Page 88 of UnLucky Christmas
“You got quiet. What are you thinking about?”
I caress his arm. “I was just thinking about how fast life can change.”
“In an instant,” he agrees.
A month ago, I didn’t know Grant existed, and now I can’t imagine my life without him.
“Anyway, the next few hours should be quite fun.”
“I’m ready,” he says. “At least the food will be good.”
I snort. “It better be after all the hype.”
We turn onto my mother’s street and a feeling of empty sadness comes over me. I look out the window at the familiar houses covered in Christmas lights, and I’m reminded this will be the last year we’ll celebrate here. Then I feel Grant’s warm hand take a hold of mine, and it immediately calms me. Macy was right about him being a source of comfort during difficult moments.
We pull into the driveway, and I whimper.
“I’m right by your side,” he reminds me.
That’s the one thing I’m sure of in this moment.
* * *
Thankfully Benand Emme have already arrived to help ease the awkwardness. Ben gives Grant a man hug that further confirms their bromance.
“Oh, my goodness, you’re so tall, Grant,” my mom says, reaching up to give him a hug. “And handsome,” she whispers to me.
I gaze up at him, and my stomach does a flip. She’s right—he’s so yummy.
“Hello. Welcome,” Bill announces, joining us in the front hall. He’s wearing an apron and has a towel thrown over his shoulder. I’m instantly irritated that he’s acting like this is his home.
I introduce Grant, and Bill shakes his hand and pats him on the arm in a fatherly way. Next thing I know, he’ll be offering us gas money.
Ben looks at me and scowls. Seeing his reaction validates my feelings.
“Come along and get a drink,” Bill insists. Grant and Ben follow him to the kitchen, while I linger behind with my mom and Emme.
“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you brought Grant today,” my mom squeals. “You make such a cute couple.”
“Ben thinks Grant is the greatest guy he’s ever met,” Emme tells her.
“Yes, their blossoming friendship is very sweet.”
I bring the bag of gifts into the living room and put them under the tree. The house is as cozy as ever, but there’s a strange feeling in the air—like something is missing. Or rather, someone. I wander to my father’s office, which is now empty. I close my eyes to keep my tears contained and make my way to join everyone in the kitchen.
When I walk in, Bill is describing the salmon crostini. Grant looks over at me and gives me a comforting smile.
“Whitney, come and let me make you a cocktail,” Bill waves me over.
“I’m fine for now,” I reply. “I’ll just have a glass of wine.”
Today calls for a glass or two.
“Have something to eat,” my mom says, coming up beside me. “Everything is so delicious.”
I tighten my jaw. “Mom, relax. I will. I just got here.”
Bill is still rambling on about the best ways to prepare salmon.
