Page 72 of The Pucker and the Princess
“That’s what I thought,” Gabby continues, still calm. “I get that my reality is very far away from what you’re used to. But I need you to at least accept and trust that I know how things work best for Jonathan and me. Us deciding to take a car here has everything to do with our desire to protect our own privacy as well as yours and Marissa’s and Lance and his family’s. It’s not a reflection on you, our feelings about you, or some kind of rejection of you. I know that in our family, we help each other, and you see picking us up from the airport as an extension of your parental duties. But if one of our family values is looking out for each other, and I think we all agree on that, then it’s myjob to look out for everyone else in this house by protecting their privacy, don’t you think?”
Mum grumbles something that Gabby seems to take as agreement. Maybe she actually grumbles a yes and we just can’t hear her clearly enough to tell.
Nate knocks over the blocks, and I miss a few of Gabby’s words, but I can fill in the blanks. “This is what our schedule is. I’m sorry you don’t like it. However, pretending you didn’t receive my email or hear the many times I told you how long we’d be staying and that it wouldn’t include Christmas Day isn’t going to change that reality.” There’s a pause before Gabby continues. “It’s your choice how we proceed from here. You can choose to be upset and ruin the few days we have with all of us here, per your request. Or you can choose to make the best of it. We can still have a big family dinner with all of us. We can still do presents. We’re leaving late enough on the twenty-third that we could do Christmas morning then, complete with presents and breakfast.”
“But you’re leaving in the early afternoon, you said. We can’t do Christmas dinner that day.”
I don’t bother suppressing my smile, and Lance and Abby don’t either, though Abby buries her face in Lance’s chest to muffle her snickers. Gabby hasn’t mentioned the specific time they’re planning on leaving in this conversation, and since Mom knows it’s early afternoon, it’s obvious she read the schedule Gabby sent her. She’s been fully aware of their schedule this whole time, and only now that pretending otherwise isn’t working to get her what she wants does she admit the truth, even if only obliquely.
“That’s true,” Gabby says, impressing me with her ability to be the bigger person. She doesn’t scream, “Ha! Youdidread my emails!” like I’d be tempted to. “We could do Christmas dinner the night before, though.”
“And what are we supposed to do on the twenty-fifth, then?” Mom retorts, sounding as petulant as Gabby did when she was younger. I guess we all know where she got it from now, don’t we? I always blamed Dad, but it seems that both parents are equally responsible.
“I don’t know, Mom. I won’t be here. Do whatever you want!” The frustration is finally entering Gabby’s voice, and it appears she’s done with the conversation because seconds later she stomps into the living room. She stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips, surveying the four of us in here.
I finish stacking a colorful block for Nate, and he stands up and whacks it with his chubby arm, knocking the whole thing over. Clapping, I quietly cheer, “Yay Nate!”
He claps his chubby little hands too, then toddles over to his parents on the couch.
Gabby crosses her arms and cocks her hip. “So I take it all of you heard that?”
“It’s not like the house is soundproofed, Gabs,” Lance says mildly, holding a giggling Nate up over his head. When he brings him down, Nate reaches for Abby, who brings him into her lap, hugging him close and giving him a kiss. The three of them really do make the cutest little family. My heart squeezes, a little pang pricking at me, making me wonder if I’ll ever get to experience that.
While Dozer and I have talked a little about wanting relationships, we’ve never talked kids. Does he want any? If he doesn’t, is that a deal breaker for me?
I don’t have any answers right now, but that’s something worth thinking about. Later, when Gabby’s not glaring at all of us.
“I have to admit, I’m a little annoyed to discover you’ll only be here a few days,” I say, and when Gabby straightens, her fists going to her sides, I hold up a placating hand. “I’m not upset withyou, Gabby. I was told we’d all be here for a week, though, or close to it. Sounds likesomeone”—I point toward the kitchen—“wasn’t entirely truthful when she called to beg me to come.”
Gabby’s eyes go wide. “Wait. She begged you to comeafterwe’d already said we’d come? She told me all of you already had your tickets booked! She laid the guilt on thick, and Jonathan and I had to rearrange quite a few things to make this work. And she’sstillnot happy!”
“Where is Jonathan?” Abby asks.
“He’s upstairs unpacking.”
“You mean hiding?” Lance asks, grinning.
Gabby shrugs. “You know he’s uncomfortable here.”
“Still?” I ask, a little surprised. I know he got the third degree the first time Gabby brought him home for Christmas, but it’s been years.
She shrugs again. “You know how Dad is. Are any of you all that comfortable here either?”
Abby’s the only one who outright shakes her head, but Lance and I exchange looks too. Sure, this is our childhood home. But it’sdefinitely nothomeanymore, even if I’m the most recent one to come to that conclusion. I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. Not like I used to. I don’t really feel like I belong in Seattle, either, but that has more to do with being new to the area. The sense of not belonging here is new and weird.
The sound of footsteps has us all clamping our mouths closed, Gabby whirling to face the newcomer, then moving aside to let Mom in the living room. As she opens her mouth to speak, more footsteps sound on the stairs by the front door, and Jonathan appears a second later, smiling at all of us.
“Hey, guys. Did everyone have good flights?”
We all nod and murmur affirmatives, and Nate stands up, looking over Abby’s shoulder and grinning at Jonathan, who immediately comes over and reaches for him. He scoops him up, and we all watch him play with his nephew for a minute, and Abby in particular looks stunned, then glances at Lance.
He shrugs. “Apparently he likes his Uncle Jonathan.”
Nate squeals as Jonathan swings him around.
“Don’t spin him too much,” Abby warns from the couch. “He ate not that long ago. You don’t want him puking all over you.”
That stops Jonathan in his tracks, a look of horror on his face. Nate starts bouncing and demanding, “’Gain, ’gain, ’gain!” trying to get him to move again, and Jonathan starts bouncing the little guy instead of spinning him, which seems to appease him.
