Page 43 of Mad About Yule

I can’t handle all of this poking and prodding at me. At least my dad’s texts are normal.

Dad: Did you happen to see my spare reading glasses when you were here last?

After texting my dad that his glasses were on the front windowsill, I put my family’s messages out of my head. I’ll respond to the rest tonight. Maybe.

I slip my phone back into my purse, but I wasn’t very subtle about checking it.

“Do you need to take care of that?” Griffin asks.

He dragged me to lunch right at noon. I suggested the pizza place a couple of blocks off of Maple—it’s a little less crowded over here, but I still feel exposed. Nobody’s come up to make weird hints and insinuations about us though, and we finished our slices in record time.

“I’m trying to ignore it.”

He side-eyes my purse but doesn’t say more. His curiosity has a touch of something in it I’m afraid to name. But I want to reassure him…also for reasons I’m afraid to name. Too many nameless things are fogging up the air between us, but clearing that air doesn’t feel like the work of this volunteer lunch date.

“It’s just my family. Everyone’s got advice.”

And they can all keep it to themselves. Except for my dad. He can go on texting about misplaced items whenever he likes.

“I hear that. I had to leave my family group chat.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Caleb sent one too many emojis. I did what I had to do.”

Maintaining eye contact with him, I slide my phone from my bag. His gaze narrows on me while my thumbs tap around for a second. Somewhere on his side of the booth, his phone buzzes.

He levels me with a flat look. “Do I even want to know what you sent?”

I am the picture of innocence. I’m a baby deer batting my huge eyelashes at him.

He shakes his head at me, fighting a smile. “All right, boss. Let’s go.”

We leave the pizza place and walk up the block toward the warehouse, blasted by the cold that whips down Fourth Avenue. The weather can’t make up its mind between mild, overcast days and brief bursts of snowfall that’s gone the next afternoon. We’re sure to get a big dump of snow eventually, but I’m crossing all my fingers that holds off until after the festival.

“Just out of curiosity—what emoji did Caleb send you that finally made you snap?”

He laughs. “Pretty sure if I tell you about the straw that broke this camel’s back, you’ll just send me a whole truckload of straw.”

I try to look offended, even though obviously that was my plan. “Not me.”

My merriment turns into full-blown nausea when I see Ada and Isabel barreling toward us. Can we hide somehow? Nope, too late for that. The two elderly gossips have their eyes locked on me, drawing closer like joy-seeking missiles, ready to snuff it out.

Okay, maybe that’s an extreme reaction to two adorable elderly women approaching me in town, but I have a good reason. Ever since the Christmas festival revival was announced, people have been going out of their way to stop me on the street to voice their opinions, make personal preferences known, and air their grievances.

Mostly they air grievances.

Ada flags me down so I can’t pretend I don’t see them. I stop, preparing myself for whatever they’re itching to say. Ada was once a warm-hearted second grade teacher, and Isabel used to be a nurse, but now that they’re retired, they occupy themselves with digging into other people’s business.

“I’m glad we caught you,” Ada says. “We have a list of songs for the choir.”

She nods at Isabel, who pulls a sheet of paper from her oversized purse and passes it to me. I scan their notes. It’s a list of a couple dozen popular carols and hymns, some with green check marks, and others with red exes next to the titles.

“I’ll pass your suggestions on, but I’m letting the choir director decide their song list.” I keep my smile friendly to soften the blow. The Christmas festival’s suggestion box has been closed for months, but nobody ever wants to hear it. “She’ll have a better idea of song choices to get the crowd into the holiday spirit.”

“Funny, she’s the one who told us to tell you.”

Whoops. I guess the choir director was trying to get out of disappointing them, too. “I’ll take a look through your list and talk to her when we meet next.”

---