Lola shuffles into the living room, her slippers almost sliding off her feet as she does. She traces the bottom edge of a framed photo that hangs on the wall as you enter, a black-and-white photo of my grandpa sitting on the hood of a vintage car—thick, dark hair windblown, wearing a cutoff shirt, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a vibrant look of love in his eyes as he peered at Lola as she took the photo.
Wishing for what they had seems silly. It seems so far out of grasp sometimes, and waiting so long to get back out there has done me no favors. Not everyone was lucky enough to witness a love like theirs like I did. It was pure and generous and raw. It made the feelings of emptiness fade when Mom wasn’t around. Knowing I had Lola and Grandpa helped cover that open wound. But now that Grandpa is gone, no matter how much she tries to hide it, I know Lola is lonely.
And you’d think her daughter would sense the loneliness too.
Like mother-daughter telepathy.That’s a thing, right?
I shove down the gnawing feeling that bubbles up anytime I dwell too long on my mother and glance at the rooster clock that hangs above the oven. It’s been off center for a year, and every time I look at it, I tell myself to straighten it.
It’s almost four. No time to do it today. “I have to run.” I kiss the top of Lola’s head, grab my bag off the counter, and rush out of her house. “I’ll see you tonight!” I say, screen door slamming abruptly behind me.
Chapter four
Kate
“Do I have towear this the entire time?” Nick, my newest online dating candidate, groans as he pulls at the scratchy wool fabric currently strangling his neck.
Matching Christmas sweaters. With a guy I barely know.
Somehow, I convinced myself it was completely normal to bring a stranger to my family’s holiday party and jokingly mentioned matching sweaters. Much to my surprise, Nick was game. Part of me feels flattered that I found a guy willing to go along with my quirky ideas, but another part of me is concerned about my mental state. Truly. I feel like I have no filter lately, just making decisions willy-nilly and seeing what happens. My last relationship was so controlled, giving me no room to truly be myself. Maybe some subconscious part of me is reveling in the unknown, the hot mess that is dating altogether. I don’t know. But I do know I should probably be a little more cautious, maybe have a serious talk with Ellie. She’ll probably have some psychological term for what I’m doing.
“Yes.” I stealthily roll my eyes as he continuously stretches the neck of his sweater—a bright-red turtleneck with a snowman inthe center. “And if I recall, you said you were ‘all in with the Christmas mumbo jumbo.’” I use air quotes to emphasize the exact words he used to invite himself to my family’s Christmas party. If he felt the need to come with me, I felt the need to make it worth his while. Enter the five-dollar sweaters I found at Super Thrift.
Why I decided to unload my desperation about not wanting to attend another family party without a date while perusing the produce aisle, I will never know. The site of paired tomatoes drew it out of me, I guess. But that seems to be my track record lately. So far, the online dates have gone kerplunk because I can’tshut up.So yes, out of desperation, when Nick invited himself to this party, I just said, “Well alright, then.”
“I know. I just didn’t think you’d choose the cheapest sweaters possible.” He stretches the neck again. “I think it’s giving me a rash.” His voice comes out whiny, and I curse myself for following through with this.
I pull down the road that leads to Lola’s house as he proceeds to scratch his neck like a maniac. This boy is about to grate my last nerve. I screech to a halt, biting back a cackle when he almost flies through my windshield. Pulling into the driveway, I park behind Benny’s silver pickup truck and inhale a deep breath. Just about everybody and their dog is already here…waiting for me.
Of courseI’m one of the last to arrive.
Witha date.
I pinch my eyes shut at the image of everyone watching us walk up the porch steps through the living room window. I can see Benny wearing a Santa hat, which is very on-brand for him. The theme is Christmas in March. The idea sounds absurd, but after Lola was in the hospital over the holidays, Benny decided we should have a family Christmas as soon as she recovered.Recovery took almost three months. The woman’s pride got the best of her when she refused to participate in therapy.
My grandma is sitting on the couch, laughing at Benny conducting our aunts and uncles in a Christmas carol. Her gray hair is pinned back and hidden under an elf hat. She’s sporting the Christmas sweater I embroidered for her last year, and her legs are propped up on the ottoman, feet wiggling along with the music.
A few other family members come in and out of the living room, including Ellie, who is filling drinks and providing appetizers. She and Benny embrace and begin conducting the carol together. Deep-seated envy starts to creep in. The envy that comes every time I see the gleam of true love in their eyes. It’s not their fault, obviously. But can you blame a girl for wanting what other people have? It’s human nature.
Sweat starts to build up on my forehead and neck as I watch the party from inside my car.It’s a billion degrees outside. I dab the droplets away with the sleeve of my sweater, resisting the urge to itch every part of me that the scratchy fabric touches. Yes, the sweaters were cheap, but this girl is on a budget. And I refuse to spend my coffee money on matching sweaters that failed to fill the void my annoying, hopeless-romantic self desires.
“Are we doing this or what?” Nick asks. The redness of his neck peeks out from the top of his sweater as he gives it one final scratch.
“Yes, yeah,” I stammer my words, pulling my purse from the backseat before exiting the car. My chunky Doc Martens crunch in the fake snow that covers the front lawn. Ellie must’ve done this after I left earlier. I fluff my sweater, hoping the humid air will dry the sweat that’s accumulating on my lower back, then walk around to open the trunk of my car.
“Cute place.” Nick assesses his surroundings, the passenger door screeching like nails on a chalkboard as he closes it.
I sift through my trunk, organizing my contributions to the party—dairy-free eggnog, dairy-free cookies, wine, and two Dirty Santa presents—before piling them into my arms.
“Did you bring anything good?” He looks over my shoulder at the containers I have labeled. For a second, I swear his face contorts like he sniffed a gallon of old milk. He probably realizes Isawhis reaction, because he forces a smile and reaches for the sacks. “Here, I got that.”
Nick grabs the gifts and wine, clearly leaving the items that disgust him for me to carry.Such a gentleman you are, Nicholas.A loud honk startles me, and I turn to see a giant orange truck whipping into the yard, headed for the spot right next to my beat-up Subaru. My cheeks sting instantly from my smile as I see Malcolm climb out of the truck, sporting the Christmas sweater I bought him last year.
“Who’s that?” Nick whispers to me as Malcolm walks behind the tall bed of his truck.
Heat sizzles deep inside my stomach as Malcolm approaches, making me sweat even more.
“Malcolm!” I reach out to him then snap my arms back to my sides, remembering the need for better boundaries. I clear my throat and gesture between the guys. “Malcolm, this is Nick. Nick, this is Malcolm.” I pause for an appropriate amount of time before wrapping my arms around Malcolm’s waist and squeezing him tight. Even when I wear my platform boots, he towers over me. It allows my head to nuzzle perfectly into the center of his chest where his heartbeat does that skippy thing it always does under my ear. I wonder if he’s seen a doctor for it yet.
