Page 38 of Mistletoe Bargain with the Billionaire

“Thank you for this,” I tell him. “This wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable without you.”

He doesn’t say anything, just gives me a long, searching look and a soft, heart-thumping kiss.

The lights flicker, causing us to draw apart. Janey stands at the front of the room, announcing she’s made a special memory presentation with family photos set to music for everyone to enjoy during dessert. “I made it with Jim’s help. Guess there’s something to be said for marrying a nerd,” she says, chuckling and pointing to her husband.

“I made it under protest,” her husband says, raising his hands.

“Guess the A/V Club guys come in handy for something,” Nick grumbles under his breath. I squeeze his hand in sympathy. Janey sure wasn’t nice in high school.

Served with underdone Christmas cookies - hello, just buy some if you can’t bake - the memories begin to play on the big screen. Great-grandparents, grandparents, great aunts and uncles all shown in black and white or grainy color photos from decades ago. My parents, my uncles and aunts start to appear. Wedding photos, baby pictures, trips to Florida in gas-guzzling monstrosities, snowy Christmases in Maine. I’m lulled into a false sense of security.

But then,I’mon screen. And it’s not just a photograph. It’s a video of me singing. Words float at the bottom of the screen:Carol Wilder’s big debut!

“No,” I gasp, quietly.

The high school spring talent show, a few months after Nick had left Whistler with his dad. Where did Janey find this? Such an old humiliation, one I rarely think of anymore. She always knows where to hit me but why?

I’d always wanted to perform, loved chorus class, but that evening was my first solo performance in front of a crowd. Fifteen and my voice hadn’t fully finished changing. I’m not sure what possessed me to do it or to try singing Bette Midler.

As soon as I botched that first note, my nerves took over and the sadness I’d been burying over Nick being gone from my life had me shaking with emotion, not a good thing for a singer. It only spiraled from there but I hadn’t quit. I never knew when to give up.

There’s cruel laughter coming from the crowd on video and a few quiet snickers from people here at the reunion. Maybe they think this is something I look back on and laugh about now. If I was a big success, maybe I could. It’s not like I’ve never had a bad performance but that one, that one hadhurt. And, I can tell from the triumphant look in Janey’s eyes she knows it.

“That’s enough.”

He’s not loud but the words crack like a whip all the same. When Nick stands and heads to the front of the room, every eye is on him, watching him intently and with wariness. No one is laughing at the teenager on screen still bravely but badly sobbing out ‘Wind Beneath My Wings.’ No one is shooting amused looks my way as I struggle to hold my head high.

“That’s enough,” he repeats when he’s right in front of Janey, towering over her and bristling with anger as he holds out his hand for the remote.

I see her jaw working and her eyes darting around the room. The old folks are eyeing her with disapproval, stony expressions all around. It’s small comfort but it’s something.

She hands him the remote and he turns the memories show off. In that gruff but carrying voice, Nick says, “She’s got more talent and courage in her little finger than most people possess in a lifetime. Petty, mean-spiritedpeoplealways feel threatened by that, I suppose.”

He gives Jim a withering look and my cousin’s husband hangs his head in the hushed room. Then, Nick’s striding back towards me. I blink back my tears when he takes my hand. I won’t cry. “Thank you.”

He nods and murmurs, “Do you want to leave?”

Yes. And no. I shake my head and tell him, “Let’s stay a bit longer.” She won’t run me off.

Someone has turned on ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ to move past the awkwardness and several people come over to ask me about life on the West Coast, showing me kindness and support. “I tell all the guys at work about my niece who’s a singer in LA.”

“Thanks, Uncle Marty. I’m not all that successful-”

“She will be,” Nick cuts in.

“Can I have more paper?” Adeline asks at my elbow. “I want to draw Nick his grumpy Christmas cat.”

“Okay. Give me a second,” I tell the child but then my Aunt Frieda’s giving me a hug. “You’re out there doing what you dreamt of doing, Carol. That’s a success in my books. Screw anyone who thinks differently.”

Being able to feed yourself and your cat isn’t underrated but I appreciate her words. Nick’s support, my parents’ proud smiles and my extended family’s kindness wipe away the pain of the past and of a few minutes ago. Who didn’t have a mortifying moment in high school, right?

‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ starts to play next and Nick asks me to dance. “It’s not rap or hip hop but…”

I grin and take his hand. We dance, banter and tease and his arms feel so right wrapped around me.

I’m feeling like everything is perfect again… until I spy Adeline with my sparkly journal clutched in her little hands.

With all the patience of a child (in other words, none), she’s fetched my journal herself to procure more paper. Holding her crayons, she heads to her mother for help pulling out a fresh, blank page. I watch in horror as Janey accepts the journal from her daughter with narrowed eyes.

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