Page 50 of 12 Days of Mistletoe
Oh, snap. My mother is texting Bonnie? How in the world did she get Bonnie’s number?
Mom: It’s me. I got your number from Gran.
Bonnie: Lovely.
Mom may not, but I hear the sarcasm in that one-word text.
I open a new text thread, one with just Mom, and type?—
Me: Why are you texting Bonnie?
Mom: Are you saying I’m not allowed to text Bonnie?
Me: That’s exactly what I’m saying.
But then, Bonnie messages the group again.
Bonnie: I’m sorry to hear about the tree yard.
I am too. I like old man Warren. I wonder what’s up with his business.
Me: Too bad, Mom. I guess we’ll have to cancel our outing today.
And with the night I had, it’s probably for the best.
Mom: What about our tree? And Gran’s tree?
Me: The fake one Dad bought you two years ago is still in the basement. I can set it up today. And Gran already has five artificial ones up—one for each of her grandkids.
Mom: It’s not the same. And you know your grandmother loves a real tree.
Bonnie: My sister’s best friend runs a Christmas tree farm just an hour and a half from here.
Mom: You wouldn’t mind taking us there?
I switch over to my private text between just Mom and me.
Me: Don’t ask Bonnie to take you out of town. She signed up for an hour this afternoon, not an all-day event.
Mom: She’s offering. I didn’t ask.
Me: That’s because she’s nice, but don’t ask her to do it. She has other commitments.
Mom: Fine. No need to be Mr. Grumpy Pants. I hear you, Elliot.
A new text from Bonnie comes through.
Bonnie: I’d be happy to take you. I’ve only been once, but it’s a pretty little farm.
Me: I’m not being a grumpy pants. I just need my privacy respected.
Three little dots blink back at me. Typing… Waiting… Reading… Only those dots don’t belong to my mother.
I called myselfgrumpy pants… to Bonnie. And my mother, of course.
Grumpy pants—the name my mother used to call me when I was ten.
I sit. I stare, but no words come up on the screen. A drop-down message tells me Mom has sent another text between the two of us.
