Page 97 of The Love Losers

“The anticipation of Santa Claus gets me every time,” I joke.

There’s a small pile of wrapped presents under the tree. Some of them are from me, purchased with Rosie yesterday morning. One of them is the yearly scarf from Remus, the owner of the Peanut Bar, which arrived in the mail yesterday.

“Shall we?” Emma intones with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“First I’d like to tell you something,” our mother says.

We both nod.

“Proceed, Santa,” my sister responds with a smirk.

Smiling, our mother says, “Your real gifts aren’t under that tree.” Turning to Emma, she continues, “If you truly care to, you can redecorate Smith House. Any budget within reason. But be aware that Iwilltry to convince you to open a new practice hereor in Asheville. So the longer you’re here, the longer you’ll be compelled to listen to me.”

Emma nods, her mouth hitching up. “A double-edged sword. I appreciate that.”

Then our mother turns to me. “And I’d likeyouto write a business proposal for me.”

“Mother?”

“You asked us yesterday what money could be invested in the Ware, as if I don’t have plenty of money invested in stocks and bonds that I could give a toss about. I would prefer to invest inyou, Anthony.”

“Mother,” I say. “I—”

“If you make it a worthy investment, then there’s absolutely no reason for me to say no. You’ll be insulting me if you treat my money as if it’s in any way inferior to your inheritance. The majority came from the same source, and I see no reason why we shouldn’t spend your father’s money in better ways than he would have.”

For a second, I’m speechless. So I sip the coffee, my mind whirring. She’s right. I’ve avoided accepting help from her, because it felt like a handout. Somehow, the inheritance didn’t, because I felt like I was earning it.

By working for his company.

By marrying by the age he deemed it necessary.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I finally say. “I’d be letting a lot of people down.”

“And are you the only one responsible for them?” she asks, meeting my gaze. “If you’re worried about it, why not marry the girl and use the inheritance to provide your employees with a generous severance payment? Or step down and hand the business over to that idiot Simon. Anyone with sense can see he’s the reason it’s falling apart.”

I rub my head, which is pounding again. My brain’s full of Rosie and not equipped for any of this. “I can’t just give it to him, Mother. It’s a mess.”

“Which he helped make,” she says archly. “He wants to do everything the same way Adrien did, but he’s not Adrien.”

“And neither am I,” I say, my tone bitter.

“Thank God,” my mother and sister say at the same time. They laugh together, but I’m too weary to laugh with them.

“Let’s open the other presents,” Emma says. So we do.

My mother bought us each a copy ofFind Your Own Parachute, which feels at least partially like a joke, and I got Emma a cookie cutter shaped like a middle finger, which Rosie’s friends use to make FU cookies for cheaters and jerks. There are a few other books and gift cards, and I got my mother a bracelet Rosie insisted she needed to have. The scarf from Remus is a sickly greenish yellow that I decide to give to the guard outside.

I explain my quandary about the phone to my mother and Emma, and my mother promises she’ll call Jake and Lainey to find out how Rosie is doing.

But they don’t answer their phones, so she’s reduced to sending a text message.

We have lunch and then watchA Christmas Storytogether in the TV room, drinking some more “special coffee,” and I must fall asleep, because when I wake up sprawled out on the couch, it’s dark outside and my back hurts like hell.

I know a moment of panic.

It’s Christmas, and I haven’t even been able to wish Rosie a Merry Christmas.

It’s Christmas, and I can’t get to her.

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