Page 112 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
There’s a pause as both my brothers look at me like I’ve grown a second head.
Geoff blinks. “That’s… wildly mature of you.”
“Didn’t feel it,” I mutter into my coffee. “Felt like handing over a winning lottery ticket and saying, ‘No, no, you go ahead and double check if you want something else first.’”
Theo leans back and stretches, still annoyingly composed. “Well, if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”
Geoff and I both groan in unison.
“Oh, come off it,” I say.
Geoff waves his mug in Theo’s direction. “You’ve got a hot girlfriend who actually answers your texts. You’re not allowed to go full Pinterest on us.”
Theo smirks. “It’s not Pinterest, it’s perspective.”
“It’s smug,” I reply.
Geoff points at him. “Exactly. He’s hit the smug phase. Next, he’ll be telling useverything happens for a reasonand trying to make us do eat-pray-love shit.”
Theo raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Shakespeare—have you thought about actually fighting for her?”
I blink at him. “What, like galloping into Cornwall on a horse? Shirt billowing? Bit of Heathcliff on the wild moors?”
Geoff perks up. “Can I be the stable boy who yells ‘You’ll never make it, Sir!’ as you ride off into the mist?”
I ignore him and turn back to Theo. “This isn’t a bloody Victorian novel. I told her how I feel. I was honest. I didn’t play games. I’ve done the—” I wave vaguely, “—emotional transparency thing. Told her she mattered. Told her I wanted to be more than just a rebound.”
Geoff coughs. “And you gave her the good loving.”
“Exactly,” I say, pointing at him. “Thank you. I gave her the good loving. Five stars. No complaints.”
Theo grimaces. “Jeez.”
“I’m just saying,” I go on, “I’m not about to turn up in Cornwall with a handwritten letter and a glint in my eye. That’s not romantic. That’s emotional blackmail disguised as a Hallmark plot.”
Geoff nods seriously. “Also, Cornwall’s a four-hour drive… minimum. No one’s that romantic.”
I down the rest of my coffee and set the mug on the table. “If she wants me—really wants me—she knows where I am. I’m not chasing someone who needs space. That’s not love. That’s pressure.”
Theo watches me for a second, then gives a slow nod. “Fair enough.”
“And anyway,” I add, flopping back onto the sofa, “if I ever do go full grand gesture, it’ll be at least partly for the dramatic coat moment.”
Geoff grins. “Can I come and hold the horse?”
“Absolutely not.”
Chapter thirty
Feline Navidad
Miranda
The fairy lights are blinking wildly, making me wonder if I should warn people of seizure risk, the stereo is stuck on its third loop of Michael Bublé, and I’ve been handed no fewer than four different canapés I didn’t ask for… three of which involved stilton.
The Christmas Eve party at my ex-mother-in-law’s is in full swing.
All day, I’ve been chopping, stirring, fetching, folding, fluffing, plating. I’ve ironed napkins.Napkins.And while I was doing all that, Sim-Sim’s mum talked non-stop about how happy she is to have “the family” together again. How lovely it is. How much Sim-Sim regrets his “little wobble.”
