Page 50 of Holly and Nick Hate Christmas
Or at least not for me of his own free will.
No reason to tell my sisters the truth, though, and have them gush with pity and attempt to fix me up with everyone’s single son at the party. Then start launching into an animated discussion on howimpossibleit must be to date at all at my age, like I’m a spinster in a gothic novel. At this point, I was more likely to become a crazed woman locked in an attic than find my own Rochester or Heathcliff.
Not that either of those men were exactly tens. Hmm. Maybe that’s why I was still single—I defaulted to Rochesters instead of Aragorns.
I shook my head. “What about you and Axel? How long have you guys been dating?” Not the first time I threw my little sister under the bus to change the subject, and it wouldn’t be the last.
But Chloe didn’t seem to mind. She’d always loved talking about herself. The fire behind her crackled, and she tossed back her hair, a lighter brown than it’d been last time I saw her. “A few months. We met at a volleyball game.”
I taped a red strip around a green one, lengthening my chain. “I thought he said you met surfing?”
“I was playing volleyball on the beach; he was surfing.” She shrugged, her eyes dreamy. “It was destiny.”
Kat snorted. “Or it was the logical place for ‘Ken’ and a social media influencer to get the best footage of themselves.”
“My platform numbers are growing by the day, so you can shove it.” Chloe squared her shoulders. “And I don’t really care if you like Axel or not.”
“Oh, honey”—Kat shook her head with a patronizing smile—“of course you do.”
“All right, both of you.” Olivia threw a sofa pillow at Kat. “That’s enough.”
Kat caught it with a laugh. “Okay,Mom.”
“Someone has to be.” Olivia handed me another piece of tape. “I’m surrounded by children even when my own aren’t nearby.” She frowned. “Where are they, by the way?”
“Helping Dad in the basement.” Chloe, Kat, and I all said it at the same time, except Chloe’s and Kat’s hands were free to form air quotes around “helping.”
“Oh, brother.” Olivia sighed. “Sometimes I swear I feel like a single mom. I guess I better go intervene down there before there’s a fire. But first…”
“Here it comes.” Kat sat up on the chair. “Brace yourselves, everybody.”
Olivia ignored her as she stood, dropping the throw pillow that’d been in her lap. “You…” She pointed to Chloe. “Don’t you dare transfer when you’re in a great school making great grades. Duh.”
She swung her finger to Kat. “You…try being nicer instead of so catty. Yes, pun intended. Andyou.” She looked down at me, eyes kind but still squinty. “Try going with the moment and stop denying the obvious. Maybe you’ll get more than a first date that way.”
I flinched. Ouch. That hurt more than the scissors stab, though I knew she meant well.
She just didn’t know the whole story.
I set my completed chain on the coffee table, which was suddenly starting to remind me of my birthday. And why I quit making chains in the first place. “I get second dates.”
“And thirds?” Chloe asked hopefully.
Crickets.
I coughed. “There’s nothing wrong with having standards.”
“Of course. As long as you’re not like Jerry Seinfeld and find something petty to disqualify every potential date you get.” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s a difference between standards and being plain ole picky, and Nick seems like a good guy.”
I swallowed, carefully lining my next chain up against the first one. Hewasa good guy. That was the problem. Apparently, he was so good he cared enough about my brother to do him the favor of pretending to date me.
Awful sacrifice thatthatwas.
Tears burned my eyes. Ugh. See? That was why I hated Christmas. Too much trauma. And this year kept flinging open doors to fresh ones every day, like a toxic Advent calendar. I was ready for it all to be over. So I could go back home and—
What? Go back home to what? A job search? An apartment I couldn’t afford?
A tear escaped and I swiped it away.
