Page 200 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

He nods, so I grab his waist and lift. With Mary’s direction, he gets it on top. Then I lower him and adjust the star, knowing that it would drive Mary crazy to see it listing to the right.

We all take a step back, Aidan between us, and study it, “O Holy Night” playing on the speaker. This is one of those picture-perfect moments you see on TV or in one of those Hallmark movies Mrs. Rosa is always going on about. I know it’s not mine, but I let myself have it anyway.

“It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever had,” Mary says, her voice full of tenderness.

“I’m glad we saved it,” Aidan says, “but it still has bare spots.”

“True,” I say, “but I think those imperfections are what make it so wonderful. It’s beautiful because of them, not in spite of them.”

Mary turns to look at me, and there’s a softness on her face that makes my chest tight. I’m physically aching with the need to touch her. To hold her in my arms.

“I think I should go,” I say. Before I do something I’ll regret.

The song ends, and the beginning notes for “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” begin to play.

“But you haven’t had any cookies yet,” Aidan says, grabbing my hand. “And you haven’t even seen Mom’s new room.”

“She has a new room?” I ask, quirking my brow.

She clears her throat. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I think I should be the judge of that,” I say with a laugh. “Aidan, lead the way.”

He starts down the hall, and I follow, wondering what I’ll find. I saw all those boxes, but she didn’t open any of them before we left to help Roger.

The painting Mary bought is still hanging on the wall, but she’s added an emerald green duvet cover, an old-fashioned Tiffany lamp on the bedside table, and a few other prints to the walls. Those small changes have transformed the room, and it feels totally different. More like the Mary I’m getting to know.

“She bought a painting,” Aidan says in awe. “A real one.”

Obviously, I can’t let him know I’ve seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”

He moves to the dresser and opens a drawer. “And she got new underwear too.” He lifts up a lacy black bra and matching panties. “But they feel itchy.”

I freeze in my tracks, my imagination running wild.

DidIinspire her to buy that?

“Aidan!” Mary protests, hurrying over and snatching the underthings from him and shoving them back in the drawer. “Jace doesn’t need to see those.”

“But it’s not fair. You got new underwear, but I didn’t.”

“You will,” she says, her face scarlet, “when you grow just a little bit more.”

The chorus for the Christmas song filters back into the bedroom. Aidan tilts up his head, then knits his brows. “Did that man’s grandma really get run over by a reindeer?”

“On that note, I better go,” I say, making a beeline for the door.

“Coward,” Mary teases behind me.

When I first arrived, I convinced myself I was brave just for being here. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a coward.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MARY

Pulling out the ornaments from our other life affected me in a way I hadn’t expected. Instead of remembering sweet moments—Aidan’s first Christmas, the way he used to call Santa Santer, and his fierce loyalty to Donner, his favorite reindeer—I found myself remembering the way Glenn had always delegated the buying and wrapping of Christmas gifts to me, including mine from him, since I was more “into that.” He’d missed Aidan’s actual birth, for goodness’ sake, because he took a work call in the delivery room and slipped away for “five minutes.”

We’d never really been a family, the three of us—it had always been Aidan and me, with Glenn off living his life. He might be having second thoughts about the way things went down, but his actions over the last six years suggest a theme. I can practically hear my mother telling me,When someone tells you who they are, believe them.

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