As long as the leak in the back of my space doesn’t get worse, I can limp through. Sure, it’ll mean more laundry since I’ll have to keep shoving towels in it to slow it down, but it’s fine. I can handle that.
Because Christmas mini-sessions are among my best-earning mini-sessions of the entire year, and as a result, my bank account will look much prettier at the end of the season.
Just a few more weeks.
If I can hold everything together until then—the studio and all our bills—we might actually be okay. We might even be…comfortable.
A girl can dream.
“Did you do your homework?”
As soon as the forkful of spaghetti hits my tongue, I have to remind myself not to scarf it down. I’m absolutely starving.
“Yes, Abby helped me with it,” she answers around her own forkful of food.
I make a mental note to text my best friend a thank-you before bed tonight.
“Did you have a snack today?” I eye her.
You’d think she was eating the last meal of her life the way she keeps shoveling food into her mouth.
“Yep.”
Growth spurt confirmed. Clothes count as Christmas presents, right? I can already hear the fake excitement.“Wow, Mom! These new snow pants are so much cooler than the little animatronic pet on a keychain I asked for.”
Let’s be honest, though. She’d get sick of that poor pet in a week, and keeping it alive would also become my responsibility.
“Mom, did you hear me?” Phoebe is poised over her bowl, an eyebrow raised.
So much judgment tonight.
“I’m sorry—I did not. What did you say?”
“Geez, Mom, what’s your deal tonight? I said, ‘Don’t forget about the field trip tomorrow.’”
“Field trip?”
Technically, I didn’t forget. I’ve just had my mind on a million other things since I saw the reminder in her bring-home folder Friday, after school.
“Yes. To the tree farm.”
She rolls her eyes like we’ve had this conversation multiple times. And to her credit, we have, and that’s theonlyreason I’m letting the eye roll slip.
“The tree farm,” I repeat as I take my empty dish to the sink.
Suddenly, a whole new level of panic sets in. One that has everything to do with the tree rancher who definitely did not inspire my best-selling Christmas set, and I’ve painfully—butsuccessfully—managed to avoid paths with ever since we moved here a couple of winter seasons ago.
And in a small town like this one? That’s nearly impossible. It’s taken a phenomenal amount of effort on my part.
I pluck my phone off the counter just as the reminder pings on my screen.
Whispering Pines Tree Farm.
I blow out a shaky breath.
We’re adults now. An entire decade has passed since we last saw each other, and a whole lot of life has happened in ten years. I glance at my mini-me scrubbing her plate clean, and my heart clenches.
A small part of me hopes Aiden won’t be there tomorrow.
