Page 18 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“Scrabble,” I spout. “With my friend Bill at the senior center.”

Elliot’s head tilts as if to study me better, as if he can read whether what I’m saying is true or not.Not all of us lie about our relationships, Eaton.

“Very good. I won’t keep you long,” May says. “Shall we?”

I don’t nod in agreement or shake in dismissal. My head seems to move in a circle as if it can’t decide what to do. “Um, sure.” What else can I say? Will I really be able to take cold hard cash from Elliot with May watching?

May leads the way, and maybe she’s losing her hearing because Elliot barely lowers his voice when he tells me, “I will pay you. I promise.”

“You bet you will.” I give him a sardonic grin, but I’m thinking about Noel upstairs. Bill loves her, and I’m anxious to get to both my pup and my friend.

“Come now.” May waves us along, three feet in front of us.

I know the way to Elliot’s home; it’s right below mine. So, I follow the same steps as I would upstairs. I’ve never thought about it before, but when Elliot opens the door to his apartment, it’s clear it’s a much smaller space than my own. It makes sense; the common room and entry take up room too.

His place is clean and smells like him, musk and pine. There’s a couch facing a fireplace—something my place doesn’t have—a coffee table with books stacked in threes, and a hockey stick in the corner. The space is neat, with neutral colors and warm tones. I’d kind of like to curl up with the afghan draped over the back of Elliot’s leather couch and read one of the top books on either of his stacks—More than Happyby Haily Hale or Charles Dickens’A Christmas Carol. Either sounds kind of perfect right now. In fact, I’m pretty sure my heart rate calms just being in this space.

Weird.

Or maybe it’s not weird. Maybe it’s just good decorating. Maybe one of his sisters helped him. Maybe that Charles Dickens’ book is just décor and he doesn’t read it every single year.

I swallow down my wild imagination and speak before I think. “I like your place,” I say.

May smiles at me—it’s a sneaky smile. A smile that reminds me, as Elliot’s girlfriend, I’ve most likely been here before.

“Today.” I titter out a hyena-like laugh. “Your place looks greattoday. So cozy. It feels like I am walking in for the very first time. And yet, I have seen this place. I’ve had three months’ worth of seeing this place.” The ramblings won’t stop. My words and mouth have taken on their ownmission, and it’s making sure this woman believes I have been in this apartment before now.

Behind May, Elliot mouths to me, “Three months’ worth?”

I swallow. Then I laugh. Then I wave my hand in the air all nonchalantly, you know, for good measure. Okay, the jury has made their ruling—Bonnie isn’t great at fake.

“You’re funny,” Elliot says, and it sounds so real on his lips. Maybe it is real. I do sound kind of ridiculous in this moment.

May huffs out a laugh. “Please,” she gripes. I do not compute. Her tone and her smile do not match.

“Gran?” Apparently, the dog-hater doesn’t understand either.

May turns to face the two of us. We form an odd triangle in Elliot’s small living room, his peaceful books calling to me to escape this weird world Elliot and I have created.

May sets one wrinkled hand on her hip. “I know what’s what, you two.”

“What’s what?” Elliot says.

I listen very carefully, my heart rate picking up. Because I did not spill any beans. I know it. I kept my voice low. I held Elliot’s hand. I stood next to him, smiled, and took that dumb Christmas card picture. So—she can’t know what’swhat.

She must be referring to something else.

“I am eighty-five years old, Elliot. Eighty-five years of life lived.” The woman crosses her arms over the front of her holly stitched sweater. “I know a sham when I see one.”

I swallow and practically choke on my spittle. “A—sham?”

“Yes, my dear.” She gives me a small, closed-lipped grin. “You arenotElliot’s girlfriend. That was quite clear to me from the start.”

“It was?” I cringe and don’t even try to deny what she’s said. And yet—what does this mean for my rent money? For my Noel? For my living situation?

“Yes. You are B4.” May laughs. “I’ve been trying to get Elliot to talk to youin personfor months. I think I’d know if he had.”

“Gran,” Elliot groans and runs a hand through his neat russet hair. “I didn’t plan to lie about Bonnie, but then you seemed so excited to see me with someone. I just—wait, what did you say?”

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