Me: You’re full of it.
I don’t lose it around pretty girls. If I did, I wouldn’t have anything left. Because Bonnie Miller was more than a pretty face. And I’m pretty sure her sweet raspberry scent is clinging to me. I can still smell it.
Whatever. So Bonnie is pretty, possibly stunning. I absolutely did not lose it. I held my ground. I stated what I was certain at the time were facts. Now… I’m unsure. Still, I am a man who held it together.
Quinten: You’re grumpy over family pictures.
Oof. He’s not wrong there. Why? Every year Mom lines us up. Every year I’m a grown man posing exactly as his mother requires for a Christmas card that will go out to every soul I’ve ever met, along with several I haven’t. So, why get grumpy? Just get through it. Push through and be finished—for at least the next three hundred and sixty-five days.
And yet, I am on edge about the whole thing.
Me: I am. Who could blame me?
Quinten: I happen to love your mother’s tradition. Last year’s masterpiece of the entire family sitting in a sleigh led by live reindeer is still on my refrigerator.
I will forever regret bringing Q to Gran’s yearly Christmas Eve party. My mother took Q’s address right then and there.
Me: I’m shutting off my phone now. We’re no longer friends.
I lock up my apartment and start toward the Cherry Plum community room, the one Mom decorated immaculately this year—at least I don’t have to go far to be humiliated this Christmas.
“Elliot?” a weathered voice says.
I turn to see my five-foot-two-inch Gran standing at the community room doors. “Gran? What are you doing here?”
“Your mother called me down. She said I had to be here for the Christmas card photoshoot.”
I knit my brows. “Is she forcing you to be in the picture this year?”
Gran chuckles and loops her arm through mine. I am more than a foot taller than my grandmother, so it’s a stretch. “Elliot, your mother doesn’t force me to do anything. I will not be posing on Santa’s lap or in some sleigh. You can count on that. No, she said there was news.”
“News?” I lead Gran along, matching her short, shuffling steps. “I haven’t heard about any news.”
“Well, then it will be a surprise for us both.” She pats my hand and peers up at me. “How are things going with B4?”
“Um.” My brows scrunch again. “Good. I think. We had a nice chat today.” Or a not-so-nice chat. Either way, we chatted. I did not lie to my eighty-five-year-old Gran.
“Oh, lovely.” She grins, then sighs, her smile faltering. “Now, let’s go see what Marlene has planned for us.”
“You raised the woman. No ideas?”
“Oh, please. Marlene was so independent, she insisted on raising herself most of the time. That’s why I had so much fun with you as a child.”
I laugh and lead Gran into the large room that tenants are able to book for parties and events. Mom stands in the middle of the room in a long red skirt, directing a photographer left and right. My sisters, Jocelyn and Evelyn, each in red, stand in the corner, Evelyn next to her husband Jackson and Jocelyn next to Parker, her long-time boyfriend. Since when are boyfriends allowed in Mom’s photos?
Mom’s gaze skirts to me, and her face lights up. “David!” she calls to my father, who I haven’t spotted yet. “He’s here! Elliot’s here. Mom too.” She squeals. “Girls!” Mom waves all of my family over. She is too excited for this photo—I’m afraid.
“I see no sleigh or Santa, Elliot,” Gran whispers to me. “You may get through this photo yet.”
I run a hand through my hair. Oh, please let her be right.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, leaning down and letting her kiss my cheek.
She wipes her lipstick off my face with the pad of her thumb, then turns to my tie. Readjusting the knot, she pats it against my chest. “Are you ready for this, Elliot?”
I clear my throat.No. Never.“You bet.”
Evelyn, my older sister, winks at me. Jocelyn, my younger sister, gives me a wry smile—one that assures me it’ll all be over soon.