Page 37 of Holiday Unscripted
She walks back over to the counter, picking it up, and tapping the screen. “It says scavenger hunt.” She puts her phone down and walks over to the coffee machine. “Like what the fuck is going on? Why can’t he be like a normal person?” She pours coffee in both cups and then adds the milk. “Come down, meet a couple of the bridesmaids during a fitting.” She turns and walks over, putting down a cup in front of me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, picking it up while she walks over to the couch. Her mug is in her hand as she curls her feet under her and looks at the tree.
“Have a rehearsal dinner and then get married.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “No, not Joshua. Joshua is like, what would annoy the fuck out of everyone? Let’s do that.” I snort.
“He knew how much it took for people to be away from their families during the holidays, so he wanted everyone to feel like they were family.”
“We are fucking family.” She turns her face to me. “Literally, everyone knows everyone.”
“You know everyone?” I know she knows her family, but she doesn’t know many of Macy’s side of the family since she hasn’t been here.
“I don’t want to.” She glares at me. “There is a difference. I don’t do a lot of people.” She holds the mug to her mouth and takes a small sip of the piping hot coffee.
I get up and walk over to the couch and sit down on the other side, watching the tree with the lights on. Baby Cat has slunk down, and his eyes are closed. “Good news.” She looks over at me. Her hair is tied on top of her head and her face is free of makeup, and she’s never looked more beautiful before. “There is this. The gingerbread house competition and then the joint bachelor/bachelorette party and then we are done.”
“That’s a lie.” She sighs.
“No, he canceled the snowman building since there is no snow.”
“That’s not what I meant. You left out the rehearsal dinner and the wedding.”
I chuckle and hold my coffee in my hands tighter when I see Whiskey come toward us and jump on the couch in between us. “Well, those two were a given and always going to be on the list.” He turns in a circle and then plops down, putting his face on Elizabeth’s legs, and I’ve never been more jealous of my dog in my life. “So I take it, when it’s your turn to get married”—the coffee now feels like it’s curdling in my stomach—“you won’t do the two-weeks-of-getting-to-know-each-other kind of thing.”
“No,” she snaps. “It will be maybe a rehearsal dinner. I don’t think I’ll have a big bridal party like Macy. A maid of honor, maybe one bridesmaid, and then the rest will be invited. The wedding is really between two people and not five hundred.”
“You might want to never say that to your parents,” I warn her. “Maybe your uncle Max will agree with you, but he’s about the only one who will.”
She chuckles. “What about you?” She puts her hand on the back of the couch and then leans her temple on her closed fist. “How do you see your wedding?”
“I really couldn’t care less, as long as I get to marry the girl I love,” I admit to her. “If she shows up, I’m already winning.” She tosses her head back and laughs and when she looks back at me her eyes are twinkling. “It could be just the two of us, or she can have whoever she wants there, I really don’t care.”
“Would you say your own vows or do the generic ‘I take you as my wife’ sort of thing?”
“Again, it would be what she wants. I could do both. If we decide to do the generic”—I take a sip of my coffee, trying to get the image of her being my bride out of my head—“I would write her a letter with my vows to her.” Her mouth opens up in shock.
“That is so nice.” It comes out in almost a whisper.
“Why are you so shocked with everything I say? It’s like you don’t know me.” I finish my coffee and get up from the couch, not sure I want to continue having this conversation because, eventually, I’m going to stop being scared and ask her why the fuck she left me after our night together. “I’m going to shower and then get ready, we have to be at the reception hall at eleven.”
“Great,” she mumbles and follows me up. “Are you not going to get the cat out of the tree?”
I look over and shake my head. “If he’s comfortable sleeping there, who am I to say different?”
She picks up my mug and takes it to the kitchen as I walk away from her, listening to her in the kitchen telling my cat he’s going to be very, very sorry if he doesn’t get his ass out of the tree.
An hour later I’m walking down the stairs, tucking my phone in the back pocket of my jeans, and see her at the bottom of the steps putting on her boots. She looks over her shoulder at me. “I’m almost done.” She turns back around and puts on the second boot.
I sit on the step behind her. “Take your time.” She’s wearing a dark-gray turtleneck today and I just know it’s silky soft cashmere I’d love nothing more than to grasp between my fingers.
She gets up and I see she’s wearing another pair of black leggings, and the oversized sweater is tucked in in the front. “It’s cold out,” she mumbles, walking over to grab her black jacket.
“You should have worn that jacket yesterday when we were plucking trees.”
“Didn’t we go over this yesterday? It didn’t go with my outfit.” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, I was sweating balls by the time I started to saw that motherfucking tree down.” I chuckle as I walk to the front door and put on my black boots. “I’m going to go and let Whiskey out one more time,” she tells me before calling my dog, who I look up to see walking out of her room. Great, another one that gets to sleep in her bed. It’s literally everyone else in this house in her bed except me. “We’re going to do a stupid activity for your uncle Joshua,” I hear her speaking to Whiskey. “I’m going to need you to eat one of his shoes the next time he comes over. Maybe nip him in the ass. I’ll leave it up to you to do whatever it is you feel that you should do. Just know it will be okay by us. You might get extra treats.” The smile fills my face even more as I put on my short puffy jacket. When she comes back into the room, Whiskey is following her again. “I unplugged the lights on the tree,” she says as she pets Whiskey, and we walk out of the house together. She walks ahead of me as I press the lock button on the door and meet her in my truck.
“It smells crispy”—she rubs her hands together—“which means I’m going to hate every single second of today.”
“Crispy?”
