Page 17 of The Holiday Hookup List
I’m desperate to know the details of her breakup, but it’s not my place to ask.
“Are you going there Christmas Day?”
“No, I’ve got other plans.”
She doesn’t elaborate, but since she’s shared something personal, I feel like I should reciprocate.
“This is the first Christmas without my father, and my mom is in France. She’s not coming back until the twenty-fourth. Christmas was always a big deal in our home, so this is ... different.”
“What would you be doing if everything were the way it used to be?”
I twine my fingers with hers as I consider the question. “Well, today is December thirteenth, which means my mother would have already enlisted my help in putting up the Christmas tree a couple weeks ago. Not decorating it, mind you. She plans her designs months in advance, but actually standing the tree in the holder? That’s my job.”
Torres smiles, as I hoped she would. “It’s good to have a career option if finance doesn’t work out.”
“Hey, it’s harder than you’d think, especially if you’re trying to meet Andrea Noble’s exacting standards.”
“Oh, I believe you. If you recall, I was at your thirteenth birthday party.”
I groan. “God, that was over the top, even for me.”
“Only if you classify hiring the entire cast ofRock of Agesto perform in your apartment as ‘over the top.’”
“Look, it wasn’t my idea. I don’t even like jukebox musicals.”
“Ay, pobrecito.” She pouts mockingly, and I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
“What about you? Were you allowed to do more than put the tree in the holder?” It’s an obvious bid to steer the topic away from my family, but she accepts the shift.
“Not only allowed, but encouraged.” She cuddles against my side, and I put my arm around her. The move feels natural, even though we’ve never done anything like this before. “My family had a huge collection of ornaments. My mom labeled all of them, noting when and where we got them.”
“Do you still have those?”
She nods, but her smile turns sad. “They’re in storage. I haven’t been able to bring myself to take them out.”
I stroke her arm. Giving comfort doesn’t come easily for me, but with Torres, I want to try. “What other traditions did you have?”
Her eyes take on a dreamy quality, as if she’s sifting through fond memories. “The usual stuff. Baking cookies, ice-skating, seeing the tree at Rockefeller Center, and the train show at the Botanical Garden.”
“You should still do all that,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.
“After my parents died, I at least had Everett and his family to celebrate with. But this year? I’d rather skip all of it than do it alone.”
An idea comes to me, and even though I’m scared to voice it, I do anyway. “What if we did those things together?”
Only about one second passes before she glances up at me, and it’s the longest second of my life. The clench in my gut eases when I see the hope shining in her eyes.
“You’d do that?” she whispers.
“You love Christmas.” I keep my tone light, aiming to mask how serious this suddenly feels. “You should get to enjoy what you love.”
She chews the corner of her lower lip and watches my face carefully. “It won’t be difficult for you? Because of your own ... loss?”
I shake my head. “Maybe it’s not cool to admit, but I love Christmas, too. The lights, the music, gingerbread and eggnog—I’m a sucker for all that shit. And it’ll be good for me to do something other than work, overexercise, and dwell on my emotionally fucked-up childhood.”
Her face lights up, as if she’s more excited by the prospect of helping me than she is by partaking in yuletide cheer. “Let’s make a list. Counting today, there are twelve days until Christmas Eve. That’s when your mom arrives, right?”
“Right.”
