Page 37 of Sexted By Santa
I paced the living room while Tori changed, trying to avoid wrinkling my clothes before we left for the party. I wasn’t a suit guy like Christian, but I’d done my best with some dark jeans and a silvery-gray button-down.
Of the two of us, you’d think Tori was the one with the date. This was the third time she’d changed her outfit. But then, it was an exciting event for a kid who’d been stuck in the house far too much over the past two and half months.
Before her diagnosis, there had been play dates, sleepovers, and the occasional evening with a baby-sitter so that I could attend nursing school. I had been gradually working toward a degree—fitting classes around my full-time job—since Tori started elementary. When she’d gotten sick, I’d dropped my last class and put my plans on hold.
It had been the right thing to do. We’d had a hell of an adjustment to make when she came home from the hospital. But I knew that even with school, Tori was a social butterfly, who was feeling the strain of being pinned in place.
My phone rang, and I slipped it out of my pocket, expecting to see Christian’s name on the ID. Instead, it read Mom. I hesitated.
To answer or not to answer?
She rarely called. Our relationship had been less than stellar since she’d bailed on Marissa and Tori while I was away at college. But she was a talker, and at least if I answered now, I’d have a good excuse to keep the call short.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Jax! I’m so glad I caught you.”
“What’s up?”
“Christmas is coming up soon, and I wondered about your plans…”
“Same as usual. We’ll have a quiet Christmas here at home.”
“Did you get my card?”
“I did, thank you. I showed it to Tori.”
“You did?” She sounded surprised. “I’m so glad. You know, we have plenty of room here. It’d be lovely if you could visit.”
My jaw tightened. “Maybe another time.”
“You always say that, Jax.” Her voice quivered. “When will you forgive me? I made a mistake. People make mistakes. But I want to make it up to you, both of you.”
My heart clenched. I wasn’t an asshole who couldn’t forgive. If my mother had made this kind of effort sooner, I might have been quicker to let her into my life and Tori’s. But she’d waited five years, until her marriage fell apart, to show any interest in us.
She’dconvincedme to go off to school while she looked after Marissa and Tori. I’d considered moving them to Hayworth and trying to stretch my tuition and board money to accommodate the three of us, but she’d assured me they’d be better off with her. Then she’d met a guy online, got married in a hurry, and left Marissa to deal with a new baby without a support system. Marissa’s family was toxic and dysfunctional, something my mom knew very well.
“There are consequences to the mistakes you make,” I said. “We’re both living with the choices we made.”
“Jaxson, please…Imissyou.”
“I miss you too.” It was true. I missed having the support of a parent, someone you could turn to when you had problems. But Mom’s support had always been fleeting at best. Even when I was a kid, her interests had lain more in her own social life than with me. I couldn’t rely on her. And each time I thought about forgiving her, letting her visit, doubts assailed me.
Will she care about Tori beyond one visit, beyond her own desire to play the grandma for a day or two? Or will she hurt us both again?
Tori came out of her bedroom in a forest green sweater, and she’d added a red beaded necklace.My daughter the Christmas tree.I smiled and gave her a thumb’s up, before walking toward the kitchen.
“Maybe I could come out there then?” Mom tried again. “Just for the holidays. I can spend some time with Tori while she’s on winter break.”
Tempting. It would certainly help my childcare dilemma. Except would I trust Tori’s health with my mother?
“I don’t think so. Not this year.”
She sighed. It sounded forlorn. “I just want another chance, Jax.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll…think about that, okay? But I’ve got to go. I’m getting ready for a party.”
“A party?” She sounded reproving. “Where will Tori be while you’re at this party? If I were there—”
