Page 87 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“Adam said the same thing,” I whisper around the lump in my throat.
“He’s a smart man,” my dad says simply. “I like him for you.”
“I yelled at him when he said it.”
My dad pulls back to look at me and raises an eyebrow before he laughs, shaking his head.
“Now that? That’s your grandmother through and through. Acting on impulse and then coming down from it and having to put the pieces back together.”
Despite it all, I give him a small, sad smile. With his words, memories of my grandmother’s temper return, the way it would flare hot and she’d snap, but then how she’d come back and talk it out after.
You always have to talk it out, Wren. Life is too short to let a little argument ruin a friendship,she told me once, when I asked why she was being kind to one of her knitting circle friends whom I had watched her fight with the week before.
If it’s too short to let bickering ruin a friendship, it’s undoubtedly too short to ruin what Adam and I have.
I nod then, stepping back and out of my dad’s arms. When I turn, Mom, Madden, and Jesse are all watching me, Mom, wiping a tear from her eyes.
You always have to talk it out.
“Sorry, I snapped at you. I was generally frustrated by people asking favors of me and assuming I’d step in, and you were an easy target. I’m still annoyed that you didn’t ask, but I get that we’re family, and I have made it clear that I’m always available towatch Emma,” I say to Jesse, then turn to Madden. “I love you, but you take my kindness for granted, and it’s unfair.”
“I know, Wren. I’m sorry. I’m a dick,” he says, a genuine apology written on his face.
I nod, then give him a small smile. “You are, but I forgive you.”
He lets out a laugh, then reaches over and pulls me in for a hug. After Madden, Jesse tugs me over to him, and he gives me one as well.
One more person to talk to, but he’s going to have to wait.
But not for that long. I turn to my dad.
“Can you and Mom handle cleanup at the end?” I ask. “Just the basics. I’ll do the big cleanup and breakdown after the holidays, since it can wait. Just any food and trash cans, and whatnot. I know you have so much?—”
“I have been waiting for you to ask for my help, Wren, sweetie. My god, you’re stubborn,” my mom says, coming over and brushing a tear from my cheek. “Are you going to talk to him after?”
I nod. “He won’t come today, not after the way I left and then ignored him last night.” My mom raises an eyebrow, but I shake my head, not wanting to get into it. “I can’t fix things right now, but I want to get over there as soon as everything is over.”
Mom nods. “That’s a good plan.”
Before I can say anything, Hallie enters with Emma, and everyone uses it as an opportunity to change the subject, which I am grateful for. Madden and Jesse return to wrapping and accomplish a surprising amount with the patient guidance of Mom, while I put out fires and complete the finishing touches. However, the whole time, I repeat my new plan for the night in my head.
I’m going to make it through this festival. I’m going to do it with a smile, and everyone is going to enjoy it because it’s afabulous event that I put a ton of work into and because it’s just what Holly Ridge does. We come together, and we celebrate the community we’ve created.
And then when it’s over, I’m going to be selfish.
I’m not going to worry about take-down or cleanup. I’m going to trust that it will get handled.
Instead, I’m going to find Adam and tell him I’m head over heels in love with him and hope against all hope he’ll forgive me.
“Okay, so it’s a bit of a different concert tonight, as Mr. Mooney came down with the flu, and despite my many talents and my mother’s disappointment, I’ve never learned to play more than ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ on the piano.” The room laughs, and it eases me a bit despite the ache that the night at Adam’s piano causes in my chest.
Tonight is not going to be a failure.
And if things go my way, I’ll have a lifetime with Adam to teach me how to play the piano, in case this happens again.
THIRTY-TWO
“So we won’t have any live music to go with the performances. Thankfully, we were able to unearth an old CD player, so we’re just going to—” My excuses are interrupted, though, when someone plays a line on the piano, almost like they’re testing out the keys, seeing if it’s in tune before it moves to a jazzy rendition of “Jingle Bells.”
