Page 9 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

Expecting

“What?” I can no longer stay on my imaginary placeholder. Not even for Mom. I stride over to my sister and her husband. “A baby? Really?”

My sister is going to be a mother. Okay—I am shocked this time.

Evelyn’s eyes well with tears. “I’m two months along.” Her eyes skirt to just behind us, and she whispers, “Mom wouldn’t let me say anything. Sorry! The minute I told her and Jocelyn, she got this idea and I was forced into silence.”

Again I am on the outside looking in, but I ignore the fact because my sister is going to have a baby. I hug her tight, pulling in Jackson at the side. “I’m—I’m speechless. An uncle—I’m going to be an uncle. And Evelyn, you’re going to be amother.”

“So wonderful,” Mom says. “Now, Elliot, back in your place.” Mom waves a demanding hand at me. She isn’t finished. “Goon.”

“Mom,” Evelyn moans.

“I’m happy for you both,” I say before obediently returning to my spot.

Gran holds a hand to her heart, and just like with Jocelyn, she blows Evelyn a kiss. “Wonderful. Just wonderful, darling.”

“Okay,” Mom says. “We’ll be holding these for our Christmas card!”

Holding poster boards. This is nothing. Once, I had to feed live squirrels while wearing a Santa hat and elf shoes.

Red tie and a poster board in my hand? No problem.

“Here’s mine and Dad’s.” Mom’s brows lift as she pulls out yet another decorated board, handing it to my father to hold.

Europe

“Mom!” Evelyn cries. “You booked it? I never thought you would. You’re going?”

Mom nods her head yes and beams. “Yes, Milan!”

“That’s wonderful, Mom,” Jocelyn says.

My mother’s eyes fall to me. I’ve been telling them to go for years. They deserve it.

“Am I allowed to move?” I ask.

A giddy laugh slips through Mom’s lips. “Yes. Yes, move! Come over here!”

I jog the few steps over to give her and Dad a hug. My sisters join in and so do their partners. Yes, my mother drives me a little crazy, but I love her. I appreciate her. And I’m so glad they’re going and doing this. So much good news all at once.

“Do I have a card?” I say after we’ve hugged so muchthat Mom has to take a palm to each and every one of our outfits, smoothing out the wrinkles we’ve created.

“Of course,” she says. “Here’s yours.” Her smile is curt—nothing like with Evelyn’s, Jocelyn’s, or her own card.

She hands it to me face down, and I have to lift it to read what it says.

Elliot

“Elliot,” I say, reading the thing again and again in my head.

“Yes, see, we’re all E’s. Expecting, engaged, Europe, and Elliot. We match.”

Of course we match. We’ve been matching since the day Marlene Elliot married David Eaton.

“Awe—some.” I get the word out in only two syllables. I even attempt to smile.

“It matches,” she says again.

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