Page 84 of A Very Addicted Christmas

His blue eyes soften on me. “You’re worried. I don’t hold that against you, Rose.”

“I hold it against myself,” I say coldly. “My worry shouldn’t cause me to say cruel, needless things, and I would really like to filter my thoughts.”

He winces like that’s the worst insult he’s heard all morning. “Don’t. Ever,” he tells me. “I want you unfiltered, darling.”

“Even if my words stab you in the heart?”

“Especially then.” He looks me over. “Where does your excess worry come from?” He frames the question like we’re a team about to unearth these mysteries together.

I comb my fingers through my hair and tie the strands into a pony. “Eliot is up to something,” I say, more to the mirror.

“He’s always up to something. And he’s our child that yellsfireto test whether we’ll jump up and run to him.”

“The boy who cried fucking wolf,” I snap the hair tie and then grab my eye cream. “He’s going to be the death of us.”

“So you’ve said a hundred times?—”

“A million,” I argue, dabbing cream near the creases of my eyes.

I see Connor’s burgeoning grin in the mirror. “And yet, here we are. Very much alive.”

I glance at my phone on the counter. “This one feels different.”

It’s been a balancing act with our children. The idea that I could become my overbearing mother hangs over me and shadows every decision I make. It’s a war within myself not to fiercely protect them from every slight danger. To not make their decisions for them. To not blind them under a scalding lamp and interrogate them for their strange behaviors. Especially now as they’ve left adolescence and entered adulthood.

I don’t want to be her, and in the same breath, Connor doesn’t want to become his neglectful mother and miss moments in their lives where they truly need us. It’s a push and pull, and I’m always fucking terrified we’re not getting it right.

That fear has never really left me. I’m not sure it ever will.

Connor motions me with two fingers. “Play it again.”

After rinsing and drying my hands, I sidle next to him and replay the footage from the backdoor camera. Eliot’s face dips down into frame.

“Bonsoir.” He shudders, clearly cold—and not just from the caustic winter winds. “Do not be alarmed. I took a midnight dip. A dare of my own creation. You would be absolutely horrified,Mom. Which is…to my delight.” He flashes a teeth-chattering grin.

I glare at the screen, unamused.

Our son continues, “Donnelly, here, went first, as prompted by yours truly. He withstood the ice better than I. Luna, you chose a strong one. Hugs and kisses.” He mimes two cheek kisses. “Nighty night, heathens.”

Connor has an unreadable expression. It’s annoying. Until he says, “He’s lying.”

It’s a definitive answer.

“Eliot has been known to partake in ridiculous dares,” I remind him. “There’s a chance he’s not lying.”

“If it were a dare, Tom would be with him.”

He’s not wrong. I stare harder at the phone. “Maybe it was an initiation.”

“Into what?”

“Into their friend group.” He knows I’m referring to Tom, Eliot, and Luna. “Eliot would want Donnelly to feel included.”

Connor considers this. “It’s not impossible but improbable. With everything Donnelly has been through, Eliot would be more likely to waive that kind of charade.”

I agree.

I hate that he’s right. “Only one way to find out,” I say.

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