Page 7 of The Holiday Hate-Off
“Oh God,” Aria says in disgust. “Will was your big idea? I’m with the mayor on that one. Couldn’t you do a Secret Santa thing or hire someone to dance to the Nutcracker or something?”
“Those would have been useful suggestions a few days ago.”
She laughs. “Fine. Don’t worry. It’s going to be awesome. Lots of single ladies who come in to ogle you and eat Nico’s food. Take photos. That goes for the whole holiday season. Especially of the lobster trap tree. That’s my favorite.”
It’s a Hideaway Harbor tradition—an enormous tree made entirely of lobster traps with a glowing lobster at the top. Everyyear they make a big show of having one of the antique Hawthorne Fisheries boats ferry a costumed Larry the Lobstah to light the hideous tree, with plenty of pomp and circumstance and as little production value as an elementary school play. But you’ve got to keep the tourists, and my little sister, happy.
“Ooh, and definitely get photos of Amanda Willis if you can,” she says, referring to the movie star who oversaw the tree-lighting in town square last weekend.
“I’m sure that’s exactly why she came here. Because she wants us hiding behind telephone poles to snap photos of her.”
“She probably wouldn’t mind. She seems really nice. I’ve heard she’s going to be around for a while.”
“You’re not coming home for Christmas?” I ask, turning from the mirror. The tie is straight enough.
“No,” she says with a snort. “Lars just got engaged, and I don’t need to hear Nonna flipping out every five minutes about my biological clock and her need for great-grandchildren. As if I don’t have three older brothers who are perfectly capable of impregnating women.”
“Should I go around offering that tonight?” I ask. “Would you like a sample of the lobster ravioli, or maybe some semen? It would definitely be a new spin on holiday entertaining.”
She snort-laughs, and I feel a pang of missing her.
The last time I saw her, she’d been crying inconsolably over that blond asshole Lars. What she’d seen in a guy who spent his whole life chasing after birds, I’ll never know. What Idoknow is that he wasn’t good enough for my sister. Then again, no man could be.
I’d told her so once before, and she’d asked,What about a girlfriend? Would you do the whole pompous, chest-beating thing if I had a girlfriend?
I’d considered her question for a second before shrugging and admitting I probably wouldn’t. She’d retorted that I was achauvinist grandma’s boy, I’d agreed, and we’d both had a laugh.
God, I miss laughing with her.
It was that asshole’s fault she left, even if he hadn’t accepted the job in Greece for her or driven her to the airport.
No, I was the one who’d brought her there.
Four months ago, Rachelle and I had come to Hideaway for a weekend visit with my family. She’d made plenty of “quaint” plans, but I’d put them on hold so I could help my sister with her spontaneous move to Greece. I’d helped her pack, then driven her to the airport. Rachelle had elected not to come. Apparently, she’d pitched a fit about what a terrible boyfriend I was as soon as the car disappeared from view, first to Nonna, who’d been less than sympathetic, and then to a stranger in the café next door.
I still don’t know exactly what the barista said to her, but when I came back, Rachelle was already packing her bags for a weekend at The Haven spa. She acted like the death of our relationship was old news. The only thing she wanted to talk about was the spa’s wellness treatments, and did I think her skin looked “old”?
Naturally, I had questions about what the fuck had happened in the couple of hours I’d been gone. So I went over to Love at First Sip—stomped, I can hear my sister saying—and asked.
The woman behind the front counter had looked so innocent I could hardly believe she was the one who’d screwed me over. She had one of those faces that made me think of the ceiling frescoes in Rome—long curly hair and sweet rounded cheeks.
A new soul,my grandmother would probably have said. Then again, my grandmother can be superstitious and has strange beliefs ingrained so deeply into her personality it would be impossible to change or update them.
But this girl didn’t talk like an innocent. I can still hear her telling me that if I didn’t like getting down on my knees, I couldn’t possibly have satisfied Rachelle.
The absolute nerve.
Also completely untrue. Rachelle’s problem with me was that I’d prioritized my sister over her, which I was totally unwilling to apologize for. Family is everything to me. Rachelle’s inability to accept that meant we would never have worked out long term.
“Enzo?” my sister says. “Earth to Enzo. Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaving the bedroom. “The event doesn’t start for a couple of hours, but I’m going to head over to the shop to remind Nonna to get along with everyone. Don’t be surprised if you never hear from me again.”
She laughs. “The worst that’ll happen to you is a swat from a wooden spoon. That woman worships the ground you boys walk on. Always has.”
“She feels the same way about you,” I tell her. “She banned three people from the deli on your behalf.”
She makes a sound of disbelief. “It was all because of you and that awful woman you were dating.”
