This girl has so many layers that I fear I’ll never be able to sleep again until I upturn every one. So, for the second time tonight, I realize I’m in trouble.
Thanks to the lamest excuse ever, I end the evening telling her I forgot an early work shift in the morning.
I can’t tell if she’s more disappointed or relieved as she climbs into the yellow cab she insisted on calling to pick her up. But when I ask for her number, she types it into my phone.
Before I’m ready to let this fascinating woman go, the taxi pulls away from Promontory Point.
five
PRESENT DAY
KATE
Igive my taxi driver a generous tip. Shivering across the parking lot, I grip the icy handle to the bowling alley and yank it open. Warm air whooshes around me, kissing my cheeks. I exhale a frozen breath, running my palms up and down the sleeves of my not-nearly-warm-enough silk graphic bomber jacket I wore to work this morning.
My blood pressure spikes for the millionth time over Kendra assigning me to work with Brandon in that stupid office. As much as I want to save my job, that man is insufferable. We do have the week after Christmas off, so I’m glad I won’t have to see him again until after the new year.
I slip off my jacket, hang it on a hook, and adjust my black long-sleeved top.
Amantha insisted on forming a new tradition by holding the Adams’ Christmas Eve party at the bowling alley. Granted, Christmas Eve is technically tomorrow, but Amantha’s son will be spending it with her Satan-like ex-husband. My heart twists for her. It’s been a journey to co-parent with the scumbag, but I’m proud she’s making the best of the situation.
I spot Amantha’s dishwater blonde waves on the opposite side of the bowling alley. I pay the fee, grab my shoes, and pass lane after laneof gleaming oak hardwood. The place is crawling tonight. Pins crash, people laugh, and machine belts whir until I smile.
“Aunt Kate!”
Anthony, Amantha’s eleven-year-old son, runs to meet me in the walkway. He’s almost identical to her, with his creamy complexion and mischievous grin, but he has freckles and a cowlick in his light brown hair. It’s grown overtly shaggy, like he’s trying a new cool-guy trend.
We slap our palms together and begin our complicated high-five. It takes almost a full minute, and we’re super proud of it. As always, it ends with a crisp dollar bill slipped into his fist, and he beams.
“You’re the coolest aunt ever.”
“Don’t I know it.” I chuckle to myself at the adopted title, since Amantha is an only child and I’m the furthest person from being related to this pale, freckled kid. But Amantha insisted, and I do love him fiercely.
Susan, Amantha’s mom, bustles over next. She’s short and curvy like her daughter, but more rounded. Sky blue eyes twinkle, and it’s like my heart can finally relax. She wraps me into her cardigan embrace, and I squeeze tight. It pricks my tear ducts every time, but I force myself to stay present.
“Kate.” Susan beams at me. “I’m so happy you could make it! How have you been?” Genuine concern blankets her expression.
I lift a shoulder. “Honestly? Not great, but not bad either.”
She frowns, tugging me into a side hug as we walk toward the group. “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie. I’m thrilled you came tonight, but I wish I could help whatever is on your mind.”
I shake my head, not wanting to put a damper on this evening. Being responsible for digging up grants to save the museum is a lot of pressure, and so is the reminder of my family’srealChristmas Eve party tomorrow night.
I swallow the bitter realization.Thesepeople are more like family to me than mine ever will be, but they won’t ever truly be mine.
Amantha bounds over, hair tucked beneath a ridiculous headband with blinking Christmas bulbs. Unfortunately, they’re identical to the ones blinking across her ugly holiday sweater.
“No, no, no!” she tuts, waving a finger across my sullen expression. “There will be zero shop talk at this party. Tonight”—she shimmies her tacky blinking bulbs—“we are celebrating Christmas Eve Eve!”
I snort a laugh as Val strolls over in his polished, self-owned bowling shoes.
“Surprisingly,” he says, “she’s completely sober.”
Amantha whacks his bicep but giggles. “It’s Christmas time, Scrooge. Get on board or get out.”
“On board, Adams. Always.” Val burrows a kiss against her neck, and Anthony and I exchange a gag.
“Okay.” Susan claps her hands together. “Now that Kate’s here, we can begin!”
