Page 51 of Presley's Christmas Catch
I whirl on her. “I’m going to need your whole collection of those romcom books you and Aunt Shannon both loved.” I head over to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases in the room, searching for the section where she keeps them. “Even the ones Aunt Shannon gave you.”
“Which ones?” Mom walks over to join me, eyeing me while I search.
I throw out my hands, finally finding the name I’m looking for. “The ones that are apparently written by my favorite fantasy author.” I start pulling them off the shelf. There are about five with double copies, one of Aunt Shannon’s and one of Mom’s. The reference Aunt Shannon found is probably in one of those. I’ll google search for it later.
“What are you talking about?” Mom asks.
My pile is growing. I’m going to need something to carry them in. “Do you have a box or something?”
Mom puts a hand on my arm, stopping me from the mess I’m making. “You seem … full of energy, Pres. How did yesterday go?” Her eyes rake over my face with an expression unique to mothers—a mix of detective and therapist all in one, I think. She’s searching for clues and readying herself for whatever emotions start spilling out.
“I don’t even know.” I throw up my hands. “But I don’t want to talk about Brock yet.”
Mom leans back from me, bewildered. “I didn’t ask about Brock.”
“Well.” I huff and then take a deep breath. “You should, but not yet.”
She blinks slowly at me. “Okay. So did Mr. Thornridge remember Shannon?”
“He did.” Already tears sting my eyes. It sounds so like Aunt Shannon to stalk him like that. “I have the biggest secret to tell you, and you can’t tell a soul. Aunt Shannon promised,and I’m pretty sure Gideon expects me—and you—to uphold that.”
Mom holds up a hand as though she’s testifying in court. “I promise.”
“Gideon Thornridge has a pen name. One that he writes some very popular books under.” I hold up one of the romcoms and tap the name pointedly.
Mom’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as the Forces of Vorath.”
Dad snorts, but Mom frowns at me. “I don’t know what that means.”
I wave her away. “Aunt Shannon found a vague TOK reference in one of these books,” I gesture to the mess I’ve made, “and figured it out. Then he sent her the signed book. I just don’t know why she hadn’t given it to me.”
Mom squints at me, like she’s trying to remember. “I’m sure she was going to. That book was on her nightstand after the funeral.” Mom chews on her lip the way she does when she’s going to cry and doesn’t want to. “I didn’t need a sticky note to know it was for you. I put it in your box, but I’m guessing she’d planned on showing it to you right away. And then…”
Neither of us needs her to finish that. Then she fell and hit her head and died years before ALS was supposed to take her. We knew she was going to die within ten years. She was already planning for it, but the way we lost her was worse, I think. Expecting more and being robbed of all of it.
We both stare down at the book in my hands. It’s one that’s about to be released as a movie on Netflix.
“So, about Brock?” Mom says slowly.
I lie back on the carpet and stare at the ceiling for several seconds before I answer. “Yesterday was … weird. But also amazing. I don’t know what to think about it.”
Mom turns so that her back is against the bookcase. “Weird good?”
“Yeah, but like in a ‘just for today’ kind of way. Well, that’swhat it felt like. We started out super awkward, both of us being careful about what everything meant, you know? Then things got crazy at the bookstore,” I remind her. I texted her about it while we were waiting for Gideon to come to the signing because she’d seen some pictures on Instagram.
“He carried you outside.” Mom smirks.
I cover my face with one hand. “And from there it was like friends with a few benefits the rest of the day. He held my hand—not romantically but still. And basically had me cuddle with him during the plane ride home.”
“Hmmm.” Mom studies me. “So he realized he was wrong about how he felt.”
I throw up my hands toward the ceiling. “Or he doesn’t realize how he feels at all. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”
“Talk to him.”
I sit up and wag a finger at her. “No, no, no. Been there, not doing that again.”
