Page 194 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

Nicole is apparently satisfiedwith Tina’s “sob story” (actually, she called it “epically entertaining,” which makes me worry about what she tells other people about me), but she insists that Tina should tell me in person. She won’t be joining the club until the end of the month, though, because apparently, she has several odd jobs in addition to her Tea of Fortune gig, and they’ve all amped up to an alarming degree because the holidays are around the corner. That, and her parents would “murder her”—Nicole’s words—if she didn’t come home for Christmas.

I’m lying in bed, tucked under my new duvet cover, about to set my phone down on the nightstand, when I catch a whiff of Jace’s scent on the pillowcase. I changed the sheets this morning—something I always do on Sundays—but I found myself leaving the same pillowcases on so I could breathe him in. Fresh soap and a hint of something spicy. It’s his smell, so weak yet so potent, that drives me to pick my phone back up.

I have to text him, I tell myself. He needs me to set a date for the tree decorating.

It’s true, and Aidan talked of literally nothing else over the dinner he pecked at, but that’s not why I finally type out a message.

Would Tuesday evening be acceptable for decorating the tree?

Tuesdays and Thursdays were supposed to be the days when Aidan saw Jace for Butterfly Buddies. Schedule changes are hard for him, and it’ll be easier if we can stick to the original arrangement, or a facsimile of it.

It’s only after I send it that I realize it’s the kind of message I’d send to a work colleague or a client. Not any kind of friend. Which is why I add,We’d both love it if you’d stay for dinner. I promise not to burn the food this time.

There’s a pause after the “read” notification shows up, and I wonder whether he’s decided not to have anything to do with us after all, but then those fateful three dots appear. I hold my breath until his reply shows up.That sounds great. What time on Tuesday?

Aidan and I usually get home by 5:15. Any time after that would be great.

He responds with a thumbs-up emoji, and I get this weird, panicky feeling, like I ruined everything. Like he and I will never even be friends, beyond polite exchanges about Aidan. So I write,I went to a dance studio today. You sort of inspired the idea, along with some not-so-gentle pushing from my sisters. I’m going to practice at the studio and help teach a class for the younger girls. Thank you. Maybe I’m crossing a line (again)for saying so, but your support means a lot. You made me feel beautiful.

Those three dots show up again, driving me mad, and finally he sends:You ARE beautiful. Anyone who made you feel otherwise is an absolute asshole. You’re going to be wonderful.

I’m trying to think of a clever response, one that doesn’t reveal the way his words impacted me, when he sends another text.

I feel like I should tell you that Cal offered me some weekend work.

It’s about the last thing I expected him to say.Molly’s Cal???

That’s the one. Are you okay with me taking it, or is that crossing a line?

Not at all. I’m glad. Cal’s a good guy. Does this have anything to do with the surprise Molly suspects he’s preparing for her?

His response makes me smile.I plead the fifth.

As a lawyer, I can’t object to that.

I’m glad you’re dancing again, he wrote next, his words igniting a flush in my cheeks.Someone who can dance like you should be doing it all the time.

New dots pop up, suggesting he has more to say.Speaking of crossing lines…you mentioned there was something else your dance teacher said to you back in high school. Am I overstepping if I ask you what it was?

That awful memory was running through my mind last night when I met with Molly and Maisie, especially after my little sister suggested the whole volunteer dance thing. Maybe it’s never stopped running through my head.

Jace and I probably are crossing lines, decimating boundaries, but I find myself telling him anyway.

I heard her telling her friend that she had a thing for my father. That was her main reason for encouraging me, up untilthen, because she wanted to spend time with him. I wanted to think that he wasn’t interested in her, but he was always such a flirt. And then, after he died, I found out he’d been cheating on my mom with another woman. It made me wonder whether he’d strayed before.

He doesn’t respond right away, and I panic, because that was much too personal. I might as well have unzipped myself and invited him to rummage around inside. What is the matter with me? At least I refrained from telling him the rest, about Molly finding out about the affair and telling me after my parents’ accident. About my refusal to believe her, even though I had every reason to think it could be true.

But he finally responds with:Confession for a confession. No, my sister didn’t know why I destroyed Lester’s car. I called her again yesterday. I tried to explain, but she refused to listen, not that I was surprised. The thing is, Ben answered my call. I got to talk to him for a few minutes for the first time in years. So, thank you for that.

My heart’s pounding double time in my chest. I should tell him about hiring Dennis, I really should. But I don’t want him to tell me not to do it. Or insist on paying for it. Because if I can figure out a way to get Ben back into his life, I’m going to do it. I have to.

So I settle for:It’s like they say: We can’t choose our family.

No, but we can choose our friends. Mary, whatever else happens, I’d like to be your friend. Yours and Aidan’s.

Warmth spreads through my chest, like I just gulped down a hot toddy.I’d like that too.

I tuck in for the night, content to pretend that’s all I want or need from him. It’s at 11:30 that my text alert goes off again, waking me from sleep.

---