“But you know,” Agnes continues philosophically, “being a single lady is only fun when there isn’t anyone special. Because if you meet someone special, that’s a whole lot more fun.” She winks at me and I look down at my glass, feeling my cheeks color.
She’s right, of course. Ever since Michael and I talked at Strand, I’ve been replaying his words—there’s nothing crazy about believing in love—and as much as my past experience tells me otherwise, I want to believe him. Which makes writing about being single harder, despite the fact that I desperately want this job. And that’s why I’m in this damn predicament.
“Is it ready yet, Dad?” Henry asks, wandering over to survey the dining table.
“Sure is, bud. Let’s eat.”
As we sit at the table, Michael carves the turkey. We share a smile and I feel myself relax. Of course Michael isn’t finding this as torturous as I am. I need to get out of my head and just enjoy the meal with my friends.
“So, Henry, what did you get for Christmas?” Agnes asks as we eat.
He beams. “Dad got me a bike.”
“Woah, what an awesome Christmas present,” I say, and Michael looks pleased.
“It’s super cool. Mom said I couldn’t have it, but Dad said I could.”
“Well, we have to make sure she’s okay with it too,” Michael says.
Henry screws up his face. “She’s so mean sometimes.”
“She just worries about your safety, bud. She’s not trying to be mean.”
Henry shrugs and stuffs a forkful of turkey into his mouth.
“Ugh. That woman,” Agnes mutters, and Michael and I both turn to look at her in surprise. She’s too busy loading turkey onto her fork to notice.
I glance from her to Henry and Michael, feeling the air around us thicken. Michael’s gaze drops to his plate and his shoulders fall almost imperceptibly. What am I missing here?
I’m about to open my mouth and ask, but decide against it. It’s not my business, and I don’t want to ruin Christmas by dredging up some long-buried family history.
Silence stretches between us as we eat, and I remember our New Year’s party. That will lighten the mood.
“What is everyone doing for New Year’s Eve?”
Michael shrugs. “Not much. Henry and I usually watch a movie.”
“We are going to have a little party in our apartment if you’d like to join us.”
“Can I come?” Henry asks.
“Of course. If it’s okay with your dad.” I glance at Michael.
“That could be fun. I’m sure it will be better than sitting at home with your old man,” he says with a wry chuckle, and Henry grins.
“What about you, Agnes? Do you have plans?”
She shakes her head. “Not in ten years.”
“Well, we’d love for you to come to our party.”
A smile stretches across her creased face. “That sounds lovely, dear. I’m not sure I’ll last until midnight, but I will certainly stop by.”
I grin, thinking about New Year’s Eve as I finish my meal.
After dinner, Henry puts a movie on and settles onto the sofa while Agnes rises with a yawn and makes to leave.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay and watch a movie or something?” Michael asks, walking her to the door.
