Page 79 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

“Sweetie, you were the inspiration! There was a whole other theme chosen, but when I saw your hair, it hit me!” Mom beams at Chase. “I didn’t get you a wig ’cause you’re already good to go.”

I let out a snort-chuckle. Chase’s frizz-bomb hair has grown wilder and wilder throughout the day. It’s looking especially windswept from our beach walk, so yeah, rockstar perfection.

Mom addresses me. “You, mister, you’re a curly redhead today. And I better see matching red lipstick.”

“You got it, Mama,” I say, knowing full well I’m about to regret this.

Right as I’m getting ready to “spiffy up,” I notice Chase looking overwhelmed. “You okay?”

She nods, a bit too quickly. “Yeah, uh, yes, totally fine.” Then she adds with a shrug, “Guess I better go try to shimmy into this spandex. Hopefully I can rid myself of the sand that’s been living rent-free in my butt crack.”

I can tell something’s off—her eyes are clouded and her smile isn’t genuine. I’ve learned that when she’s like this, her walls are up and there’s no getting past them. She hates it when I pry, no matter how much I want her to trust me.

But does she trust anyone, really?

So many times I’ve seen her on set, fixing things that weren’t her job. When problems pop up, she’s the first to jump in. She’s the last to leave, making sure everything is perfectly in place.

I may jokingly call her acontrol freak, but now I’m wondering if there’s more to it.

What if it’s not about control? Maybe she believes she can’t ever trust anyone else and that she has to take care of everything herself.

How can I show her that she can rely on me?

A short while later, my family stands in front of a Christmas tree set up and decorated along the beachfront. The sun is starting to set, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. It’s a stunning backdrop for our photo.

Mom applies extra makeup to all of us, glamming us up so we get her vision just right. She, of course, looks like Dee Snider. Her bleach-blonde hair is teased out so high, I’m afraid a gust of wind might send her flying.

“Now everyone hold your blow-up guitars,” Mom instructs. “Except you, Doug. How ‘bout you hold Bubbles like he’s a guitar? Ain’t that funny?”

We all strike our best rock ‘n’ roll poses as Mom sets the timer on the camera. “Okay, family, say ‘Candy canes’!”

We repeat the phrase in unison, and with a click, the moment is immortalized forever. Mom runs over to check the photo then squeals with delight.

DING!

My phone chirps, and a pit forms in my stomach as I check the notification.Shit.This isn’t good.

“Oh, man. We didn’t reach our subscriber quota for today,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.

Chase’s head whips around. “Wait, what? Are you sure?” She fumbles for her phone, her eyes growing wide as she checks the numbers. “We only got half?!”

I can see the unease building in her eyes. “Trust me. It’ll be okay. I’m gonna go live real quick and tell the fans what happened.”

“Sure,” Chase says, nodding in a daze.

I turn the camera away from her and start my livestream. “Hey, Ethan Addicts, sorry to report that we missed our goal for today. That means you don’t get to see me looking like a whacked-out merman and I don’t have to rinse sand out of my ass for three days. Your loss, but my win.”

As I scan the comments, I spot a familiar name pop up. Gail, my self-proclaimed number-one fan and president of the Ethan Addicts fan club. She’s requesting to join the livestream.

My finger hovers over theAcceptbutton.Might help lighten the mood?

I press the button, and suddenly Gail’s face joins mine in the split-screen frame. She’s draped in a deep-purple satin robe that highlights her bright-red hair. Full makeup, of course, and she’s angled the camera just so, giving everyone watching the live a generous view of her cleavage.

“Oh hey, Gail,” I say, aiming for casual while my brain screams,Abort! Abort!

Gail’s face lights up. “Ethan, baby!” she coos. “You look absolutely scrumptious today. That tan iseverything.”

I force a laugh, suddenly very aware of Chase’s presence just off-camera. “Thanks, Gail. It’s that Florida sun working its magic.”

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