Page 10 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

Evelyn’s jaw tightens and her gaze darts from me to Mom. “Surely there’s another E word out there for Elliot. Maybe he’s got something in the works that you don’t know about,” Evelyn says. “Maybe you should have asked him.”

I appreciate her help, but the only thing I’ve worked on other than lesson plans is my apartment project. The one Gran hasn’t agreed to yet. I don’t know an E word for that up-in-the-air situation.

For one minute I’d love to make something up. I’d love to tell my mother that she doesn’t know everything about me and that I have surprises happening in my life too.

“Maybe he’s dating someone?—”

“He isn’t,” Mom says. “Not since?—”

“She wouldn’t be allowed in the Christmas photo anyway,” Dad says, and I’m grateful he interrupted her.

Mom huffs as if we’ve all ruined her big surprise. “If Elliot were dating someone, I’d let her be in the Christmas card. I’d bend the rules—because I love my son and I’m not an awful person pointing out how little he has going for him this minute.”

“Mom!” Jocelyn cries.

“No one saidawful, Mother,” Evelyn moans. “And you are sort of insinuating that he doesn’t have anything going for him.”

“Elliot’s a great teacher,” Jocelyn tells her.

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that? He’s as handsome as that Ryan So-And-So from the movies you girls are always talking about. But that isn’t news.”

“Neither is just his name,” Jocelyn says.

“It might have been nice to ask him,” Evelyn says, patting Mom on the shoulder and breaking the fact gently.

The unsaid fact, though, is this: What would I have told her, had she actually taken the time to ask?

Mom grunts, breathing out through her nose. “Fine. Well, Elliot. Are you dating anyone?” Mom’s overly annoyed gaze flicks up to me, and like the parting of the Red Sea, my family makes way for that gaze, no more defending Elliot. All eyes follow her flick and land on me.

Who has time to date?

Not me.

So, the easy answer is no. And yet my name—not my news—blinks at me as if in flashing lights on that poster board. Everyone is looking at it. Every human I know will eventually be looking at it. It’s like a headstone for all tomourn rather than a poster with celebratory news. Here lies Elliot, mostly likely to die unaccomplished and alone.

I think for only a second before filling the air with a bunch of bull.

“I am dating,” I say. “She said she might stop by to meet you all. But she’s busy.Verybusy. I’m not sure she’ll make it.”

“Wait,” Mom says, making her way through my parting family. “You’re dating again, Elliot?”

“I am.”

Gran grins, and for the first time—you know, in the thirty seconds since I started this ruse—I am punched with guilt.

“When will she get here?” Mom says. “Any chance she’s in red? We’re all in red. She can be on the Christmas card if she’s in red.” She glances around at my sisters. “I’m not unreasonable.”

“I told you, she said she’dtryto stop by. I don’t think she’ll make it. Even if she does, I didn’t think she could be in the photo, remember? I’m sure she’s not in red.”

“What’s her name?” Jocelyn asks.

Her name? Right. Most women have them. And most boyfriends know them. “Um—” I am going through the alphabet, attempting to recall any names that might work for the fairer sex when?—

Strawberry-blonde hair, red sweater, and long legs walk into the room—like a miraculous Christmas gift sent down from above.

And I look into the eyes of B4,Bonnie Miller.

SIX

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