Page 21 of Mistletoe Misses
Like the dutiful son I am, I finish dressing and trot upstairs, rustling Oliver’s thick, blond curls as I pass the couch. He’s deep into a basketball video game and barely acknowledges me.
Stepping into the sunroom, Mom pats the empty swing cushion beside her. She tosses the blanket she’s using over my legs as I sit and hands me the beer. Mentally preparing myself for whatever she needs to get off her chest, I take a long swig.
“You know we’re having our regular Sunday get together today.”
“I do.”
“It’s grown over the years. It’s not just our immediate family and closest friends anymore.”
I shrug. “That’s fine. Are you worried I won’t be a good host in my Scrooge mood?”
“No. I raised you right.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “I want to give you a heads up about the usual guest list.” Her fingers aid in ticking off the invitees. “Nana, of course, and your aunts and uncles. They’re excited to see you, so I suspect they’ll all come.”
“I’m excited, too.”
She gives me a smile. “All our neighbors are invited. About half come each week and it varies who. That’s the twins’ favorite part because it brings all their friends together—the same experience you had growing up.”
“It was the highlight of my week.” Despite knowing better, I glance across the yard to Carmen’s childhood home. Their backyard connects to ours, giving our get togethers the perfect field for killer wiffle ball games. From playing sports, to lying in the shade of a tree, to making out in every private space we could find, we made plenty of memories on every blade of grass. The constant ache in my chest sharpens, and I drown it with half what’s left of my beer.
“The Bennetts are expected to come.”
Squeezing the bottle to give my rage somewhere to go, I brace for what I know she’s about to say. “Including Carmen.”
I shoot off the swing, sending it into motion, and stalk to the wood stove in the opposite corner. This news, even though I expected it, smacks me harder than I want it to. How will I handle being in the same room with her? Given my reaction to her presence in a dark bar with a sea of tables and people between us, I guarantee, it won’t be good.
Searching for the peace I had before this conversation started, I scan the yard for something to carry my thoughtsaway. Remnants of snowmen and snow forts created after the last storm dot the yard, reminding me of simpler days. When watching the clouds and wishing for another snow day off from school was my only concern.
“How long is she in town?” I ask, tossing another log into the stove and letting my eyes blur over the new flames.
“She should be the one to answer that.”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m telling you this pain you hold, centering around her, will never lessen unless you two talk it out. You’ve avoided it for far too long.”
Irritation rockets through my system, courtesy of my rising blood pressure. “What if I don’t want to talk to her?”
“Your anger isn’t doing you any favors,” she says, shaking her head, and my skin ripples with annoyance. “Talk to her, Maddox. Hear her story and figure out a way to forgive her or get the closure you need to move forward. I will not let you waste this opportunity and continue sulking alone in Boston. I want my son back.”
Her voice wavers, shutting down construction of the wall I’m frantically repairing. First Captain Emory, then Nana, and now Mom. Why can’t I live my life the way I want? Being a cop and brooding alone is where I’m most comfortable. I’m not good at communicating or dealing with my heartache. Because of that, I’ve become a live wire with a short fuse. I’m not proud of it, but it would be in everyone’s best interest, especially Carmen’s, if we don’t have that talk everyone’s so hell-bent on.
Yet, the wobble in her voice makes me say, “Okay.”
But I can’t look at her. I’m already hovering over dangerous territory, and if I see one tear in her eyes, I’ll fall right in. With everyone arriving soon, I guarantee neither of us want to deal with another of my broody outbursts.
Proof of that sentiment comes in the form of comforting arms curling me into a hug, and it’s all I can do to not crumble inside them.
???
Leaning against the brick wall in the sunroom where Mom left me to contemplate her unbearable request, I haven’t found a way to force myself to move. Every piece of me wants to lash out at how unfair she’s being. To throw a fist through something satisfyingly breakable, like drywall or glass, and take off, never to return again.
But what would that usual Maddox response get me this time? A disappointed mother (again) and no closer to accomplishing the reason I came here in the first place—to find a way past my anger so I can keep my job. Simply being in Ember Falls is a gigantic leap for me. When I’m ready to jump into the next one, I’ll face the woman whose memory has kept me in a chokehold for years on end, but I’ll do it on my own terms. Mom will just have to accept that.
Away from the evolving activity of arriving guests inside, I decide to stay put until I have a grip on my temper. After my extended absence, everyone is sure to have plenty of questions I can’t answer and impossible expectations to meet in my sour mood. I’m not evading. I’m doing us all a favor.
My vibrating phone has me pushing off the wall, grateful for the distraction. At the first sight of my little brother’s name and his ridiculous texting style, a rainbow of joy peeks through the clouds, filling me with a rare dose of contentment.
Aaron:Dude, you hangin?
