Page 34 of Pucking Christmas Triplets Surprise

Hey, I had to go pick up Abby from school. I’ll be back soon.

- Chris

I smile softly to myself, drifting out of bed, and following the terrible melody my mother is holding. I blink repeatedly against the sunlight streaming through the windows, as I stumble through the hallway smelling breakfast.

I enter the kitchen to find my mom standing at the stove, skillet in hand, flipping eggs with an exaggerated flourish like she's got an audience. She doesn’t even notice me at first, so I take a second to enjoy the moment. It’s a bit ridiculous but familiar, and for a second, I smile, even though my brain is still half-asleep.

“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene—oh hey, sweetie! You’re awake!” she says with a big grin, turning around just as she finishes the chorus. “Good morning! You hungry?”

I blink, still feeling groggy, and try to suppress a laugh. “Morning, Mom,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. “You’re... you’re really giving Dolly a run for her money, huh?”

She chuckles, totally unfazed by my half-hearted attempt to tease her. “Oh, don’t you start. I’ve got a voice like an angel, don’t I?” She winks at me, her hands moving with confident rhythm as she sets a plate of biscuits down on the counter.

I take a seat at the kitchen table, but as soon as the smell hits me—eggs—I immediately feel the stirrings of nausea deep in my stomach. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to ease the queasy rising in my throat as I shift out of her direct eyeline.

“Mom, I’m... not really hungry,” I say weakly, as she places food on a plate. “Maybe just a coffee for now.”

Her face falls with concern as she looks at me. “You sure, sweetheart? You’ve got to eat something, got to keep my olympic athlete fed!”

I swallow hard, but it doesn’t help. “Don’t worry, there will be more than enough food for me tomorrow,” I mutter, trying to brush off the unease creeping up my spine. I sigh as she turns and continues to stir the eggs in the pan, before clearing her throat, which doesn’t mean anything good.

She sets the spatula down, and turns off the stove, before turning to me. “Josie, I need to ask you something,” she says, her tone sharp as she tries to catch my eye but I focus on the fruit basket as if it is the most interesting thing I have ever seen.

“Josie, I need to ask you something.” She leans over the counter, across from me as she folds her hands together in the middle of us. “How serious is this thing with you and Chris? You two have an almost 20-year age gap, and I’m just... concerned.”

“It’s only fifteen years, Mom, not twenty.”

“Oh, so sorry, five years makes such a difference.” She rolls her eyes, before repeating herself. “How serious is this Josie? Because a fling I can do, but life? I don’t know about life.”

My heart sinks a little at the question. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, my palms starting to sweat. “Mom,” I begin, trying to sound as confident as I can, even though my voice is shaking a little. “It’s not a fling. I love him. And he loves me. It’s real. It’s not about age, it’s about... what we feel for each other.”

Mom studies me for a long moment, her eyes soft but searching. “Josie, honey, I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re still so young, and he’s so much older. What if?—”

“I’m not a kid anymore!” I snap, a little too harshly, and I regret it immediately when I see the hurt flash across her face. I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. “Sorry, Mom. But I know what I’m doing. I’m not making a mistake. Chris isn’t like that.”

Mom sighs, pushing the plate of food closer to me, her eyes full of concern. “I’m justworried, Josie.”

Her words hit like a punch, and the air between us thickens with unspoken tension. I can feel the tightness in my chest, the ache that’s been building since the night before. I know she’s just looking out for me, but I can’t help the frustration that bubbles up inside me.

“I love him,” I repeat, my voice quieter now, but still firm. “And he loves me.”

But even as I say the words, I can feel my stomach turning again and my cheeks paling.

Her brow furrows, her eyes scanning my face. “Honey, you sure you're okay?”

“Sorry,” I mumble, my face flush with embarrassment. “I just... I don’t know what’s going on.”

She places a hand on my forehead checking, her touch gentle. “Sweetheart, maybe we need to get you to the doctor.”

“No,” I manage to say, my voice a little more forceful than I intended. “I’m fine. It’s just... I don’t know, maybe something I ate or... stress, or?—”

“Josie, you’re pale,” she cuts me off, her voice sharp with concern. “You can barely stand up straight. ”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I insist, but the room is starting to feel like it's closing in on me. My legs feel like jelly, and I grip the counter to steady myself. “Look, I don't want you to worry. I love Chris and he loves me.”

“Josie, I’ve been around the block a few times. I know how these things can end.”

I jerk forward, pressing my fist into my chest. My head is spinning, my vision starting to blur around the edges.

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