Page 24 of A Holly Jilly Christmas

I really need to return to some semblance of normalcy, something lighter and more playful than SERIOUS Case. I don’t know if I can handle that right now.

He rolls his eyes, then holds out the keys, dangling them right in my face. “You want to drive? Have at it.”

“Nope. But I do get to choose the radio station.” I snatch the keys and hop into the passenger seat, leaning over to start the engine.

I catch another rare, devastating smile before Case closes the door. The truck is massive, just right for a massive man like Tank, but as Case climbs behind the wheel, I realize it’s not nearly big enough for the two of us.

CHAPTER 7

My cheeks hurt. Like, they are legitimately aching from how hard I’ve been laughing.

At Case.

I am laughing at the man whose skeleton I assumed was missing a funny bone. Now, I think he’s got at least two. They’re just well hidden.

He regaled me with stories as we drove around the idyllic country surrounding Sheet Cake’s downtown, checked out the acres where the annual Sheet Cake Festival is held, and then quickly passed by the newer part of town which could be Anywhere, America with its strip malls and fast food. Case has an endless amount of funny stories, mostly from growing up and being his two big sisters’ favorite Guinea pig or scapegoat, depending on the story.

“Your sisters actually gave you a perm?”

“They did.”

I wipe a tear and wiggle my jaw to ease the cramping in my face muscles.

“I’m going to need photos.”

“All photos have been burned. But picture a miniature Bob Ross without the mustache or any happy trees.”

This mental image starts my giggles anew. The weird thing is, I can absolutely picture it. “And your parents didn’t stop them? I bet your sisters got grounded later.”

His whole body quiets at my question, his hands tightening on the wheel and his mouth snapping closed. Did I overstep? Was that too personal? Oh no—did his parents die in some tragic accident and leave him orphaned?

“They didn’t really care what we did, as long as we made good grades and didn’t cause trouble. I’m not sure they even noticed my hair.”

I process this. It takes a minute.

My parents are embarrassingly dorky with their affection toward each other, always kissing loudly and holding hands. They are also far prouder of me and my younger brother than we ever deserve.

Anything we did do as kids, they showed up in a major way. Like fully decked out in team colors (for my brother’s high school soccer games) or in a matching costume (the one time I was in a Peter Pan musical and Mom wore fairy wings). They’d have loud horns in the stands and handmade signs with our names and would get into fights with anyone on the sidelines who dared have the audacity to say anything about their child. I had one line in the play but my bouquet was bigger than the girl who played Wendy.

The one time I attempted to cut layers in my hair (total fail) and then tried to hide the evidence with a ponytail, my mom noticed the second she saw me. They would absolutely have noticed a perm. And my brother would have been grounded forever if he’d done that. They might have permed his hair as a lesson in “do unto others.”

So, what Case has said is hard to imagine. It makes my limbs feel weighted down with sadness.

“Were they …” I struggle for the right word. “Neglectful?”

“Not technically. Not according to any laws. We were fed. Clothed. We had things we needed but weren’t spoiled. My parents just liked their jobs better than they liked their kids.”

Ouch. That hurts to even hear, and I don’t realize I’m rubbing at my sternum until Case shoots me a look.

“It’s fine. I’m not traumatized by my childhood. My sisters and I are still super close. They live in Austin.”

“Is that why I picked you up there—you’re spending the holidays with them?”

I’d picked him up at a cute little house near the UT campus. The kind that would be called a bungalow but would sell for half a million or more because it’s Austin. Case was waiting by the curb for me when I got there, and I saw no sign of a sister or anyone else.

A brief pause. Then: “Yes.”

Clearly not the only reason, but I feel like I’ve probably gotten more out of him than he usually gives. The funny stories—any stories at all, honestly—and the admission about his family are the equivalent of peeling back most of his onion layers. I’m still unsure what’s in the center but I sense Case needs a break from the inquisition.

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