Page 59 of Holly versus Mr. Ivy
Oh. “’Night, Rhett.”
Saturday couldn’t come fast enough.
I pulled another lump of dough out of the bowl and rolled it around my palms, forming a ball. Christmas music played on my phone, tucked into my back pocket. Flour covered the kitchen island and my red apron, and a few white-dusted patches marred the floor. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade was showing on the TV. From the distance across the family room, dining room, and into the kitchen, each float seemed to be the size of a sticky note instead of the massive displays they really were.
I’d taped the cooking schedule for the day to the fridge. If we stayed on track, the food would be ready at five as promised.
As I formed another roll in my hands, my thoughts kept going back to last night and the way Rhett had looked at me when he’d asked to walk me to my car. He’d had this tenderness in his gaze that still sent those snow flurries swirling around my stomach.
What did he need my help with?
His mom’s side of the family had invited him over to celebrate with them today, but he’d chosen to come here instead. Why? Did he not like his mom’s side of his family either?
Whatever happened today, I just hoped that without Noah here, we’d have a fun-filled holiday. Not that I didn’t love my cousin—I absolutely did—but Noah and Trevor worked together to rile me. With one of them absent, things should be calmer.
“Under the Tree” by Sam Palladio strummed from my phone. I’d fallen in love with the song when I heard it onPrincess Switch 2. With flour currently scattered around the kitchen, the words resonated with me even more. If all I got for Christmas this year was Rhett, I’d be happy. Well, not completely true—I’d take Mom being free from cancer first. And Rhett second.
How was I supposed to behave around him today, knowing I wanted him but couldn’t have him? Between Rhett’s recent weird behavior, his statement about staying single, and his refusal to tell me what happened the night I took him home, we were surrounded by huge obstacles. Not to mention, if Anthony Ivy found out, we’d both lose our jobs.
The last roll was formed. Moving the baking sheets over to the kitchen table, I draped a bread cloth over the dough, allowing them to rise one more time before baking. Quickly washing my hands, I went to check on Mom. According to my schedule, it was time for her to eat and take her meds. Afterward, we had to get started on the next item on my turkey day list to stay on track.
I padded down the hallway. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom!” I said, walking into her bedroom.
She rolled over, a small smile on her cracked lips. “Happy Thanksgiving, Holly. Sorry I slept in. How long have you been awake?”
I’d gotten home from work at one but didn’t fall asleep until three (because I was totally reading). As such, I’d only managed four hours of sleep, but it was fine. Caffeine would keep me awake, and once the turkey was in the oven, I’d take a quick nap. “I’ve only been up for an hour.”Ish. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Mom looked at me like I should know the answer. “Pie.”
Every Thanksgiving, Mom made all the pies on Wednesday. On Thursday morning, we’d eat pie for breakfast. I loved the tradition, and though Mom couldn’t make all the pies by herself this year, she had helped more than I thought she would yesterday.
“Glad you’re feeling up to it. What kind would you like?”
“Apple is calling my name.” She licked her lips. “With ice cream instead of whipped cream, please.”
Thanksgiving was the only time Mom bypassed her rule about no ice cream at breakfast. “Sounds good. I think I’ll have that too. Want to join me in the dining room, or eat in here?”
“I’ll meet you out there in a few minutes. What do you still need to cook?”
Oh, just about everything. “The rolls are rising. I’m doing the stuffing next so I can get the turkey prepped and in the oven. Potatoes, yams, and jello are after that. Lastly, I’ll tackle the green beans and salad.”
Mom sat up in bed. “Please tell me you’re not making a big batch of each of those?”
“We’ll have enough for leftovers, but not so much that we’re sick of them and throw them out.” We didn’t have the money to be wasteful.
Her lips pulled into a straight line. “I wish your dad were still here. Money wouldn’t be tight, and you wouldn’t be doing everything on your own.”
I always missed Dad. Holidays expanded the pain. His absence was hard to forget when we sat around the table waiting for the turkey to be carved. Dad had always made us go around and say three things we each were grateful for before he would cut the bird. Trevor had taken over, but it felt different. Same with Christmas. The Dad-sized hole in my heart deepened when we watched movies, opened presents, and spent time with family without his booming laugh and quick wit surrounding us.
“Trevor will be here soon, and once you’re up, I’m putting you to work snapping the beans,” I said.
She frowned. “You’re only giving me that job because you don’t like doing it.”
I grinned. “There must be some perks to being the chef.”
Mom smiled back. “I taught you too well.”
I laughed. “You did.”
