Page 42 of Booked for the Holidays
“A tree?” Mac perks up, attention moving away from the worksheet in front of her to the fir sitting in the corner, begging to be adorned. “Dad, can I please stay?”
Theo stares at me, torn on what to do. “Are you sure? I can try and work something else out. Maybe Lucas can help.”
“I’m positive. It’s totally fine, and we’ll be okay. Take all the time you need. We can order some pizza and hang out until you’re finished. How does that sound, Mac and Cheese?”
She giggles at the nickname. “Pretty freaking sweet.”
“You’ll text me if anything happens? If you need something?” Theo asks.
“I promise.”
“You’ll let me know if you have somewhere to be?”
“My schedule is literally empty, but sure. I will.”
“I’ll be back the second we’re finished.”
“No rush. Seriously.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am sure. And wait. Before you leave.” I grab a pair of tongs. Stuffing two blueberry muffins inside a to-go bag, I hand it over to him. “Take these. You look like a zombie. Those can hold you until you grab some pizza with us later.”
The creases of his frown lines soften. I want to drag my finger there, between his scrunched brows, and smooth out the edges. The dark brown of his eyes grows warm and thankful. He shifts from my face to the pastries, then back again. When his gaze meets mine, he stares. I stare back, unafraid. Unyielding. He won’t win this fight.
He raps the counter twice with his knuckles. “Thank you, Bridget. This–” He swallows and exhales. “Text me if you need anything.”
“Will do. We’ll see you later.”
He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Mac’s head. He walks to the door and pauses there, fingers gripping the knob. Tan over brass, he hesitates. Waits. For a minute, I think he’s going to turn back around and say something else. He shakes his head once, deciding against the argument in his head, and departs through the exit, leaving Mac and me alone.
* * *
“I forgothow brutal the school workload is.” I groan and rub my temples. We’ve been tackling Mac’s homework for ninety minutes, and my brain is fried. “And you play soccer, too? You’re like Wonder Girl.”
Mac giggles and shoves her completed worksheets into her backpack. She’s smart as hell, answering the questions before I could finish reading the first four words. We knocked out algebra and biology, and I can’t take anymore talk about ecosystems or variables.
“I like school,” she says. “I’m going to try and do some of the advanced placement classes in high school.”
“As you should. You have the brain for it. Any idea about what you want to do when you grow up?”
She shrugs. “No, not really. I like writing. And reading. I like math, too. We’ll see. I’m keeping an open mind like my dad says.”
“Sometimes, on very, very rare occasions, your dad is right. Ready to get decorating?”
“Yes!”
I lead her over to the boxes I have set up. We pillage through the ornaments and start our work on the seven-foot green canvas waiting for us. While we weave the lights in and out of the branches, Mac tells me about her soccer team. She shares what positions she likes to play. I listen to her debate what gifts she should get her dad for Christmas, and I nix the idea of a suit jacket. We giggle over our chaotic attempt of evenly placed bulbs, the bottom of the tree looking far brighter than the top half. Mac asks me about the significance of some of the hanging ornaments and I talk about the year I spent studying abroad in London. When it comes time to put the star on, she climbs onto my shoulders and laughs so hard, it takes five tries to get it positioned right.
“I don’t think we’ll be winning any awards with this design.” I grin as I set her back on the ground. “But, A for effort.”
“We can call it abstract! I kind of like how wonky it looks.”
“I’m not sure wonky is a great adjective, kid.”
“Okay. What about unique?”
I hum. “We’re getting there.”
