Page 52 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“Thanks for letting me sit here again,” Evelyn says to me.

“Oh, sure,” I tell her. I’m not telling the nauseous pregnant woman where to sit. If looking out the front window stops her from getting carsick, let the girl sit there.

My phone pings and I glance down to see Elliot’s name.

Elliot: You doing okay?

Me: I’m fine, worry wart. Or should I call you grumpy pants?

Elliot: Ha. Ha. That was information that was never supposed to be leaked. You should probably forget it.

Me: I’m not sure I can. Once I hear something, it is ingrained into my brain.

Elliot: That’s a problem. I may have to wipe your memory.

Me: Maybe you should. There are a few things I wouldn’t mind forgetting… like that SUPER photo your mom showed me of you.

I can feel the burn of Elliot’s cheeks—even with an entire human being sitting between us. I have the greatest urge to peek over at him, and then Evelyn gives me an opportunity.

“You’re from Colorado, right, Bonnie?”

I lift my eyes from my phone and turn to look at Elliot’s sister—and Elliot right beside her. His thumbs are typing and his cheeks are blooming a lovely pink.

I smile and chalk it up to my love for the Centennial State. “I am. It was a great place to grow up.”

“What brought you to Montana?”

My phone vibrates in my lap and I know that Elliot has answered me. My fingers twitch with the need to pick it up. “Mostly my dog. Canine Compassion—the nonprofit I work for—was new. But in my research, I found them.” Noel stirs at my feet as if she knows I’m talking about her. “When my grant came through, and it was time to get Noel, I came to pick her up and to learn, but then stayed because of Canine Compassion.”

Jocelyn sets a hand over the top of the middle seat and leans closer, talking to me from her back seat. “Elliot said she’s a service dog.”

For two-point-three seconds Elliot’s eyes find mine, asking if this is okay. He’s told his family about Noel—and, I am assuming, my anxiety in turn. People are usually curious about what the service is for.

“She is,” I say. I’m proud of my girl. And just because I’m not shouting to the world about my anxiety doesn’t meanI’m ashamed either. Not anymore. It’s fact. It’s part of me. But it no longer controls me. And Noel is a big part of the reason why. “She also loves walks in the park, bacon-flavored treats, and tummy rubs.”

Jocelyn laughs at myeHarmonycommercial for No-No.

“She is awfully sweet,” Evelyn says, peering down at Noel. “I’m not really a pet person. Jackson’s always wanted a dog. Maybe after the baby comes, we could talk about it. As long as she’s as well-behaved as Noel.”

A fist filters between mine and Evelyn’s heads, waiting for a bump. “Nice. Thanks, Bonnie.” It’s Jackson—thanking me for what exactly? I’m not sure.

“Noel might be one of a kind,” I tell him. Because she is. She absolutely is. There is no other being like Noel. I may be biased, but I’m also certain it’s true.

“Nooo, don’t say that. Keep convincing my wife.”

I chuckle, and when I turn to face forward, Elliot’s eyes are glued to me. Which is when I remember he’s texted.

“Ooo—this is a good one!” David Eaton bellows from the driver’s seat. He turns up the music as an old twangy country band goes into their rendition of “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

I lift my phone and open my texting app once more.

Elliot: I am so grateful my mother has learned how to turn all of her old film photos digital. And for the record, I am not the first boy to turn tighty-whities into a Superman costume.

I smother down a laugh and write:

Me: It was the red pantyhose that disturbed me, not the undies on your head or the lack of clothes on your very ripped seven-year-old chest.

Elliot: The pantyhose… I might have been hoping you didn’t notice those.

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