Page 9 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
“I thought you were a businessman. You sound like a lawyer.”
That sobers me for a second, but I brush it away. I may sound like a lawyer, but I’m not one.
I go on. “On Christmas Eve we make cookies for Santa and then watch movies until late. When my brother was eleven, he became obsessed withThe Lord of the Rings,so for the last three years we’ve watched all three movies, the extended editions, all day. My brother and I start the first one at eight in the morning and our mom drops in for her favorite parts.”
Talking about how Christmasshouldbe this year makes me angry. It was only five days ago that Grandmother called and informed me and my mom we were having Christmas with her. We’ve been fine not visiting for Christmas for over thirty years. That shouldn’t change now. Mom disagreed.
“ALord of the Ringsmarathon sounds amazing. I wonder if I could persuade my roommates to do that this year.” She thinks for a few seconds, then shakes her head. “No, Meg only watches Christmas movies during December, and Livy and I follow her lead. I doubt I can convince her the gifts from Galadriel to the fellowship are for Christmas.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Every additional minute I spend with Layla, the more I like her.
The only fries left are the little ones that hide out at the bottom of the bag and have all the soft insides fried out of them. I love the crunchy fries, but notice Layla doesn’t eatthem. She wipes her fingers and lays her napkin on top of her half-dozen empty ketchup cups.
I’m afraid she’ll want me to take her back to her car. I must keep the conversation going so she’ll stay.
“Only eleven more days of December. Do you have any wishes for the new year?”
Her eyebrows raise. “Wishes? What about resolutions?”
“I don’t believe in starting anything on January first. Too much pressure. If something matters to me, I’ll start a goal in the middle of a month. Wishes for the new year is something my mom does. It’s like sending out an intention, but more fun. Our wishes are rarely serious.”
“What’s your wish?” she asks.
I take my time before answering. Until an hour ago, my new year wish would have been a chance to talk to Layla, but I’ve already been granted that one. Though the wish is meant to be inconsequential, I find myself telling Layla an important one.
“I want to figure out what to do with my life. I don’t like not having a plan.”
Her joyful expression dims. “Not having a plan is the worst.”
“You?”
She gives a heavy sigh. “I wish Nana’s dementia would stop progressing.”
“That sounds like a serious wish,” I say. I don’t mind. Talking about her nana might be just what she needs right now.
“But it’s not a wish that will come true.” She focuses her attention on her hands in her lap. “Her memory will keep getting worse and each month I’ll have a little less of her. Shestarted a new medication that will hopefully slow it down, but it might not. It’s expensive enough that it better do something.” She looks up. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”
“You didn’t. I’m sorry that you’re going through this.”
“Thank you.” She takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. “For the next week, I will not worry about anything. I plan to celebrate the heck out of Christmas. I just wish I had family to celebrate with, you know? My mom and Opa have passed. I’m losing Nana bit by bit. My roommates are great, but it’ll be more of a girls’ party. Christmas has always meant family to me.”
If I were staying here, I’d invite her over to spend Christmas Eve watchingThe Lord of the Rings. My mom would spoil her. Brady would love having someone new to lecture on how the books differ from Peter Jackson’s scripts. I’d love to give Layla happy family Christmas memories this year.
Another reason to resent Grandmother’s insistence that my family visit her for the coming week.
LAYLA
I’ve definitely killed the good vibes we were sharing. I can’t really blame myself. Owen is easy to talk to. I’d probably share my entire life story with him if I stayed in his car long enough. Which is why I need to end this sort-of-date and get going.
I should have said my wish was something like obedientstudents, a raise, or the check engine light in my car to disappear.
When Owen’s hand cups my shoulder, I almost jump out of my skin. I catch a whiff of his spicy cologne. His touch is warm and gentle. It’s the softest touch I’ve received in a long time and tears spring to my eyes for the second time tonight.Get a grip, girl.I blink them away.
“My dad died eight years ago,” he says softly. “Some days I’m doing fine, then out of nowhere I’ll think of something he said or did, and it’s like I’ve lost him all over again. The holidays are the hardest.”
I meet his eyes. He gets my grief. Having an empathetic ear is something I didn’t know I needed until right now. It hits me again just how handsome he is. I love the beard. It makes him look older, wiser. Kissable. Okay, that is an inappropriate thought. I look back at my hands.
“Talking about moms and wishes,” I say. “My mom and I had this thing we’d do every time we caught eleven-eleven on a clock. We called it the wishing minute, and we’d repeat our wish as many times as we could until eleven-twelve. I haven’t thought about our wishing minute in a long time.”
