Page 62 of Minted

Jake laughs and ruffles the hair on Ricki’s white-blond head. “You’re alright, kid.”

Ricki flushes bright red and swallows.

“Knowing James, he’d have sued Bentley,” Barbara mutters.

It would have been worth it.

“Yeah, but he’s rich,” Nikki says. “He could have paid him.”

“And then James would have Bentley’s money,” Dave says. “Better that Barbara just sent him packing.”

“Aaand that’s way more time talking about my ex than I like,” Barbara says. “What were you guys doing while I was in there? Making garland?” She looks at my string, which has three pieces of popcorn, one of them a little red from my blood, and one smooshed cranberry. Then she turns slowly to look at Seren’s, which has double that. No one else has even started a strand. “No one’s. . .done one yet?”

Elizabeth laughs, but it sounds forced. “Well, Bentley stabbed his finger.”

“Where’s Ardath when you need her?” Barbara asks. “And speaking of things that I don’t understand, why’s the holiday music so loud?”

Seren shifts over so she can turn it down. “Ardath’s coming, but she had a late shift, so—”

As if she was summoned, Ardath breezes through the front door. “Was that James I just saw leaving?” Her nose is scrunched. “Please tell me he’s not back.”

“Did no one like him?” Barbara asks. “Why didn’t you guys tell me this stuff before I married him?”

“We like Bentley,” Emerson says.

And everyone in the room now looks really, really uncomfortable. Which is exactly how I feel. It’s not like everyone thinks it’s a good idea. They’re all split. And what happens if I swing for the fences. . .and Barbara turns me down? Then am I the one who gets cut out, like stupid James?

It’s not a comforting thought.

By the time we’ve all made a string of garland, Seren’s pumpkin cookies have come out of the oven, and Ardath has made her pretzel pecan crunchy candy things, and the music’s blasting “I’ll be Home for Christmas,” and it feels like we’ve almost recovered from the horribly awkward conversation I caused.

“So what time are we getting together on Christmas Eve?” I ask.

Dave bites his lip.

Seren half-cringes.

They lock eyes.

Emerson and Elizabeth are also sharing some kind of weird look.

“We’re all going on a cruise this year,” Bea finally says.

“It’s my fault,” Elizabeth says. “I mentioned that I’d always wanted to do something like that for Christmas, and then Emerson’s grandmother booked us all on the Celebrity cruise out of Stockholm without even really confirming we could all go, but she did pay for it, and it does sound really cool.”

“Out of. . .” I’m confused. “Wait, so you’ll all be gone?”

“She booked Mom and Dad and all the siblings,” Emerson says. “And it happened so fast.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Barbara says. “I think it’s great you’re all going.”

But neither she nor I have had a Christmas Eve that wasn’t at Dave and Seren’s in. . .fourteen or fifteen years, probably. Not since they got Emerson. “Right,” I say. “I mean, it’s totally fine.”

“You guys said you didn’t want to celebrate Christmas this year anyway,” Barbara’s saying to Ricki and Nikki.

At the exact same time as I say, “We should do Christmas at my house instead, then.”

But then I freeze. Because the girls said they don’t want to celebrate. And now I’m sticking my foot right in it. “Uh, never mind.”

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