Amy nodded sagely. “Guys always break up with you before the holidays. That way they don’t have to buy you presents.”
I smiled, amused in spite of myself. “So young and yet so cynical.”
“Not cynical. Realistic. Most couples break up over money. Or sex.” She rested her head on the back of her chair, closing her eyes again. “Either they don’t have enough or they’re not comfortable talking about it. Look at Meg and John.”
Meg had always protected Amy. It wasn’t my place to confide her worries about John. Even sisters were entitled to some secrets. Anyway, Meg and John had seemed happy enough at the hospital. “Meg and John are fine. They’re like Jane Bennet and Bingley.”
Amy raised her hand.Stop. “Please. NotPride and Prejudiceagain.”
“Pride and Prejudiceis a timeless novel. I lovePride and Prejudice.”
“Of course you do. Because you get Darcy. You’re always Lizzy, and Meg gets to be Jane, and who’s left? It’s like Beth and I don’t count.”
“I guess... Beth could be Mary.” The quiet one who played the piano. “Although obviously Beth is much nicer,” I added. “And a better singer.”
“You know what your problem is?” Amy demanded.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“You pigeonhole everybody. Like we have to fit into the same little boxes we had when we were kids. The responsible one. The smart one. The talented one. The pretty one. But real people aren’t all one thing. We’re all mixed up.”
Her criticism stung. Maybe because it was true. “I never said you were.”
“Uh-huh. Which sister am I?” Amy asked.
I flushed. “What?”
“Which Bennet sister?” Amy narrowed her blue eyes. “Lydia, right? The slutty one.”
I set my laptop on the coffee table. “This conversation is ridiculous. I’m going to get you some breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry,” Amy said.
“You’ll feel better after you eat,” I said.
The cheesy casserole I’d put together the night before was keeping warm in the oven. I put a big slice on a plate and dug out the red napkins, arranging everything as nicely as I could on Momma’s special “sick” tray.
Carrying the tray to the living room, I set it proudly on the coffee table in front of Amy. “Merry Christmas,” I said, satisfied I’d done my best to save Christmas.
Until she vomited all over my open laptop.
CHAPTER 22
Meg
The tree lights twinkled. The Christmas stockings were emptied and flung on the floor. DJ, ignoring his new toys, climbed into the carton John’s mother used to mail their presents. Daisy was burying him under discarded wrapping paper.
“Snow!” she cried, tossing sparkly tissue paper high.
I smiled ruefully at John. “That’s it. No more presents. Next year, I’m giving them a box.”
But they looked so adorable, giggling in their matching Christmas pajamas. I took a picture to send to Momma and my sisters.
John smiled back at me, his eyes warm. “Maybe one or two more.” He laid a flat rectangle in my lap. “For you.”
“Oh my goodness.” I flushed with pleasure and surprise. He’d even wrapped it himself, with a stick-on bow and corners secured with tape.
We’d already exchanged the usual, practical gifts, the way you do when you’re on a budget, shopping from each other’s preselected wish lists, a socket wrench set and a jacket for him, an electric toothbrush and a sweater for me. Underwear. Socks.
