Page 24 of Kiss Me at Christmas
Harriet shifted slightly, feeling judged and hoping Polly wasn’t listening. “It’s a healthy meal. Beans count as one of your five-a-day.”
“What were you eating the other night when I called you?”
“I don’t recall,” Harriet lied again.
Maisy gave her a hard stare and said, “It was a Pot Noodle.” She pursed her lips in a way Harriet recognized as one of her own signatures of disapproval.
“So?” Harriet asked.
“So, why are you suddenly eating like a student?”
“Oh, you know what it’s like, I’m tired after work, I don’t always feel like cooking.”
“But youalwayscook after work. I have never known you not to come home from work and start foraging in the fridge.”
Maisy was right. She loved cooking. She’d get in from work, put on some music and cook while she and Maisy shared the details of their day. Or if Maisy was out, she’d listen to an audiobook while she prepared their evening meal. Somewhere between waving Maisy off at the airport and now, she’d lost the motivation. Suddenly it felt less like winding down after a long day and more like a chore to be got through before she could finally switch on the TV and lose herself in someone else’s drama.
“I’ve been having a big meal for lunch at school, that’s all.” She hadn’t. “Now did you call me to critique my dinner or was there something else?”
“Something else. How did your meeting with the old theater crone go?” Maisy settled herself cross-legged on an expansive armchair strewn with Christmas cushions and waited expectantly.
Harriet finished her beans on toast while she filled Maisy in on the day’s events and then carried her plate and phone into the kitchen to wash up.
“So, when you boil it down, you got the deal that you actually wanted.”
“Yes, but it’s all on her terms.”
“I guess. It sounds cool, though, hanging out in an old theater. I’d have loved to have somewhere like that when I was their age.”
“That was only a year ago.”
“Still counts. Maybe if me and my mates had hadsomewhere to hang out, we wouldn’t have had to freeze our tits off drinking cheap wine in the park on a Saturday night.”
“Please don’t tell me these things. Oh my god, Maisy!”
Maisy laughed. “Like you didn’t do the exact same thing when you were my age.”
She had her there.
“This could be good for you, you know. With me not coming home for Christmas and everything. It’ll help with the pining.”
“I am not pining for you.”
Obviously, she was pining.
“Dad says you’re pining.”
“Dad’s a dunderhead.”
Maisy snorted. “Will you still go to Dad and Emma’s for Christmas? It’s their turn to host.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t made any firm plans yet.”
“Mu-um!”
“You worry about planning your own fabulous Christmas with Savannah and stop trying to micromanage mine.”
“I’m worried about you.”
