Page 67 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“I can play a lot of instruments, but I like the piano best.”
“But in the band…”
“I was bass. I never wanted to be at the forefront, and drums and bass are typically the most in the background. I wanted to live a normal life. Trent didn’t; he loved the limelight, which is why he ended up going solo.”
She lets out an interesting noise but is clearly biting back her commentary, hoping I’ll keep speaking.
“My parents didn’t like the band. They felt it was a waste of all the time and energy they had invested in me. They realized pretty early on that I wouldn’t be putting my energy into the medical field, so they shifted their focus. They wanted me to move into classical music, get them the honors they thought they were due that way.”
“You didn’t want to?”
“Do I look like a tux-and-tails kind of guy, Birdie?” She scrunches up her nose and lets out a little giggle. I feel that urge to kiss her, and I realize I don’t have to fight it, not anymore, so I lean down, pressing my lips to hers. Her body relaxes beneath my touch, and I smile into the kiss.
“No, you don’t,” she responds, a bit dazed when it breaks.
“Exactly. So they were pushing for it, but I was secretly in a band, and we were doing pretty well. I’d say I was at a sleepover or a practice for a sport that was preapproved—couldn’t risk my hands, after all.” Her jaw goes tight, and I chuckle at her protectiveness. “And we got picked up.”
“I imagine they didn’t like that.”
I shake my head and let out a humorless laugh. “No, no, they didn’t. They were pissed, threatened to cut me off and kick me out if Imade a fool of them in that way.” I shrug, then finish. “But I knew what I wanted, so I left. I didn’t talk to them for five years.”
“God, that’s crazy,” she whispers with wide eyes. “So you just…did what you wanted?” She sounds so shocked by that, but I suppose that would be a foreign concept for my Wren.
“Yeah. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, and that it would never line up with what they wanted from me. I wasn’t going to live my one life for someone else.” Her face goes contemplative with understanding. “I didn’t talk to them for five years, until we won Band of the Year. Dad texted me then and congratulated me. Now we occasionally speak a couple of times a year, but they’re so different from me, and they don’t get it.” I shrug, playing it off as I brush her hair back gently. “Your turn.”
“What?” she asks.
“I told you something about me, now it’s your turn. Tell me something no one knows. Something that’s just yours,” I say.
She lifts an eyebrow. “I’m an open book, Adam.”
“The fuck you are,” I scoff out, and she laughs. “Come on. Tell me something no one else knows. Some secret dream you’ve been too selfless to admit out loud.”
Silence hangs between us, and I think for a moment she won’t say anything. I won’t push it, of course, but I stay quiet in case she finds something, gently brushing my fingers through her hair.
“I wish I could travel more,” she says after a while, voice low. “My parents never left because of the farm, though they don’t mind. They love it here. But it meant we never went anywhere fun for vacation. I thought when I left for college, I’d go somewhere fun and exciting, but I stayed in-state to save money and then went right into working at the school.” She smiles genuinely, and I can see that there are no regrets on her face about that being her path; instead, she’s simply fondly thinking of what could have been.
“Where have you been?”
She lets out a small, self-deprecatory laugh. “I’ve never left Holly Ridge.”
“Never?”
She shakes her head. “I was supposed to go to Seaside Point last summer, but that got…postponed.” I’m sure there’s a story there of some favor she granted, but when she lets out an almost bitter laugh, I focus on her following words. “Well, I wasreallysupposed to go to Paris. I impulsively bought tickets last year. I was going to go over summer break, but then my grandmother passed away, and everything got so chaotic…I couldn’t do it.”
Grief lingers in the words, and I’m so unused to dealing with other people’s emotions that I’m not sure what to do. Despite getting her love of the holidays from her grandmother and bending over backward all season to follow in her footsteps, she really doesn’t talk about her much. I’m unsure of the right thing to do, to ask, but I go with my gut, which, for the most part, has not steered me wrong with Wren.
“Why Paris?” It’s a simple question, an easy one to brush off if she wants, so I’m surprised when she gives me the answer immediately.
“When I was little, my grandmother got me the bookMadelinewhen I got my appendix out. It’s actually a pretty sad book about a group of little girls living in a boarding school run by nuns, and one of them has her appendix removed, but I found it really entertaining. It’s set in Paris. Then she got meMadeline at Christmasthat same year, and that kind of cemented it.” She shrugs then, trying to brush it off and make light of her words. “It’s silly, I know, the only reason I want to go somewhere is a book I read when I was probably six. But I must have read it at an influential time because it always stuck.”
I shake my head. “It’s not silly. Not at all.” I often think about how I chose Holly Ridge just because of a woman I met in an airport bar, and that’s far more unhinged than picking your ideal vacation destination based on a book you read as a kid, but she speaks before I can tell her.
“Have you been?” Her eyes are wide and excited, and I can’t help but smile in return.
Reaching up, I brush one of those loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Why do you think I’ve been there?”
“You were in a rock band, Adam. You’ve probably been all over the world. I want to know about everywhere. Where was your favorite? Where did it suck the most? Where was the best food?”
