Page 3 of The Christmas Playbook
Okay, that’s dramatic.
But still.
Rachel, the eldest of my siblings, stands beside her husband while he wrangles my nephew back into the stroller. Cammie, the second eldest, is making out with her fiancé behind the trash cans as if no one can see them. Then there are my two stepbrothers from my father’s second marriage. Yeah, we’re one ofthosetypes—where my father and mother divorced, remarried different people, and now we’re just one big, happy, dysfunctional family. My stepbrothers’ wives are both pregnant at the same time, unplanned—or so they say. My mom is fussing over the baby of the family, Marcus, who is taller than all of us. Then there’s my stepdad, chatting away with my father who has long lost Eliza, my stepmom, because she’s made her way over to Rachel to help her with Liam, the screaming toddler I mentioned from before.
The only benefit of going to Big Bear Ski Resort for our annual Christmas trip is that I get my own cabin for the first time ever.
Never mind the fact that it’s because they forgot to make sure I had a bed for myself. In an attempt to make things right, my stepdad booked me my own.
Marcus continues to dish out bribes to get me to give it up, but I refuse.
What teenage boy needs an entire cabin for himself?
The baby of the family will do just fine rooming with Mom and Jeff.
“There you are.”
Rachel slides up beside me, and we both watch Tom, her husband, and Eliza, try to soothe Liam.
“Why does your coffee say Kevin?” Her jaw drops. “Did you steal someone’s coffee, Mira?”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “The barista misheard me.”God forbid I step a toe out of line.
Despite the mayhem that occurs when we’re all together, everyone in my family is pretty dang successful.
Except me.
Whether they’ve found their soulmate, attended some prestigious college, have a 401k, or a stable, well-paying job, they’re all doing great. Even Marcus has been offered a full ride to the same university that my father attended.
Then there’s me—the one who’s still trying to figure it out. Whateveritis. Which is exactly what everyone says if I come up in conversation.
So what if I make scant money at the café, serving coffee?
“What do you mean he misheard you?” Rachel squints.
I shrug. “Kev-in, Mir-a. Two syllables.”
Rachel scoffs, and I think I’m going to have to just tell her I stole the coffee so she’ll move past it, but then I follow her line of sight.
Cammie and Andrew are practically dry humping, and it takes everything in me not to laugh.
“Dad is going to lose it,” Rachel mutters.
“No, he isn’t.” I sigh. “He’ll probably turn to me me and say, ‘When are you going to find a boyfriend? Can’t you be more like Cammie and get pregnant at an airport?’”
Rachel snorts, and half our family looks at us.
“Cammie’s pregnant?” Thomas asks.
Great.
“What? No.” I shake my head at my stepbrother.
Rachel silently laughs under her breath.
“A little help?” I beg quietly.
“You’re on your own.”
