“Straight to my cookies? I don’t even get a hello?”
“Mewwy Chwismas,” I tell her around a mouthful of cookie.
“Don’t eat too many, or you’ll spoil your dinner. I made a whole roast turkey.”
I swallow. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave enough room to eat at least half the turkey.”
“Good.” Emily gives me an evil smile. “That means you can go out and greet your uncle and aunts.”
“Traitor,” I mutter.
Ignoring me, she shoves me back into the living room. Dad’s at the bar cart now, too, pouring a mimosa.
“Merry Christmas, Ryan. Mimosa?”
“Yes, please.”
“Pippa, would you like one, too?”
My stepsister makes a face at the offer of champagne. “I’ve already got an Irish coffee, but thanks.”
The first words I’ve heard from her in days. It’s a Christmas miracle.
“So, what did you ask Santa for this year, Ryan?” Uncle Tommy demands. “Let me guess—a redhead?”
“Thought I might shake it up and ask for a brunette this year.” I glance over at Pippa to see if she’ll react, but her phone rings first. When she checks the caller ID, her eyes get all wide, and her smile shows every one of her teeth. It’s an expression I only see her make for one person—her dad.
“Dad, Merry Christmas!” she says brightly as she picks up the phone. “No, now’s a good time. I’m glad you called.”
She walks toward the door to get some privacy.
“No, I know, you’re not in town for Christmas. But we’ll do dinner soon. My treat,” I hear her saying as she leaves.
I roll my eyes. Pippa hasn’t spent Christmas with her biological father in years. I’d know, after all the years we both pretended we “forgot” to get the other one a gift. But every year, she’ll tell Emily she can only commit after she talks to her dad. As if the answer will be any different. Sometimes, I want to justblurt out the truth, just so she can finally stop waiting around for the guy.
I won’t, though. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt on Pippa’s face.
As far as she knows, Emily just fell out of love with the guy one day—Peter, I think his name is. So Emily broke up the family and broke his heart. Even though she still loves her mom, Pippa never quite forgave her for that. Because to Pippa, love isforever, and calling it quits is sacrilege. She’s always been a romantic like that—loyal to a fault.
And of course, selfless fucking Emily would rather take the blame for the whole divorce than tell Pippa about what her dad really did. All the nights he left Pippa at home alone when Emily was working the night shift at the hospital. All the goddamn debt he put their family in because he lost both their paychecks at the fucking casino.
Hell, I only know the story because my dad tried to use it on me as a cautionary tale.
You keep up this poker playing crap, and you’re going to end up just like Peter. Showing up hungover at the casino every morning at 8:00 a.m. Living in a shithole with two roommates because you’ve burned every bridge you built in your life.
Emily sits next to me on the couch and puts her hand on my knee. “Have you heard from your mother today, Ryan?”
I snort. The woman who spawned me hasn’t called or texted me in years. She occasionally sends me a random meme on Instagram for some reason—probably because she’s been drinking and trying to message a different dude named Ryan.
Emily smiles sympathetically. “I’m sure she’s thinking about you, anyway.”
“I’m sure she’s not thinking about anyone not named Jack Daniels,” I quip. “Everyone I want to talk to at Christmas is right here on this couch.”
She chuckles. “Flattery will get you everywhere, I suppose.”
Aunt Melissa and Aunt Paige spend the next ten minutes flipping through a celebrity magazine from Melissa’s purse, debating who’s gotten too fat. Soon enough, Pippa comes back in, offering them a new target.
“You wore black on Christmas?” Aunt Melissa says, looking Pippa up and down judgmentally. “Not very festive.”
