Page 143 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Still, I was hoping we’d make it home before he mentioned Jace.

It’s not my lucky day.

“I painted an ankylosaurus for Jace today,” Aidan says. We’re stopped at a red light, and I glance at him in the rearview mirror. There’s a brightness to him today, like the bulbs on a Christmas tree. “He seemed really interested in their mating habits the other day at the Chocolate Lounge. I made one for you too, Mom, but my teacher said I should save yours for Christmas.”

“Honey,” I say, feeling a wrenching sensation in my chest, my cheeks growing hot. The very last thing I want to do is hurt him, and yet I seem to keep doing it. The pain of dimming his sparkleis worse than anything I’ve ever experienced. “Jace won’t be coming to the library tomorrow. We had a disagreement, and…” I swallow. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s going to be able to be your buddy anymore.”

“A disagreement?” he asks, his voice rising. He’s messing with his zipper, although the belt of his booster seat is getting in the way. That’ll only make him feel worse. “Why were you even talking to him? He’smybuddy, Mom. He said so. He can’t stop seeing me. I was going to tell him about the therizinosaurus’s claws tomorrow.”

For a second, I can imagine them sitting together like they were the other day, Jace’s head bent toward Aidan, the look on his face one of interest and affection rather than glazed-over boredom, and another stab of pain lands in the general vicinity of my abdomen.

Could I try apologizing to Jace?

Could I suggest supervised outings?

Mary, you basically accused the guy of being a pervert. Then you told him you’d have him arrested if he ever came near Aidan again. Short answer: no.

Still, there’s no denying that the guilt weighing down my shoulders isn’t just from disappointing Aidan.

But I have to say something to my son, so I settle for, “I’m sorry, honey. I’m really sorry. We can try to find someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else,” he says, his voice rising again. There are tears in his eyes, and his cheeks are probably as red as mine are whenever Jace is around.

It’s all I can do to keep calm, but it won’t help either of us if I start crying. So I take a deep breath as I make the turn toward our rental house.

“Jaceis supposed to be there. I need to give him his dinosaur.”

“I’ll see if I can figure out a way to get it to him.”

“You better, Mom,” he shouts, a couple of tears escaping his eyes. “Santa can’t get it to him because he’s not real.”

“I’ll find a way,” I say, more firmly, although I cringe at the thought of approaching him, or even Ms. Duckworth from Butterfly Buddies. Will she look at me the way Molly used to when she’d call me Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary?

It wasn’t a compliment.

“I don’t like this, Mom,” Aidan says, his voice loud and shaky as I pull onto our street. “Nothing’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

I know he isn’t just talking about Jace. Or about Asheville, and tears finally fill my eyes. “I know,” I say. “I know. But we’re going to find our way, Aidan. We’re going to be okay.”

As if my words brought them into being, I see Molly and Maisie on our stoop, their bright hair—golden red andredred—shining in the low winter sun. I told them everything, of course, or at least everything minus my inappropriate reaction, and both of them agreed to come over to help make this night fun for Aidan. I’m surprised to see Molly’s boyfriend, Cal, is with them—Maisie’s husband, Jack, had to stay home with Mabel, so I figured they’d both come alone—but maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe Cal can meet with Aidan tomorrow afternoon and blunt his disappointment about Jace.

“Look,” I say to Aidan, hoping it will be enough, “your aunts are here to see us, and they brought Uncle Cal.”

“I’m not ready to get out yet. I don’t like you, Mom.”

The words sear into me like a blaze of fire, but I know what he means—I don’t like you right now—and I don’t blame him. I’m not exactly keen on myself. “Okay, but I think they’re here to have dinner with us.”

“It’s 4:30,” he says as if explaining something to a small child. “We always have dinner at 6.”

“So they’ll spend time with us until we’re ready to eat,” I say. Then, in a fit of inspiration, I add, “Your Aunt Molly brought your favorite pie.”

“How do you know, Mom? We haven’t even gotten out of the car yet.”

Because I’d arranged for it to happen, but I just say, “I’ve got a good feeling about this. Your aunt Maisie is holding something too. I’ll bet it’s dinner.”

“You don’t know that,” he scoffs. “She could be carrying anything.”

He’s right—it’s in a brown cardboard box. But she promised to bring his favorite mac and cheese, which consists of buttered macaroni and cheese sauce on the side. God bless both of my sisters. They’re the very best part of being in Asheville.

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