Page 84 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

Darla hands over a festive apron covered in flamingos, giggling about Ethan’s attempt to ‘improve’ the recipe with a heavy pour of rum. But I’m trapped in that treacherous zone between past and present, where memories I’ve spent years evading are suddenly nipping at my heels.

My mother’s absence is an open wound, painstakingly covered with professional success, personal achievements, and a firm policy of keeping others at bay. But here’s Darla, humming Christmas carols and teaching me family secrets like I belong here. As if I’m worthy of being someone’s daughter. It hurts. Oh God, it hurts. Like pressing on a bruise you forgot you had.

“So, what can I do to help?”

“You measure, I’ll pour.”

“Sounds good,” I agree, relieved to have a task to focus on.

As we work, Darla chatters away. “Lordy, I’m tickled you’re here! Having another gal in the house is a treat. I love my boys, but I’ve always wanted a daughter. Don’t you tell ‘em, but I’ve also been prayin’ for some grandbaby girls. Then you came along.” She winks.

Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave. I suddenly understand why Ethan insisted we lie to his parents. It would crush his mom, knowing our relationship is as fake as the plastic Christmas palm tree in their living room.

Elbow-deep in eggy batter, the words slip out before I realize it. “So, I’m guessing Ethan’s brought home his fair share of holiday arm candy?”

“Shucks, hun, you’re the first girl Ethan’s ever had us meet. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was kinda surprised it was you.”

I nearly drop the egg I’m holding. “Never?”

“I swear on my mama’s sweet tea, I ain’t lyin’.”

My brain’s still buffering from that bombshell when Darla launches an attack on the bundt pan with enough cooking spray to lubricate a jet engine.

“That boy of mine, he calls every week, regular as rain. We do this FaceTime game night on Sundays. But ever since he started working with you? He’s been more uptight than a nun in acucumber patch. We helped him practice his lines instead of our usual shenanigans.”

I’m flabbergasted.Ethan? Rehearsing lines? Yeah, right.Memorizing is against his religion. He’s more likely to give up sex.

“That boy wanted to impress you somethin’ fierce,” Darla continues, oblivious to my befuddled expression. “He would go on and on about how he couldn’t believe someone as talented as you chose him. Like you were in a different league in Hollywood. You make him feel special.”

“You’re shitting me,” I blurt out.

“I shit you not, buttercup.” Darla grins. “I think Ethan’s got a bit of that, what’s it called, imposter syndrome when it comes to you.”

She takes the bowl and dumps the mixture into the pan. My mind’s running in place, like it’s on a hamster wheel, trying to process this info dump. Ethan? Mr.I’m God’s Gift to Cinema,having self-doubt? No way.

“I see why he was so torn up now,” Darla says with a knowing smile. “That boy has love written all over his face. He’s just like his daddy. He can’t hide it.”

Before I can respond—or have the panic attack that’s bubbling up faster than this cake batter—she changes subjects. “Alrighty, time for the fun part. Watch and learn, sugar.”

She swipes a finger through the creamy mix and pops it into her mouth with a full-bodied moan. “Now you try,” she commands.

I take a lick. Holy mother of mouthgasms. How can sugar and eggs hit so hard?

“Damn, that’s good,” I admit, wondering if it’s impolite to dive face-first into the bowl.

“Wait till we drown this sucker in boozy glaze. You’ll be seeing God and calling himDaddy.”

She shoves the three and a half metric tons of calories into the oven. “While that’s baking, I got you a little something.”

Darla leads me to the dining room and settles me at the table, presenting me with a beautifully wrapped package.

“Really, this isn’t necessary. You shouldn’t get me anything.”

“Technically, I didn’t ‘get’ it. I made this for you.”

I open the gift, revealing a handcrafted seashell frame with a picture inside. The photograph features the entire Barrett clan and me dressed in full 80s rock glory—posing on the sand and making ridiculous faces. It’s simultaneously the most absurd and endearing thing I’ve ever seen.

“You hold a special place in Ethan’s heart,” Darla says softly, “and that makes you incredibly important to me. You’re part of the family now.”

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