Page 16 of Christmas With the Jerk

She’s quiet for a moment, and I think that’s the end of it. But then she speaks again, her voice a little softer. “Does he always put that kind of pressure on you?”

I don’t look at her, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. “It’s part of the job.”

“Is it?” she asks, and there’s a hint of something in her voice that is different from her holier-than-thou persona. “Seems like a lot.”

I grit my teeth, not sure how much I want to say. The last thing I need is to open up more than I already have. But at the same time, something about her makes it hard to just brush off.

“Look,” I say, keeping my tone even, “he’s just an intense guy. He's probably already had a few milk punches by now and is excited. That’s all.”

Woodley glances over at me again, her brow furrowed. “I'm glad to know he gets with it before noon. Sounds like he really wants you to snag this.”

I shrug, trying to keep my guard up. “Yeah, well, when your family’s been running a company for decades, it’s more than just a job to all of them. He has a financial stake in this, but it’s also a matter of wanting me to make something of myself in his eyes.”

There’s a pause, and I wonder if she’s going to drop it. But she doesn’t. “Do you feel like you have to live up to his expectations?”

I let out a short laugh, more bitter than I intended. Of course I do, he’s my father. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

She doesn’t push further, and I can tell she’s thinking, processing what I’ve said. Part of me is peeved that she’s digginginto the dynamics with my father and worrying whether or not his expectations are too much. But another part feels relieved that someone sees the pressure I’m under.

I glance over at her. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

Woodley’s hands tighten on the wheel, and I see her shift in her seat, like the question hit a nerve. She doesn’t answer right away, and I wonder if I’ve stepped on a landmine.

“It’s complicated,” she finally says, her voice quieter than before.

Oh, I see how it is. She can dig into my shit, analyzing my family dynamics, but she shuts down when it comes to her’s. Now that I've turned the tables, I want to see her squirm a little like she did to me. “Complicated how?”

She exhales, and I see her fingers flex, like she’s trying to shake off the tension. “Let’s just say I chose to keep my distance. For good reasons.”

There’s something in the way she says it that’s firm, but with a trace of something raw underneath. I decide to drop it, as much as I want to see her flounder some more.

“Fair enough,” I say, trying to sound like I’m letting it go. I'm guessing her family life was quite a bit different than mine. We obviously suffer different kinds of pressure.

And honestly, I wouldn't even know what to say if she said something like, "we didn't have food on the table," or, "my parents had me out panhandling," or some shit like that. So I let it go, more out of self-preservation than to protect her feelings.

We fall back into silence, but it feels different now. Like we’ve both said just enough to open a door but not enough to walkthrough it. There’s a weird sense of connection, even though neither of us is willing to admit it.

Suddenly, I realize I want to know more about her. I want to know what makes her the way she is.

She glances at me from the corner of her eye, and for a split second, I think I sense the magnetic pull that brought us together in the middle of the night in that shady motel.

“I guess we’ve both got our family issues, huh?” she says, and there’s a faint smirk on her lips.

“Guess so,” I mutter, trying not to think too much about what we just shared.

The Grand Meridian Hotel,Boston, MA

1:47 pm

The momentwe step into the hotel lobby, the change in atmosphere hits me like a breath of fresh air. After the last place—the freezing motel with its flickering lights and stiff beds—this feels like stepping into the Plaza Hotel.

The scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, warm and inviting, and Christmas music drifts from a small stage in the corner where a trio is playing holiday classics on string instruments. Everything here feels... familiar. Comforting. Nostalgic.

I’ve always liked the holidays, even if I don’t admit it out loud. The decorations, the lights, the warmth of it all reminds meof simpler times. Before things got complicated with work and family expectations, I used to look forward to this time of year.

Woodley walks a few steps ahead of me, and for the first time today, I see her smile. A real one, not the sarcastic smirk she likes to throw my way.

“Wow,” she says softly, taking in the sight of the hotel’s grand staircase, which is decked out with garlands, twinkling lights, and a toy train set running through a snowy village at its base. “They really went all out. I guess if we have to work so close to the holidays we could be stuck in a worse place.”

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