Page 161 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

She gives me a weighing look, as if I’m another potential stuck-up prick, and she hasn’t yet made up her mind about me. “What do you see when you look at it?”

The answer slips from my lips. “A dancer.”

Adalia seems to brighten, although she’s the type of person who’s so bubbly she’s always kind of bright.

“Is it supposed to be?” I ask.

“Not to get all mystical on you,” she says, “but it’s supposed to be whatever you want it to be.” She gives me one of those weighing looks again. “And it’s yours. Merry Christmas.”

Horror washes through me. “No, I couldn’t possibly. I came here to buy something. I would never expect you to give me something for free just because you’re Maisie’s sister-in-law. I value your work, and—”

“I can tell you do,” she says quietly. “And that’s why it needs to go home with you. Just call me Santa.” For good measure, she grins and adds, “Ho, ho, ho.”

A baby’s cry filters into the air, and Adalia’s eyes widen. “I have to leave now. Like, immediately—Lorelai isnotpatient—but if that painting is not gone when I come back, there will be serious consequences. I don’t know what they’ll be yet, but they’ll be dire.”

“But—”

“Take it, Mary.” She’s already backing away, smiling at me. “I made three paintings in the fortune-teller series. This is the last. I’ve given each of them to the home they’re supposed to go to. I can tell this one needs to go to you. And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll tell Dottie you want one of her deep cleansing tonics. Trust me. You do not.”

Then she’s gone, and I’m left with a dilemma. Take it, or leave it.

My eyes narrow on that colorful streak whirling and twisting across the canvas. I take it.

On the way back to the office, I stop at the glass store and buy two ornaments. One for my tiny tree and one for the crappy tree at home. I have to have faith that Aidan will want to decorate it one day.

With or without Jace.

When Hilde stops by on her way out, she sees the spun glass bulb hanging from the tiny tree and smiles. It looks kind of ridiculous, given it’s the only one and also much too large for the small tree, but she says, “It’s a start.”

And, weirdly enough, it feels like I’ve finally made one. A start on me, that is.

I find myself looking forward to my drinks with Nicole. Will she be proud of me? Because I feel strangely proud of myself.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MARY

“Is the vibrator still in the drawer, covered in a Woody towel?” Nicole asks, raising her eyebrows.

I told her everything—about Jace and the horrible home tour that ended not so horribly, about the things I’d ordered for my room and the painting (although not the fact that Adalia gave it to me; Adalia seems like the kind of person who might make good on her threats)—and this is what she’s focusing on?

“Well, yes, I guess so,” I say, knowing a moment of panic. What if Glenn’s parents saw it? They only came inside for a few minutes earlier, when they arrived to pick up Aidan, but Ruthdidwander around, opening drawers and offering to buy this or that. I instantly dismiss the idea because Ruth is not the kind of woman who would find a pink vibrator hidden beneath a Woody towel without making an exclamation of surprised horror. Besides, she did remark on the other new addition to the house: the painting in my bedroom, which I hung with Aidan’s help after school.

He loves it—he told me the burst of color looks like me, which put tears in my eyes—but Ruth just smiled and shrugged. “I don’t get this newfangled modern art,” she said. “Nothing looking like something, and something looking like nothing.Aidan could have painted it just as well, but if it makes you happy…”

“I would have painted a dinosaur,” Aidan interjected.

Before they left, Ruth pulled me aside to tell me that she really thinks she’s getting somewhere with Glenn—as if this were some sort of long-running business negotiation, not a father abandoning his son. Once, that might have reassured me, but today her comment filled me with white-hot anger.

“You can stop trying,”I told her. “As you can see, we’re doing just fine without him.”

And I pledged to myself that there would be no more email entreaties, no more texted pictures. Glenn doesn’t deserve Aidan, and I’m not going to offer him up again and again, just to be rejected. I’ve realized something. We don’t have to accept drips and drabs of attention from Glenn simply because Aidan’s blood-related to him. There are plenty of people in his court. Inourcourt.

Nicole waves a hand in front of my face, almost spilling my white wine. “Get out of whatever mind storm you’re in. I asked you a question.”

“Hey! My wine.”

She rolls her eyes as I pull the glass back. “If I spilled it, it would be no less than you deserve for ordering wine at a Mexican restaurant.” She waves at her half-full margarita. “This is where it’s at.”

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