Page 102 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“You knew this first Christmas was gonna be shit, Gracey.”
I nod and feel guilty for letting my sister think that I’m sad for the most obvious reason. That’s how it has to be for now, though. Maybe forever. Who knows?
“Come on,” I say. “I need a refill.”
We find our mom in the kitchen, a blur of hands at work. “Hi, girls. Ruth, take the pigs in a blanket out of the oven, will you? I don’t want them to burn.”
My sister does as she’s told, and I find the appropriate bottle of wine in the ice tub on the kitchen counter. There’s more food here than is reasonable, so I do my part by eating a deviled egg and a few Hershey’s Kiss–topped pretzels.
“Who’s gonna eat all this, Mom?” I ask.
“That’s a good question,” she says. “Actually, you know what? Your friend Henry’s over at his mom and dad’s. Maybe see if they all wanna stop by for some food.”
“Mom,” I say.
“Wait,HenryHenry, from before?” asks Ruth. “Mr. Wi-Fi? Is he still in the pic—”
“No,” I say. “Henry is not in the picture. There is no picture.”
The kids appear now because kids are deaf until you actually want them to be deaf.
“Is Henry coming over?” Ian asks.
“We shoulda brought the video game,” says Bella. “We could’ve played it with him!”
“Kids, no,” I say. “Henry isn’t coming over. I think—honestly, you guys—I think we’ll probably be seeing less of Henry going forward, okay?”
“What?”
“But why?”
“We miss him,” says Bella.
“Did he do something, Grace?” my mom asks. “He seemed very nice when he fixed the internet.”
“He didn’t fix…Mom, it’s complicated.”
“But we like Henry,” says Bella.
“Yeah,” says Ian. “He helped me win my art contest. I wouldn’t’ve won without him. You heard Mr. Barton. Sixth graders never win.”
Harry Styles enters now as well, like he’s been looking for us.
“And I thought you liked him, too,” says Ian.
“He’s your friend,” says Bella. “You said so.”
I swallow another deviled egg. I don’t even like deviled eggs.
“Remember when he first came over to watch movies with us?” asks Ian. “You said he was coming over because he was sad like us.”
“Right,” I say. “Guys, these are very adult con—”
“But the thing is, whenever he was with us, we were alllesssad. He was. Me and Bella were. You, too, Mom. You were less sad, too.”
“Way less sad!” says Bella. “We could tell!”
Goddammit.
