Page 7 of Texting My Secret Santa

On the drive home, I berate myself for it. What sort of son am I? Why couldn’t I give the old lady what she wanted?

I can’t just flip a switch. It’s like with this Christmas stuff. I can’t suddenly become a glittering mess of red and green lights, a “ho ho ho” smiling holiday-obsessed lunatic. I can’t become the son she wants just because she’s turned into the mother I always wanted—far too late.

CHAPTER 3

HOLLY

“My Secret Santa doesn’t seem very into it,” I tell Dan as I stir-fry the veg and chicken, one of our favorite meals. We’ve agreed not to have Christmas, wintery meals foreverydinner because it might get old.

Dan glances up from his laptop. “No?”

“They just told me to tell them what I wanted, and they’d get it. They even said they didn’t want a gift. I could pocket the cash.”

“Not everybody is as into it as us,” Dan says.

“On the upside, the video’s doing well on socials. Other companies are even following suit. We’re getting a good push with the green people—the whole recycling angle.”

“Good.” Dan nods. “It’s a fun way to brighten up people’s holidays, but if it can work for the company, too, that’s a win-win.”

“Am I dishing up three plates?” I ask.

I hope I said that casually. You know, no big deal. I might as well say,Is my crush joining us for dinner?But he’s my ex-crush, not mycurrentcrush.

“Speak of the devil,” Dan says, looking up.

Asher looks even more serious than usual as he walks in. He’s wearing just his shirt, no suit jacket. Not that I should notice stuff like this, but maybe he might want to invest in a bigger size. His shirt squeezes onto his bulging muscles.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“How’d it go?” Dan says.

“How’d what go?” I ask.

Asher sits beside Dan at the table, drumming his fingers, distracted. After a pause, he says, “I went to visit Mom. She’s doing a lot better and seems healthier.”

As I plate up the food, I say, “What’s she doing for Christmas? Does she want to join us with Mom and Dad?”

“What?” Asher says, glaring at me. “I don’t know what she’s doing.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“Not everything is about this goddamn holiday,” Asher snaps, then he sighs. “Sorry. I just …”

“It’s fine,” Dan says, giving me a look. He had already warned me that this was a touchy subject because of hisex.

I don’t enjoy thinking about her, which is wildly unfair. He’s a grown man with a history. With looks like his and money in his bank, he’s probably got dozens of exes. He’s undoubtedly broken countless hearts. It’s not my place to judge or care or even think about it for longer than a second.

Maybe Asher feels guilty for snapping. After we’ve begun eating, he says, “The video looked good, Holly.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. “It was a team effort. I didn’t get to include my favorite clip, though.”

He smirks. It’s like I wash away his pain. His northern lights-colored eyes linger on me almost in fascination. I’m probably reading far too much into it. He knows I’m talking about the one of him flipping me the bird. It was so funny, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of laughing.

The next day, during my lunch break, I text my Secret Santa.

Me:I want to do this properly. Why don’t you give me a hint of what you’d like?

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