Cheese, crackers, and fruit for late-night supper.Cheese out of the fridge and in the garage, crackers out and arranged prettily on platters, fruit prepared and in bowls.
Bar.Cleaned down, restocked, and ready for tonight.
Christmas stockings.Hung.
Presents from Santa.Wrapped and hidden at the back of my wardrobe for us to bring down after the kids have gone to sleep.
Guests.Mostly happy apart from the one crying in the bathroom.
“Mandy? It’s Lisa, are you okay?” I knock lightly on the bathroom door, hearing the sniffing on the other side.
“You must think I’m a complete mess,” she snivels. “I’ve just come into your home at Christmas, when you have a house full, made a scene, then run to the bathroom to cry.”
“I don’t think you’re a mess,” I assure her, feeling emphatically sorry for Jake’s sister. “I think you’re going through something and could probably use a friend.”
“You don’t know me,” she says, almost too quietly for me to hear through the door. It’s not an angry statement, just a sad one.
“I feel like I do sometimes,” I chuckle. “Jake is one of my best friends and he talks about you a lot. I’ve heard so many stories about you and I feel like I know your taste and style just from helping him pick out birthday and Christmas gifts over the years.”
“I knew he wasn’t finding all those things on his own,” she grumbles, making me laugh.
“I mean, he did most of the work, I was just there for moral support.”
The lock of the door clicks, and it opens to reveal a red, mascara-stained face. “I’m so sorry John isn’t coming, I’m sure that’s messed up your catering plans.”
I laugh again. “Oh honey, I’m cooking for twenty people, one more or one less makes no difference at this point. Plus, Harry and Jake usually polish off enough for two people each anyway, so…”
I trail off and she gives me a small smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “I really am sorry.”
I lean on the door frame as she splashes cold water on her face at the sink. “Please don’t apologise. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
She rolls her eyes to the ceiling, searching for strength. “I’m fine.”
“Well, that’s not true.”
She shakes her head as she rips tiny pieces off the tissue she’s holding in a tight grasp. “I found out last week, while my parents were visiting. That was humiliating enough without my mother telling me to ignore it for the sake of the children.”
I wince. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “He’s an arsehole; I don’t know why I stayed for as long as I did.”
I give her a sad smile. She might mean what she’s saying but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. “What do you need?”
She shakes her head again. “Nothing, it’s fi—”
“Mandy.” I level her with a serious stare. “What do you need?”
She swallows and actually thinks for a second. “Uh, a normal Christmas. Not to talk about it with everyone. To have a buffer between me and my mother the whole time.”
“Considerate it done.”
She lets out a deep breath. “Thank you, Lisa. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re more than welcome. And hey, I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but if you ever decide you do want someone to talk to, or talk at, you’ve got an ear to bend right here.”
“Thank you,” she repeats, before looking down, brows furrowing in thought. “Actually, could I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
