Page 31 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

She’s basically a stranger. I’m not the kind of guy to kiss a stranger. I’m a nice guy. I just can’t figure it out. It has nothing to do with her pink cheeks, green-blue eyes that remind me of Greenough Lake, or her long, strawberry-blonde hair that looks so much like her dog’s coat. That’s all physical. This was more than that.

I’d like to deny the somatic spark I felt when our lips met, but I can’t.

I’d probably feel the same exact buzz had I kissed any other stranger. It’s just…strange,and normal that it would causestrangethings to happen to your body.

I pick up my phone to find a text from Gran. That’s right,my eighty-five-year-old grandmother is texting me at seven in the morning.

Gran: What time will I see you and your girl today?

Bonnie Miller is notmygirl.

She’sagirl. One that Gran has decided to torment along with her favorite grandchild.

I write her back, knowing that if I don’t, a phone call will be in my five-minute future.

Me: I don’t know what Bonnie has planned today. She isn’t a teacher. It’s not her Christmas break. I’m assuming she has to work.

Gran: Elliot, dear, that didn’t answer my question. Not one little bit. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if the girl had to work. She seems to be the hardworking, lovable type. Don’t you think? I asked: When will the two of you be over?

I sigh and knock my head against the wall behind me. I am the chump of all chumps.

Me: Let me text Bonnie and ask about her plans. Okay?

Gran: Oh, so you did as I suggested and got her number?

She is the one who texted us both, ensuring we had each other’s numbers. Then, when she found out I hadn’t saved Bonnie’s number, she gave Bonnie my phone and told her toadd her number to my contacts… so yeah, I “took her suggestion.”

But I don’t say that. Not to my gran. Why? Because I am a chump with a capital C, a chump who adores his grandmother.

Me: Yes, Gran. It was a good idea. I got it. You’re brilliant.

Gran: I really am. Remember that.

I sigh and press one finger to the flesh of my lip—but the buzz doesn’t leave. It’s still there. It’s there and whispering her name, never letting me forget:Bonnie.

Gran: Well, when you know Bonnie’s plans, let me know. I’m looking forward to another visit.

I contemplate for only a minute if I want to call or text Bonnie—I’d kind of like to hear the tone in her voice when I ask her when she’s free today. But that would only make a strange situation stranger. So, I opt for texting. I’d rather be oblivious to her annoyance at spending another day with me, anyway.

I blow a puff of air through my nostrils and look up Bonnie’s name. She indeed added her name and number to my cell last night.

First name: Bonnie.

Last name: Your Girlfriend.

Under her name, there’s a place for notes. A section I’ve used a few times to add addresses. Bonnie’s written:

(In case you forget.)

I laugh and shake my head.Oh Gran, what have you done?

I wander into the kitchen as I hit the message button and type out to Bonnie Your Girlfriend:

Me: Good morning. Hey. Hope you rested well?—

Whoa. Thank goodness for the delete button. Why in the world would I need three greetings? That’s three, right? One is plenty. And asking about her rest is a weird greeting in itself.

I haven’t been this awkward around a girl since junior high—despite what Q says.

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