Page 59 of Christmas Is All Around
She uncorked the wine and nodded, reaching for wineglasses from a cabinet. “The entire thing. I’ve been like a kid on summer break for the past couple of days, just holed up in Ava’s flat reading nonstop. It’s been weird.”
“Dare I askwhy?” he asked, a slightly impatient note to his voice.
“Well,” she said slowly as she poured, “at first, I was curious—I realized I didn’t know that much about Calloway’s personal life, and I thought it might be interesting to learn more, especially now that I’ve visited his house.”
“But?”
“But soon, I was motivated by rage,” she said, handing him a glass of wine and turning to pour one for herself. “Because I’m not sure you’re aware, but Christian Calloway wasan ass.”
Behind her, she heard a faint choking sound, and turned in time to see Graham coughing on a mouthful of wine. “Sorry,” she said sweetly, “but you cannotpossiblybe unaware of this fact.”
He recovered enough to breathe normally, which seemed like an encouraging sign. “He wasn’t someone I’d personally like to go to the pub with, no,” he agreed, taking a more cautious sip of wine.
“Graham!” Her voice was approaching a pitch that only dogs could hear, so she deliberately paused, took a calming breath, and tried again. “Graham, that is the understatement of theyear. He had a mistress who livedin the same house as his wife.”
Graham winced. “Yes. Poor Minnie.”
“Poor Minnieandpoor Adelaide—that’s the mistress’s name, you know.”
“Yes. I tried to convince my dad that we should add an extra section to the exhibition rooms at Eden Priory to sort of examine his complicated legacy, but—”
“Let me guess, your dad wouldn’t go for it?”
He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “He wasn’t entirely opposed, but he never really prioritized it… but I should do it, now that he’s gone.”
She walked toward him and impulsively reached out to take his hand. “You don’t have to make that decision alone. Your mom and sisters areright thereand clearly have their own ideas—and those ideas matter just as much as yours. Stop turning the family business into some weird tortured-romance-hero-with-daddy-issues subplot.”
“Awhat?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Not relevant. Graham, the future of Eden Prioryis not up to you.”
“I know,” he said heavily. “I know you’re right, but I just keep thinking about every change that we’ve made that he would have hated, and I feel like I… owe it to him. To try to be a voice for him, now that he’s gone. Especially since—” Here, he broke off, swallowing. “Since there were all those years when I could’ve come home more often, to help around the house, but everything about my life in London, my job, felt so much more important—”
“I’m sorry, you mean the job that you got specifically so that you’d be able to support the house?” Charlotte interrupted, not havinganyof this, hating the bitterness in his voice. “Graham, you’re doingthe best you can. You always have been. And your dad did the best thathecould, while he was alive. And now it’s up to you, and your mom, and your sisters, to figure out what the best thing for Eden Priory is now.” She reached for his hand, and he laced his fingers through hers. “Your dad is dead, and I’m so sorry, and I know that’s more painful than I can even imagine—but you don’t owe him Eden Priory’s future. Not when your mom and sisters are still here, loving you, loving this house, and you’re letting this come between you and them.”
He frowned, but not like he was mad at her—more like he was thinking.
“You’re trying to prove yourself to a ghost, and there are plenty of living people who love you who would appreciate you proving yourself totheminstead. Or,” she added, thinking of the years he’d spent working long hours at a job he didn’t love, a job that ate up all the hours of the day and brought him no joy, “maybe don’t try to prove yourself to anyone. Just yourself.”
A silence fell after this, and Charlotte—feeling, honestly, torn between pleased with herself and mildly nauseated at how badly she’d overstepped—took a large sip of wine to steady herself. As soon as she set her glass down, however, Graham tugged her closer.
“Thank you,” he said, lowering his head to hers. “I think I’ve needed someone to say that to me for—Christ, for two years, I suppose. I’ve been an ass.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Well, yes, a bit, but mainly you’ve been a person in pain who isn’t perfect.” She blinked. “I swear to god, I have never been half this wise in my entire life. I sound like a life coach. What a wild career pivot.”
“Lane?”
“Yes?”
“Please shut up.”
“Make me.”
So he did.
After the kitchen island wine-and-emotional-reckoning portion of the evening’s agenda, they relocated to the couch for the next, more enjoyable item on the schedule: coconut curry andChristmas, Truly.
“Please, please explain to me why we’re doing this,” Graham said, slumped on the couch with a tumbler of whiskey, neat, in his hand.This would have looked considerably more Don Draper and badass had he not been wearing a cable-knit sweater and gray sweatpants.
