Page 2 of Acting Merry
Werefers to Tess and her boyfriend, Dylan.
I suppress a little sigh.
It’s always been just the four of us, but this year, Hannah’s bringing her husband, Tyler, and Tess is bringing her boyfriend, which leaves Megan and me as our own awkward couple of sorts.
I set my phone aside. I miss the days when it was just the four of us at the cabin, blissfully single. Testosterone-free.
I still haven’t responded after eating my dinner, and neither has Megan, which makes me think she’s probably feeling just as weird as I am.
This doesn’t have to be weird, though, right? We’re friends and havebeenfriends way longer than Brady has been part of our lives. I want Megan to know that her happiness matters to me so much more than some dumb girl code—especially when I specifically told her she wasn’t breaking that code.
Reese
I get off work at 2, so I’ll be there closer to 3. Can’t wait to see all of you!
I’m washing the dishes when my realtor sends me a text letting me know Cole Bradley will swing by for his mail by tomorrow afternoon.
I hadn’t really been planning on the guy cominghere. I figured I’d write a forwarding address on the mail. But sure—saves me some trouble, I guess. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I don’t work. I was going to unpack boxes and check a few things off my growing list of projects anyway.
Megan still hasn’t texted her planned arrival time at the cabin when I wake in the morning. After a minute’s hesitation, I send her a personal text.
Reese
Hey, Meg! Wanna carpool to the cabin together?
There. That should let her know everything’s still totally cool between us, right? Even though 40% of me hopes she’ll turn me down so we don’t have to spend the hour drive in potential awkward conversation.
I hope she says yes. That way, we can get through the first in-person encounter since she and Brady went out and put it behind us. Rip off the bandaid.
Expose the wound to the biting winter air. Sounds lovely.
I get after my to-do list with Christmas tunes blasting—one of the perks of owning a house rather than renting an apartment with paper-thin walls and neighbors on every side.
I keep an eye on the front yard for any sign of Cole Bradley’s arrival, but noon passes, then one, then two, then three.
By five o’clock, it’s getting dark outside, and I’ve given up on the guy. It’s a shame, really. I was curious to see what kind of man subscribes toMartha Stewart Living. I was also looking forward to reclaiming that little bit of counter space. I’ve got a cute wood-block Christmas calendar that would fit perfectly in that spot.
At six-thirty, headlights flash through the living room, and a car pulls up to the curb. Not just up to it. Onto it, the passenger-side tires settling on the grass. Martha Stewart would not approve.
It’s a woman who gets out of the passenger side of the still-running car, though. His wife, maybe? Maybeshe’sthe one with the Martha subscription.
The street lamp by my mailbox illuminates her as she shuts her cardigan in the door, frees it, then walks across the grass in heels. She’s cradling something in her arms.
I squint. Is it a baby? A chihuahua covered in a blanket? The mystery of the lump has me transfixed as she reaches the porch.
She knocks five times, quick and hard.
I startle. In my efforts to analyze the mystery lump, I forgot she was coming tomydoor. I should’ve been getting the pile of mail, but her knock is so urgent, I head to the door first.
I open it to her fist cocked for round two. This woman really wants that Martha Stewart magazine. She’s young and beautiful, with long black hair that gleams under theporch light, full lashes that may or may not be fake, and a pair of full pink lips.
But it’s the change in her expression that keeps me in place. She stares at me like I just kicked the chihuahua in her arms—or whatever’s hiding under that fabric.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” She scoffs, shakes her head, and stares with what I can only describe as transfixed disgust. “Un. Believable.”
“Uh, hi,” I say, friendly but bracing. The dark lump in her arms suddenly feels less chihuahua, more grenade.
I search her face for some thread of familiarity. Could she be an unhappy patient? Maybe I flossed her teeth too harshly. Left her waiting too long? Gave her mint fluoride instead of apple?
