Miracle of miracles, his voice softens just a touch. “Small.”
People who don't know my father wouldn’t be aware of how much emotion was packed into that one little word. It's all about the inflection and the fact that those four letters actuallyhavesome for a change.
“That’s great. Please tell Geoff I’m thrilled for him and Vanessa.”
My dad grunts. “You could've told them yourself.”
And spend the holidays being reminded of how very much I'm not part of the family legacy? Not something I was up to this year, or any year for that matter. At least when I visit my folks at their Tennessee farmhouse, I’m not surrounded by a million enlisted troops at all times.
I settle on saying, “I’m sorry I’m not with you guys.” This, at least, is true.
“How’s your girlfriend? Are you getting along with her family?” That's my mom, talking loudly in the background.
I drop onto the edge of the bed, running my free hand through my hair to push the wet strands off my face. When my mom had pressed me on what my Christmas plans were, I’d ended up telling her I was spending it with the woman I was seeing, and she hasn’t stopped asking me about it at every opportunity.
“She’s…” God, how can I describe the past few days? “She’s amazing. So is her family. I don’t think I’ve made the best impression though.”
Understatement, and I did it to myself. But my mom doesn’t know that and rushes to my defense. “My charming boy? Never,” she says. “What kind of things do they do for Christmas?”
Their Christmas traditions are different from ours in almost every way possible, although I don’t want to out-and-out say that. For one thing, my mom doesn’t have a bottomless supply of Christmas mugs, and my dad never let us fly down a hill on sleds in the middle of the day. And they definitely don’t cozy up on the couch to sip hot chocolate and razz Hallmark movies once the sun goes down.
“It’s nice,” I finally say. “I feel lucky to be included.”
Unfortunately, things are so fucked up that even if I wanted to pursue something more with Darby, I don't know how I’d ever come back from her brother thinking I’m a cheater, her dad thinking I'm a semi-nudist, and her mom thinking I’m a lazy ingrate.
Christ, maybe I should’ve gone to Oahu after all.
“Well, we miss you,” my dad says gruffly. “It’s like those years when we never saw you.”
I’m almost too surprised to respond. My parents never talk about the time we spent apart while I was finding my way.
“Thanks, Dad.” Emotion catches in my throat for a moment before I’m able to continue. “I’d like to see you and Mom for New Year's if that’s okay.”
“We'd love that, honey!” my mom calls. “Bring your girlfriend.”
The stairs creak, and I realize that I’ve left the bedroom door slightly ajar. I stand to shut it, but I’m too late, and Darby appears in the doorway, her eyes widening as she takes in my mostly naked self.
“I’ll ask her, but I do need to go,” I say quickly. “Merry Christmas. I love you guys.”
I toss my phone on the bed and look back to find that Darby’s stepped inside and closed the door.
“Sorry, I’ll just—” I say at the same time that she says, “I can leave—”
We both laugh awkwardly, and I grab the towel at my waist a little tighter to make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.
“The men in your family recruited me to help build some toys for Christmas morning, so I thought I’d clean up before dinner.”
“Yeah, I see that.” She laughs, but it’s strained. Hell, we were more relaxed around each other at our first meeting.
Her eyes drop below my waist, and like she’s flipped theonswitch, my dick stirs to life, reminding me of how much I want a repeat of the night before. But we’re in a weird place, and an erection’s not going to be helpful.
“Let me just get dressed.”
I all but sprint for the safety of the bathroom so she doesn’t get the wrong idea. I desperately want to fuck her, but I also want to joke with her, hold her hand, be a normal person around her family. Once I’m dressed, I hope I can make her understand that.
I whip off the towel, rub it over my hair, and pull on the clothes I’d packed specifically for this dinner. But by the time I emerge from the steamy warmth of the bathroom, there’s no sign of Darby. The jeans and sweatshirt she’d been wearing are tossed on top of her suitcase. So she’s already changed for dinner, which presumably means she didn’t actually want to talk anything through.
Shit. Things really did get all fucked up last night.
