers.
I can’t be thinking about these mushy things, or I’ll go and tell her all my feelings. She made it clear earlier when we were cutting down the tree that she isn’t entirely open to feelings right now, but there’s still a lot I can do to convince her.
She sets the oven, and I reach for my phone, swiping the app for my glucose monitor. I’m always checking it throughout the day.
“Who are you texting? I thought the towers were down.”
I have to hide a grin at the note of jealousy in her tone. I hold up my phone to show her the screen. I don’t ever want her thinking she has anyone to be jealous of. She’s it for me, body and soul. “I was checking my blood sugar level.”
Her cheeks go pink. It’s my favorite color on her, I’ve decided. “Oh, sorry. That’s like diabetes, right?”
I nod, not used to talking about this with most people. While it consumes a fair amount of my day just trying to stay alive, it’s also one of those things I don’t mention because I don’t want to be treated differently. “Yep, I’m a diabetic.”
