Page 8 of Ten Christmases Without You
“Who cares what your aunt thinks. All that matters is whatyouknow about yourself. Just smile at her in the awareness that you know the truth. You have the upper hand.”
His words were confident.
What Charlie didn’t realize, however, was that he’d just given her a bigger blow than anyone else could. The reason Emmy took things so seriously was because her life wasn’t where she wanted it to be at all. In fact, she believed most of the things that the people in that kitchen would say to her. And she didn’t want to face the disappointment.
“I’m tired,” she said for lack of a better excuse. At least this one was true. She’d tired of all of it, and if she dipped out of family Christmas, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her, including Charlie. “I think I might just head up to bed.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock.”
By the drop in his features, she was pretty sure she was ruining his evening too. At least he could go back to his parents’ house if he didn’t want to stay there.
But instead of allowing her to slink off, to her utter shock, he linked arms with her, and before she could think straight, he’d whisked her through the doors.
Aunt Charlotte was elbow-deep in cookie dough, while Aunt Elsie pulled a pie out of the oven and set it on the island. Jack was in the corner with Madison, while Brian and Stephen were pulling up football highlights on their phones in conversation with Emmy’s dad.
“I was starting to wonder where you’d gone,” Aunt Elsie said.
“I’ve just been in the living room,” Emmy replied. “With Charlie.” She poked his arm to designate who he was to Aunt Charlotte, but added a little extra force because he’d pulled her into the lion’s den.
Charlie flinched, but regained composure quickly, that annoyingly adorable chuckle floating down to her.
Madison radiated excitement over Uncle Stephen’s head from the corner of the kitchen.
“See?” Charlie leaned in, near her ear. “Not so bad.”
“So I guess if you’re here, you’re family, eh?” Uncle Stephen said, coming over, clapping Charlie on the back, and nearly knocking a drink off the island in the process.
Aunt Elsie’s swift hand saved it.
Emmy inwardly cringed, diving into her mental exit strategy.
“How do you know our girl here?” He winked at Emmy.
“I used to share my peanut butter and banana sandwiches with her at lunchtime back in elementary school. Her mom packed her bologna and she has a sweet tooth,” Charlie said, not skipping a beat. “But I had to be careful. She’d steal my cookie when I wasn’t looking.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said, the years of debate over a missing cookie in second grade taking hold once more. “I swear, I didn’t take your cookie that day. How can I make you believe that?”
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.
Saying something incriminating in this crowd could spur judgmental conversation. Uncle Stephen was enough to deal with, without him thinking she was a thief. She needed to make a quick departure before more childhood stories began.
She stabbed a few squares of cheddar and dropped them onto her plate. Then she seized a second plate and offered it to Charlie, nearly karate chopping his stomach with it. He flinched again. “Thank you. What’s this for?”
“Food.”
“How do you know I’m hungry?”
“I don’t,” she said under her breath, “but you might be in four to five hours. I’m not coming back in here, so get enough to sustain yourself.”
He grabbed one of Aunt Elsie’s Amish cookies and put it on his plate.
“Better keep an eye on that with Emmy around.” Uncle Stephen waggled a finger at the cookie.
Her dad laughed.
Traitor.
Just when Emmy thought she’d get out of there relatively unscathed, Aunt Charlotte stepped up beside them.
