Pippa’s smile looks strained. “Well, I did wear red shoes.”
Fuck, yeah she did. She’s in a pair of bright red high heels with a little bow on them, which make her legs look a billion miles long in her tight black jeans. Her silk blouse has a bow on it, too. She looks like a present I’d kill to unwrap.
“Pippa, why don't you put on a Santa hat for the pictures?” Emily offers, giving her a glance that transparently says,yes, I know your Aunt Melissa is being a cunt, but let it go because it’s Christmas.
Reluctantly, Pippa pulls the hat over her tousled bob. It should make her look ridiculous, but it’s actually fucking adorable. Man, if I could have her in bed with just that hat and those red heels, I would be a happy man.
“You too, Ryan.” Emily shoves another hat into my hands. I put it on, because I’m a good sport, even though it’s not going to look any cooler on me. “Now get in front of the fireplace. We should take the picture.”
Ugh.The Picture.
Every Christmas since we were kids, Emily has put Pippa and I in front of the fireplace and has us hold up our stockings. If you flipped through all those photos, you’d see exactly the same thing—Pippa and I standing stiffly next to each other, managing to scowl even as we smile for the camera. I think the only difference between them is that one year I had a nose piercing—an error in judgment—and one year, Pippa had bangs.
I thought since they’d traveled the last few Christmases, the tradition had finally and mercifully died, but apparently it’s been raised from the dead. Yay for miracle resurrections.
Pippa doesn’t look at me as she grabs her pink stocking and stands in front of the fire.
Fine. I won’t look at her, either. We stand at opposite sides of the fireplace, with a good meter of space between us.
“Oh, come on, you can get closer than that,” Uncle Tommy chortles.
Pippa and I each shuffle an inch closer to the other one. Because even though she pretends to be the mature one, she’s just as bad as me.
Emily holds up her phone and focuses on us. “Say cheese!”
I don’t smile. I’m pretty sure Pippa isn’t, either.
“She said, ‘say cheese,’” Dad grunts. Theor elseis implied.
“Fuckingcheese,” I say through my grinning teeth, but I’m the only one that says it. Pippa doesn’t bother.
“Someone’sgrouchy on Christmas,” Uncle Tommy says, his eyes furtively tracking to Pippa like if he looks too closely he might set her off.
“Pippa’s staying at Ryan’s place while she looks for a new apartment,” Emily says. “I’m sure it’s just regular roommate tension.”
I almost feel bad about how hard she’s working to keep things light. Between Uncle Tommy’s shitty jokes, Aunt Melissa’s nitpicking, and Aunt Paige’s pointed sneering, Emily has enough to deal with, even without Pippa and me airing out our grudges.
“Poor Pippa,” Aunt Melissa says like I’m not even here. “I’ve heard he’s up all hours with strange women in and out of that cesspool of an apartment building.”
“Nothing wrong with bringing a few girls home for a little fun,” Uncle Tommy chortles.
Aunt Paige’s nose wrinkles. “Well, I hope Pippa finds a suitable place before Ryan’sbehaviorrubs off on her.”
My teeth clench together. They always act like I’m some huge disappointment, as if any of them know anything about how I live my life. No, enjoying being single and making a living playing poker basically makes me a piece of trash to them.
“How’s the apartment hunt going, Pippa?” Emily makes a noble attempt to change the subject, even though her voice sounds strained.
She takes a sip of her Irish coffee. “Not great. I wasn’t able to find anything for January, but I’m hoping things open up after the holidays.”
“Well, I’m sure you can’t afford much with your little magazine job,” Aunt Melissa says.
“Have you read some of the articles she’s been writing?” Aunt Paige sniffs. “Writing about kinky sex using her real name? Jack, that can’t look good for the family.”
“I publish under my own last name,” Pippa says.
“I don’t mind. It’s not easy to be a writer these days,” Dad says. “This is the best she can get.”
Pippa looks down at the floor, her cheeks turning pink. Suddenly, I don’t give a shit about how she’s been ignoring me, or how much it stung for her to say I was nothing. Now, I’m fucking furious.
