He watched Amy try and play a response toWhat are my parents hiding from me?and finally lay down a card that said,The true meaning of Christmas.
Everyone stopped and stared at the card. “I don’t get it,” Carol said. “Why would you play that card?”
“Because it was either that orPoor life choices,” Amy said. “And I thought, given the current state of affairs, this was the better choice.” She shrugged.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Barb demanded. “You think your father and I have made poor life choices?”
“No,” Amy said. “But you are proving my point by taking it the wrong way.”
“WellPoor life choicesmakes more sense thanThe true meaning of Christmas,” her mother sniffed.
Amy looked helplessly at Harrison. He gave her a reassuring smile. As much as he liked the Bossy Posse, he liked Amy so much better. He would really like to kiss her, make love to her again. She knew her way around a man’s body, and he appreciated that immensely. Unfortunately, there was something about her mother being in a room just upstairs that gave him the creeps.
Mostly, he wanted to talk to her. About Scotland, about what he would say to Clay. He wanted to ask her what she thought about the world in which people were either big on board games or didn’t care for them. And how sometimes, when he was with a bunch of golfers on tour, he felt like he was living in a frat house well past his prime; and really, what did her older son have against the younger son’s friend?
He just wanted to talk to her.
But he didn’t get the chance that night. When everyone turned in, Amy’s mother caught her in the hall and was talking in a low voice. It sounded important, and Harrison thought he shouldn’t interrupt.
The next morning was Carol’s turn in the kitchen, and she made gingerbread pancakes. One thing was certain—if the Posse stuck around much longer, he was going to gain weight. His willpower was nonexistent with their offerings.
The sleet had picked up, and there was a thin layer of ice on the railings outside. Carol informed Harrison that they were expecting another grocery delivery. The news caught him by surprise—the kitchen was groaning with food. Just how long were these women planning to stay,anyway? Didn’t they have families that needed them? Christmas that wasn’t quite ready? Perhaps even a job?
He was sitting at the bar eating pancakes when Hillary shuffled in, wearing pajamas, confirming his suspicion that she had moved in, too.
“Well?” Carol asked immediately. “Did you call him?”
“I did,” Hillary said, sliding onto a barstool next to Harrison.
“And?”
“And…it was interesting,” Hillary said. “He tried the not-right-now excuse. But he didn’t say never.”
“Yeah, well, I see someone who wants to have his cake and eat it, too,” Carol said firmly. “What do you think, H?”
“Umm…what do I think about…?”
“Tony. He’s leading her on.”
Harrison looked at Hillary. “You know what I think? I think I’m going to take Amy some coffee.”
“Well waddle on down to the studio then, Mr. Chicken,” Carol said cheerfully.
“I think I will.” Harrison got up, came around into the kitchen with his plate, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher. He poured a cup of coffee then turned to Carol. “Thank you for the pancakes. And for your information, chickens aren’t misters.”
“No? Because you’re a chicken and you’re a mister. Oh, and you won’t find Amy in the studio. She and her dog went to the store.”
“To the store?”
“That’s what she said. So apparently, you do have time to give us your thoughts on Tony.” She smiled smugly.
“Nope,” he said, and dumped the coffee in the sink. “Gotta work on my knee.”
“That’s the spirit, H!” Hillary said.
On the covered patio, even with the heat lamps blazing, the air wascold and brittle. He wasn’t going to lie—it felt like snow was coming. Harrison pulled out his mat and his exercise bands and began to work his knee.
He discovered quickly that he couldn’t really concentrate on the knee because he was beginning to obsess about his life. Change was hard, he knew that it was. But was he putting off the inevitable?
