Page 54 of The Grumpiest Elf

I grunt, heading for the punch and filling two glasses, which makes Ty grin. He fills a glass for himself too, ignoring the fact that I haven’t responded to anything he’s said so far. “So tell me about her,” he says conversationally. “Her name’s Lydia?”

I grunt again, and he scoffs. Finally, I crack. “Yeah. Lydia. Her mom moved here this fall and took over the event planning at Hudgins House. She’s staying with her mom for a while. Her parents’ divorce threw her, so she’s taking a semester off to regroup.”

Ty grunts this time, contemplating that as he sips his punch. “Makes sense, I guess. Even though she’s not a little kid. I know Shane was pretty fucked up about his parents’ deaths, and yeah, divorce isn’t the same, but it’s still a kind of loss, isn’t it?”

I think about that and nod. “Yeah. I’d probably be pretty fucked up if Mom and Dad got divorced.”

He laughs incredulously. “Right. Can you even imagine?”

I shake my head and realize that’s probably how Lydia felt about her parents too. I mean, most kids don’t think about their parents divorcing, do they? Especially if everything just seems like business as usual?

I’d tried to be sympathetic and understanding when she explained how difficult it had been for her these last few months, but it was more about holding space for what she was obviously feeling. And she even said that other people had made her feel stupid for feeling that way. Given the fact I was trying to make up for being a dick, I wasn’t about to do that, even if the temptation to say something like, “At least you weren’t a little kid,” or, “You’re out of the house, how bad can it be?” was almost irresistible.

But now? Putting myself in her shoes and trying to imagine how it would feel ifmymom and dad—Santa and Mrs. Claus, for chrissakes—called me up one day and announced they’d be divorcing, and don’t worry, it would be amicable and everything would still be fine.

I’d be so confused. And hurt. And wonder when and how everything had gone wrong and how I hadn’t seen it. How much of our life as a family had been a lie?

Instinctively, I seek out my parents, finding them deep in conversation with the neighbors. Dad has his arm around Mom, and she’s leaning into him, both of them in matching white sweaters with a classic Santa face on the front.

No, there’s no chance of them doing that. They’re far too obviously in love.

But for Lydia? If her parents had never acted like that—and I’m well aware that many perfectly healthy couples aren’t demonstratively affectionate in public—how would she have realized there might be something wrong?

When she emerges, looking put together and not at all like we just hooked up in my bedroom, I abandon Ty and head for her side, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek. She smiles up at me, and I’m determined to do everything I can to keep that smile in place.

* * *

“Hey, big bro,” Nora says that night after everyone’s left the party.

I straighten from the chairs I’m folding to take out to the garage for storage until Mom and Dad’s next get-together. Narrowing my eyes at her, I cross my arms. “What do you want?”

She puts on a faux innocent look, her hand on her chest, her mouth open in surprise that I would accuse her of wanting something when we both know that’s the way she approaches me when she’s asking for a favor. “What? Why would you think I want something?”

“Out with it, Nora. Or I’ll just keep stacking chairs and cleaning up so I can go to bed. I have to open in the morning.”

Dropping the act, she reaches for a chair and folds it up, handing it to me to lean against the others I’ve propped against the wall. “That’s what I was hoping to talk to you about.”

With a sigh, I grab another chair and fold it up. “What now?”

She glares at me, passing me another folded chair, then grabbing two more from across the room and dragging them closer. “I thought you were going to be nicer.”

“Uh-huh.” I stack our folded chairs and wait for her to get the last few. “About Christmas stuff and working. Not about you trying to weaseloutof working.”

“I’m not doing that!” she protests, pulling the last three chairs close enough to reach. “I was just hoping you’d swap with me. I’ll open tomorrow. You take the afternoon. Jason invited me to—”

“Ooohhhh,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “I get it now. You have a date, and you want time to get ready.”

Hands on her hips, she stares me down. “Please. Like you wouldn’t want to do the same thing in my shoes? And besides, if you trade with me, you’ll get to finish the day with Lydia and not have to wait all afternoon for ChristmasFest to end before you can see her again. You’ll spend all afternoon together, then you can go do something afterward. We all win.”

I have to fight the urge to grin at her assessment, maintaining my grumpy older brother demeanor. “I see you’ve thought this through.”

“Comeon, Dylan,” she whines. “I thought you’d be happy to trade.” She holds up her hand and starts counting off her reasons on her fingers. “You get to sleep in. You get to spend the afternoon with Lydia. And then you get to take her out somewhere right afterward. No waiting, no agonizing.”

“And you get plenty of time to come home and get ready for your date.”

She tosses her hands in the air. “Obviously.”

“And if you didn’t have a date?”

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