Page 78 of About Last Christmas
“See? I told you that you fill it out nicely,” I tease and take a bite of potatoes.
“Her mother designed it. She recognized the style. I guess the second-generation Langston wanted to be a fashion designer but couldn’t make a go of it.”
“So all of her creations ended up at the Sugarvale Inn’s shop.” And why the formalwear looks like it’s straight from the eighties and nineties. Because it is. “Finally, it makes sense. All our mysteries from today are solved.”
“Not all.” His gaze fixes on me. “Not the most important.”
Oh, the Vallerton. Of course that would be at the forefront of his mind.
He leans close and drops his voice. “You promised to explain about the kiss.”
CHAPTER 23
Gran always said,“Be careful when you issue promises because the delivery costs are high.”
So yeah, I’m paying for my past words. I really don’t feel like stirring up those emotions. But I owe Leo an explanation. “I told you that it wasn’t your fault, right?” I shift in my seat. “That the reason I left in a hurry had nothing to do with … the kiss.”
He nods, though remains quiet, letting me talk.
“It’s kind of a long story.” Just then, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Mom. As if she knows I’m about ready to uncork this pressurized bottle of memories, spilling my feelings all over the place.
Mom
Sorry about the Windex. Sorry about everything.
I slide my eyes shut with a weighted exhale. The chatter of the room, the blaring of some Spice Girls’ song, the clinking of utensils off plates. The surrounding noises seem to intensify and bounce around in my head. I count to three, then slowly lift my lashes.
Leo’s watching me.
“Sorry. It’s my mom.” I lift my phone with a little shake. “She’s apologizing for this morning. And every morning for the past, oh, twenty-some years.”
“That’s a lot to be sorry for.”
It really is. “This is why—sheis why—I ran out on you last night.” I press a fingertip to my temple, my thoughts piling in my head like today’s snowfall, threatening a whiteout of complete blankness. “I know that doesn’t make sense, but hear me out.” I force myself to sit straighter, like I’m about to plead my case. “You know how I mentioned the rescue mission at Pap’s this morning?”
“The antiques?”
“Yeah. My mom was using Windex on some Christmas bulbs. Ammonia on antique glass works like paint stripper.”
He cringes.
“Exactly. But I reacted with big emotions. Because, yeah, the antiques were ruined, but it went beyond that.”
He puts his fork down, giving me his full attention. I never realized what it’s like to be someone’s sole focal point, but I can easily get addicted to those dark eyes steadied on me.
“Remember when you asked why I keep strength training, even though I’d rather shave off my eyebrows than lift weights?”
He smiles at my exaggeration. Well, it’s mostly an exaggeration. “Yeah, I remember.”
“It’s because I’m waiting for my mom to leave.”
He’s quiet for a second. “You want her to leave?”
“No, but that’s just it. Growing up, I never wanted her to leave, but she always did. When I became an adult, I had this hope that maybe she’d come around more. But no. It messed with me, you know? Like what’s wrong with me that my own mother doesn’t want a relationship?”
Leo reaches across the table, taking my shaking hand in his calm, strong one.
“Then out of nowhere, she comes back after Gran passes and expects me to be okay with everything. Problem is, I don’t know how to be okay. I don’t know how to ignore all those years of her not being here, of coming in and going out of my life. So now, I expect her to go. It’s a reflex, I think. Then, eventually, I’ll be left caring for Pap. Which is fine. I’d do anything for him.” I give a small shrug like it’s no big deal when it’s anything but. “So I keep weightlifting in case I have to resume my role?—”
