Page 102 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I follow his line of sight to the drawing pinned with a magnet shaped like a baguette. Crayon lines, a lot of pink, something sparkly glued to the tail that’s definitely not food-safe.
“Yep,” I say. “That majestic beast is the work of Lucy. She insisted it was anatomically correct.”
SJ snorts. “The legs are on backwards.”
“She claims it’s mid-gallop.”
He stands up for a closer look, mug still in hand. “My mum would love that,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “She’s into unicorns?”
He nods. “Always has been. She used to have these unicorn slippers. Really fluffy ones. With gold horns.”
I grin. “Sounds subtle.”
“My dad hated them,” he adds, smiling a little. “Said they were an offence to the eye. But she didn’t care. Wore them all the time.”
He pauses.
“Then one year we went on holiday, somewhere with a beach, and she forgot them at the hotel. She was properly sad about it. Even emailed the owners, but they’d already binned them.”
He shrugs, then takes another sip of hot chocolate. “She never bought new ones. Said dad hated them so why replace them.”
There’s something quiet about his voice now. Not dramatic or heavy. Just the kind of quiet that comes when a memory catches you off guard.
I don’t say anything. Just nod, and let the silence sit for a moment, easy and unhurried.
Twinklesocks hops up onto the windowsill again, letting us know she’s had enough sentimentality for one evening.
SJ looks back at the unicorn drawing.
“She’d definitely like that one,” he says. “Even with the backwards legs.”
Chapter twenty-seven
Rudolph the Red-flagged Ex
Miranda
The plates are in the dishwasher, the leftover pasta is cooling far too slowly on the side, and SJ is dramatically flopped across the sofa like he’s just completed a marathon rather than eaten three helpings of dinner.
“Are you sure you’re full?” I ask, folding the tea towel over the edge of the sink.
He groans into a cushion. “Too full. I might need to be carried to bed.”
“You can text your legs and ask them to rejoin you,” I say, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
I glance at the screen and sigh. “It’s your dad,” I say, reaching for it.
SJ lifts his head an inch. “Tell him I’m very full and I might be dying.”
“Tell him yourself,” I reply, tapping the screen to answer and flicking it onto speaker. “Hi, Sim-Sim—you’re on speaker, just so you know.”
“Oh. Hi. Hi, SJ,” comes his voice, overly chipper.
SJ lifts his head just enough to speak, his voice full of theatrical drama. “Dad, I’m full. Like, dangerously full.”
