Page 122 of Puppy Love

No offense to accountants.

There is nothing that signals what to give him, other than anything listed under “Dad Gifts” on Amazon. Ruthie, on the other hand, is ridiculously easy. She likes things. I could have easily found her a pair of color-block earrings or a sweatshirt that says, “Super Mom” and she’d be happy. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to just give them generic objects that they’d use for a year then donate. I wanted to give them something more, something irreplaceable.

“I know it might be difficult, with work and stuff but…”

“It’s perfect,” Jeremiah cuts in before I can finish. He holds up four tickets for the New Year’s train to Leavenworth. Leavenworth is pretty much The North Pole in real life, and it’s a quick thirty-minute drive to Greenrock, so I’ll be able to meet up with them. Ruthie throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly.

“I love you,” she says. And for some strange reason, I start to cry. “Woah, woah,” she says, pulling back. I wipe the tears off my face and look up at her, embarrassed. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing,” I sniffle. “I just love you too.”

After my parents open their gifts, matching pajamas, because what else do you get your estranged parents, I help Ruthie cook breakfast while Jeremiah watches the girls.

“So, how are things going with that employee of yours?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. She drops a scoop of pancake batter onto the iron skillet. My stomach tightens, but I ignore it.

“It isn’t,” I sigh. Ruthie looks up at me solemnly.

“Awh, Vi.”

I shake my head.

“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s fine.”

And it is. It’s fine. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I feel like I lost everything in one singular night. But it’s fine. Ruthie shoves her shoulder into mine.

“Well,” she says. “At least now you don’t have to worry about Angela finding out.”

“Honestly, I forgot about that part.”

I hadn’t really thought about Angela finding out recently. Partially because how could she, and partially because I didn’t care. I mean, I did, for Cam’s sake. But when it came to me, I couldn’t give a fuck if Angela lets me go or not. Ruthie shakes her head.

“So it was that bad huh?”

I look up.

“What?”

“Well, you must have liked her if you forgot about the whole Angela thing.”

I look up at her and swallow.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

At breakfast, we sit mostly in silence. That’s normal, any time my parents and I are in the same room together. I think everyone else feels like if they step in the wrong place, say the wrong thing, an explosion will occur.

They might be right, though usually, the explosion comes from my parents, not me. I have to wonder why Jeremiah agreed to spend Christmas like this, instead of with his family. I can’t imagine Jeremiah Smith’s Christmas would be half as uncomfortable or cold. My dad shovels a spoon full of scrambled eggs into his mouth, looking up at me.

“So, whatever happened to that chick Mallory?”

I don’t know what infuriates me more. The fact that he’s referring to a woman as “that chick” or the fact that he’s using it in a context that makes it seem like Mallory and I hadn’t spent twelve years of our lives together.

I might be angry with Mallory for what she did, but I can’t hold onto that forever. While I know it’s not my fault she made the decision to cheat, I can’t pretend I played no part in what led up to it. And I can’t pretend I’m okay with someone disrespecting her like that. We might not have been perfect. We may not have even really known one another. But Mallory isn’t a bad person. And I’m not going to let someone paint her like she is.

“You mean my wife of twelve years?” I ask. Ruthie’s eyes widen, and my dad’s lips turn up, tauntingly.

“Yeah, that one. What’s she up to these days? She didn’t come out here to see us?”

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