Page 6 of Not In The Christmas Plan
This Thanksgiving, however, is far from typical. Without Dad or Ivy, any inclinations I would’ve had for celebrating are gone.
So, I spend the next three hours cleaning every surface of the kitchen from the windows to the walls. I wipe baseboards, vacuum the living room, fluff couch pillows. Anything to keep my worry for Ivy and the babies at bay.
In the middle of wiping down the wood banister, the Pie Thief comes slinking out of the guestroom. He’s in his jeans from earlier, but he’s discarded his black sweater, leaving only a white undershirt. The way it hugs his shoulders and biceps would be almost scandalous if it weren’t so enticing.
His eyebrows jump when he spots me. “You’re still cleaning? It’s almost nine.”
“Still cleaning,” I answer with a dismissive air.
If I act like he’s not here, or that I’m not still salty over the pie, he might just go back into the room.
No such luck.
Grant has himself a seat on the newly fluffed couch and turns the T.V. on.
I huff out a breath and get to polishing like my name is Cinderella, until a familiar saxophone melody reaches me. I turn back and find Grant has put on a movie.
“Why are you watching this?” I ask, automatically getting annoyed.
“Earlier Ivy told me y’all were planning to watchBest Man Holiday.Figured we could watch it while we wait to hear about the delivery,” he says before propping his big feet on my daddy’s coffee table.
I clutch my dust rag and polish spray and march to the couch.
Grant looks up at me with a growing smile that freezes when he notices my pointed glare. Then, he wisely sets his feet on the ground.
Before I walk away, he tilts his head, nodding at the spot next to him.
I shake my head emphatically. “I can’t sit at a time like this. I’ve got way too much nervous energy.” I search the room for something—anything—else I can clean to keep my hands busy. “Pass me that remote caddy. It needs to be polished.”
“Polish the remote caddy?” He shakes his head. “Would you listen to yourself? Eve, I know you’re worried about your sister, but I think you might be losing it. I’m gonna need you to put theOrange Glo down and relax.”
My nose scrunches up at how Grant's trying to act like he knows how I’m feeling.
Only, anyone who even marginally knows me knows how protective I can get over my sister, and that I’m likely to run myself into exhaustion if I don’t hear from her. Grant, admittedly, is more than aware.
“It’s a movie, Eve,” he cajoles.
It's not just a movie. It's him. Sitting there like he owns the couch, like he doesn't know he sets all my senses on high alert. Like I'm not one heartbeat away from crawling out of my skin. He expects me to sit next to him and pretend I'm not worried sick about Ivy, or that my pulse doesn't jump every time he looks at me, or that I'm not two seconds away from polishing the paint right off the banister just to stay busy.
Whew.
Okay, that's dramatic. Maybe I do need to take it easy.
Slowly and deliberately, I set the cleaning spray and rag down on the table. Without looking at Grant, I lower myself onto the far end of the couch.
Grant lets out an amused huff and turns the up volume.
“So, what, is this some kind of sequel?” he asks.
“Sequel? It’s the third in the installment,” I answer, and immediately regret acknowledging him. Now I've opened a door, and instead of enjoying the movie, he peppers me with questions throughout the entire first act.
“You mean he slept with his best friend’s girl in college? And that man still lets him into his home?”
“It was a whole thing, and yes it’s complicated, but as you can see they’re trying to be adults about it. They’re brothers.”
“Brothers? Nahhhh. I’m telling you right now, if my brother ever pulled that kind of shi—”
“Hush! You’re ruining the movie. If you want the why’s and how’s, stream the movies on your own time.”
