“And we just want to make sure that this blessing knows how much he or she is loved,” Mom added. “Have they done the blood test to find out yet? The sex?”
“Um.” I felt disoriented, almost dizzy. The scraggly dog in my arms was strangely the only thing that felt real and good, and I cuddled her closer. “I’m not sure if I want to learn the sex yet.”
“Hmm.” My mother’shmms were legendary. So much information in such a small sound. “Well, at least it’s nice to be here in Christmas Notch again. Vanessa over at the Hope Channel was able to book our usual room at the inn for us. Is that little gourmet marshmallow shop around the corner still in business? I always loved their stocking stuffers.”
Memories of when they would visit me on set or when Mom would stay with me for a whole shoot ran through my mind. Our time here had been like a little capsule where—for a brief moment—we were almost the family I’d dreamed of. But then there’d also been all the times when Mom accused me of being lazy for sleeping through a call time or when I’d have to beg her to cancel a dinner reservation or a shopping trip because I was too tired.
In this moment, though, it was easy to forget all of that. I studied their expressions, chewing on my lip. They seemed earnest, kind. They were saying all the things I wanted to hear.
They both stepped closer, and all the little details of their faces revealed themselves to me. The silver at my father’s temples and the hitch in the middle of his left eyebrow. The blue veins in my mother’s temples and the always immaculate line of her lipstick—a subtle, pink hue that made her look ever so slightly younger without being flashy about it.
“We know we have a lot of ground to make up with you,” my father said. “We know there’s a lot of bridges to mend. But we’re committed to putting in the work if you are.”
“We want to know the baby,” Mom added softly. “But we’re not going to push. We came to show you that we’re here when you need us. And when you go back to LA, it will be the same thing. We’ll be there when you’re ready.”
The door to the toy shop swung open, and Jack Hart stalked out. He plucked MissCrumpets from my arms, and I had the surreal moment of watching a porn star strap a sleeping dog to his chest while my parents looked on.
“Mom, Dad, this is Jack. He’s, um, part of the production team.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack,” my father said. “We need to check into the inn, but don’t hesitate to call us, Winnie. We’re here for you, to help in any way that you need.”
They came forward and they each gave me a hug—a textbook hug, with a squeeze and everything—and then left.
“They seem nice,” Jack offered. MissCrumpets was snoring right beneath his chin.
“Yeah.” I watched as my dad helped my mother into their rental car and then walked around the front to get into the driver’s seat. “They do seem nice. I mean, they are. They are nice.”
And they said that they were here for me. Here to help.
I wanted nothing more in the entire world than for that to be true, but this time, wanting wasn’t enough. If they meant what they said, then they needed to show me. They needed to prove they’d changed.
They owed me that much.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kallum
Nolan and I sat next to each other on the trolley to the North Pole while Winnie sat a few rows behind us next to Bee. Sunny was leaning in between them from the next row back.
“Is this what we missed the last two years of high school?” I asked Nolan.
He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “I don’t remember girls that hot on the bus.” He rustled a hand through my hair. “You’re going to be a fucking dad!”
“It’s cool,” I said, unable to hide the absolute dorkiness in my voice. “It’s cool, right? Like I’ll be good at it, right?”
“I don’t know anything about being a parent, but I think you fuck up your kids no matter how hard you try.”
My shoulders slumped a little as I nodded.
“But,” he continued, “I think knowing that is half the battle. If we know that going in we’re not perfect and can’t make little perfect human beings, then maybe just trying your best is good parenting. And then when your kid is an adult in therapy, they can come home over the holidays and give you the lowdown on all the things you did wrong—and just maybe some of the things you did right.”
I shook my head in disbelief and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Dude, you’re a fucking parenting scholar. You need your own TV show.”
“I don’t know. I think we might have pregamed pretty hard at the inn bar.”
“Are you telling me Nolan Shaw is feeling it after three beers?” I asked.
“Three beers, a Moscow mule, and two Tipsy Elf shots.”
