Page 16 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“You really send my gran cards?”

I shrug and remind myself to breathe. “Yes, I do.”

Elliot shoves his hands into his pockets, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the dog-hating, woman-evicting, note-writing human I know him to be. “That’s nice, Bonnie.”

I sigh and swoop a lock of hair behind my ear, attempting to remember just who I’m dealing with here. A note writer. A dog hater. Most likely, a bully.

“What’s that?” Elliot says. His arm reaches out and his fingers brush near my earlobe. His light touch tickles my skin and I pull away. I know what he’s seeing: my little semi-colon tattoo. The mark is small and sits right behind my earlobe. He would have missed it had I not moved my hair back. I got it three years ago, right after I got Noel. It was the first time in my life that I didn’t feel like I was drowning. I was finally treading water. I could finally breathe.

Anxiety had almost been a tangible thing for me. Like a blockade that couldn’t be moved. And then I got Noel. She helped me feel like I could live again. Like I’d conquered and could conquer again. While my attacks haven’t disappeared, they are a fraction of what they used to be. I’ve learned to have faith that I can control them or get through them rather than be eaten alive by them. Sixteen-year-old Bonnie never would have believed it possible. But meds, a little therapy, and my Noel changed things for me.

The semi-colon is a symbol of hope to anyone who’s dealt with mental health. Hope was something I didn’t have for a long time. But I do now. And I’m doing my best to give that hope and freedom to others like me.

But I’m not discussing any of that with E.J. Eaton. “It’s nothing,” I say, pulling his hand from my face. I tell my heart to calm and my lungs to breathe. It’s all going to be okay.

He blinks, his long lashes fanning as he pulls his gaze from my tattoo.

I swallow and run a hand down the length of my hair, making sure my ink is covered.

“No kissing,” I say, bringing him back to the topic of conversation.

“None.”

“And you can’t tell your grandma some sob story about how I broke your heart.”

His brows knit. “I mean… if you really don’t have plans the next two weeks, we could show Gran that we’re better as friends than a couple.”

I bite my inner cheek. I don’t hate that idea. I mean, I don’t love it. Pretending all the time and hanging out with E.J. and Marlene sounds a little like a recipe for one supersonic anxiety attack. But I like the idea of getting to know May. I’ve always been grateful for her and the home she gave to me and Noel—even if I hadn’t met her.

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask, my eyes slits.

Elliot swallows. “I wouldn’t mind my family thinking I had a little more happening in my life.”

“More than just your name?” I lift one brow—it’s low. It’s mean. It’s rubbing salt in the wound.

But then… The wheels in my brain turn—yep, this might be the best plan yet. If this is actually important to him… I might be able to get a little more than a rent check.

“If you—” I start, but I’m quickly interrupted.

“Elliot?” Marlene pokes her head into the hallway. “We’re ready.”

“Already?”

“Four Elliot women working together—you better believe we can get a whole lot done in a short amount of time.”

Elliot women. They all belong to May in some form, even as Eatons. Which—it dawns on me—is exactly how Elliot got his name. E.J. was a ruse.Figures.

Dog hater, note writer, and name deceiver.

“Okay.” He breathes out a tired sigh. “We’ll be right there. One minute,” Elliot assures her, asking for a smallfraction of time. He hasn’t forgotten that I’ve started saying something. Something that needs said. Something important and life-changing—for me anyway.

“How about onesecond. Your sisters are already standing in place with their posters.”

Elliot sighs. “Fine. We’re coming.”

His mother doesn’t leave—she is a persistent thing. So we head back into the common room, my brilliant plan unsaid.

Elliot’s gran sits back by the photographer; she’s declined the invitation to be in this Christmas card photo, and she’s so stern about it that no one argues with her. I get the feeling they have this same conversation every single year.

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