“What does?”
“Big, awkward family gatherings.” She hands me a drink.
I really hope it has alcohol in it. Now that I’m mortal, I can’t get enough of the stuff. “Do they really?”
“Right now it’s overwhelming, and you don’t feel like you belong, but eventually, you’ll start to like some of the people, and then you’ll hate others sometimes, but over even more time, you’ll start to love most of them. Because they matter to Whitney.”
“Is that what happened with you? Did you get dragged into this family, too?”
Helen shrugs. “Not exactly. I’m actually telling you what my husband David told me he felt. They’re all related to me, and I still don’t like them most of the time. That’s a Helen-specific problem, though.” She’s smiling when she clinks her cup against mine. “For what it’s worth, they are right about the hair. Without all that messy mop, you’d be unstoppable.” She winks and then wanders off, presumably for a refill.
“You survived Aunt Helen.” Whitney takes my arm. “That’s good. Most people don’t come out alive. She didn’t hassle you about not having a job?”
I shrug. “Didn’t come up.”
Whitney narrows her eyes. “Strange.”
“She did tell me to cut my hair.”
“That was rude.” Whitney frowns.
“Should I?”
She turns to look up at me. “Do you want to cut it?”
I shrug. “I want what you want.”
She laughs. “Maybe we’ll check out some hairstyles, then.” She winks. “No rush, though. I kind of like the long and unkempt look.”
“Which people here know about who I was before I retired?” I clear my throat.
“Just Amanda Saddler, Steve, Mom, and my siblings. We kept Aunt Donna, Aunt Amanda, and Aunt Helen out of anything to do with your past. It seemed wise.”
“You really don’t hate my hair?”
Whitney leans against my shoulder. “You’re the best-looking man I have ever met in my life.”
I notice she didn’t answer the question. “But do I need a haircut?”
She shrugs. “It’s your hair, not mine.”
I think that’s a yes. The problem is, I have no idea how to accomplish that. Perhaps Gabe can cut it for me. I try to find him when Whitney gets pulled away to help with some emergency with the punch, but before I can, the family starts a reenactment of something called the ‘Nativity.’ The kids especially seem pretty excited.
The rest of the night passes in a blur, with a really delicious dinner—though the green beans aren’t my favorite—and someone passing out cherry-covered chocolates that cause everyone to laugh. But then it’s time for presents. I’m so excited about Whitney opening her gifts that I forget that she’d have gotten me something. . .until she thrusts a box at me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Whitney shrugs.
“You didn’t need to get me a present,” I say. “You’re my present, the fact that you like me at all.”
She laughs. “Then hopefully you’ll like this.”
I open it, mostly looking at her as I do. But when I do look down, I can’t help my smile. It’s a massive photo, almost life-sized, of the two of us, perhaps one second before our first kiss, right here at her parents’ home. “How do you—where did you get this?”
“My family’s nosy,” she says. “And Amanda Saddler had just gotten that new camera.”
I hear cackling from across the room. The old lady who isn’t really related to any of the Brooks-Archer family but acts like she is points at me. “I knew you’d be happy to have it. I have good instincts for these things.”
