“I remember everything you’ve ever told me.” Her ferocious smile squashes my shock. “All the better to hate you with, my dear.”
Then she’s hollering and waving at my siblings. “Merry Christmas, Tristan! Merry Christmas, Kai!”
The two boys jump up and down in excitement at hearing their names being yelled by someone in a costume on a float.
“And happy New Year to you, Sophia!” she yells next.
Phil plucks the two-year-old from Mom’s hands and hoists her up in the air as my littlest sibling shrieks with delight. CJ then becomes their favorite person in the whole world when she orders the nearest caroler-slash-candy-passer-outer to make it rain for the whole family.
The kids lose their minds, and even Reese looks pleased to accept a fistful of Jolly Ranchers from a man in a Victorian top hat. I know she’s not used to such a big, loud family, but it kills me how uncomfortable she still is around my favorite people in the world.
“They’re adorable.” CJ’s words interrupt my thoughts. “How sad that all the cuteness skipped you.”
“Har,” I say flatly, but I can’t stop myself from adding, “They are cute, aren’t they?”
She nods. “You’ve got three more, right? Becks, Drea, and…”
“Holly. Also cute, although none of them would be caught dead at a parade.”
“Setting boundaries. Good for them.” She hesitates, then asks, “So that was your mom?” At my nod, she smiles softly. “You really do look like her.”
For a beat, I’m not sure what she means. And then I remember.
The night we met, I told her that Mom had me and Hollis so young, people used to think I was her kid brother, especially given the resemblance. Then my dad skipped out, and years later she married Phil and popped out my five much younger sibs, putting me into a combination brother-father role that I hadn’t asked for. Talking about it with CJ that night was the first time I put those resentments into words. I felt lighter and even more capable of loving them after airing it all out to someone who listened without judging.
Numbness sweeps over me, and as much as I’d like to blame the weather, this chill’s on the inside, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing my heart.
“Yeah, we still look alike,” I say shortly, shoving my freezing fingers under my armpits.
“If you want help,” she says testily, “just ask for it.”
“I’m fine.”
This earns me an eye roll as she tugs off her left mitten. “Here.”
“I said I’m fin?—”
“Don’t argue.” She thrusts it at me. “Just put it on, you stubborn jackass.”
Oh god, I want to. So I do, cramming my frozen digits into the thick, fuzzy mitten. It’s an indescribable relief, but instead of thanking her, I say, “Good thing you have enormous man hands.”
“You’re impossible.” Then she shocks the fuck out of me by grabbing my unmittened right hand with her recently unmittened left one and shoving them both into the pocket of her dress. “This is what we’re doing, and I don’t want to hear anything about it.”
Shit. Now I have to say it.
“Thank you,” I mumble, wriggling my fingers to absorb as much body heat as I can.
“Good god, it’s like holding hands with a snow cone.” She shifts so her warm palm covers as much of my hand as possible. “You should have said something earlier.”
“I assumed you’d conjure a bucket of ice water from under your skirts to pour on me if I did.”
Her lips tighten. “Despite what you think, I don’t actually want you to suffer.”
“Sure. That’s why you?—”
Although she’s facing away from me to wave at the crowd, her hand tightens around mine in warning. “I swear to god, if you bring up that audit one more time…”
“I’m not the one who wrote it,” I say tightly.
