Page 85 of About Last Christmas
“Everything.” I slump into my mound of blankets. Tilly worked all day, so I didn’t get the chance to relay all that’s happened. “I made a huge mistake.”
“We need hot chocolate for this, I think.” So while Tilly’s pouring Ghirardelli powder into warmed milk, I’m cleaning up snotty tissues and telling her about trading the nativity sets and Leo’s reaction.
“Have you talked to him since this morning?” she asks softly.
I toss a cordial cherry box into the garbage, wishing I could trash the consequences from my stupidly rash decisions just as easily. Too bad life doesn’t work like that. “No.” After our emotional discussion in the car, he was quiet the rest of the ride home. He wasn’t rude or angry. Just silent. Which was probably the worst reaction I could imagine. It’d left the space between us filled with tension, my brain filling the time and stillness with too many fears about what he was thinking. After he retrieved his truck at the fire station, we went our separate ways. He didn’t take the Vallerton, which speaks volumes. “It was all for him, but I think I ended up scaring him off.”
“Honestly …” Tilly hands me my mug, and we return to the sofa. “I think he hates that you gave up so much.”
If Pap hadn’t told him how special the Garrick was, Leo would’ve never known. Worse, Leo’s right. That nativity ignited my love for what is now my livelihood.
When I was ten, Gran taught me about antiques and how fun it was to hunt them down, like a historical scavenger hunt. As a challenge, she asked me to pick out an antique and we’d search for it during our spare time. Because it was around Christmas, I picked the Garrick nativity set. Little Greta didn’t understand antique specifics, such as condition, rarity, and market demand, but only thought the artist made Mary really beautiful. It wasn’t until Pap had taken us to Nashville, nearly a year later, that I spotted the set. We traveled there for some random estate sale, and the Garrick was sitting between yellowed doilies and salt and pepper shakers shaped like roosters. I’ll never forget how Gran’s eyes misted at my excitement. It was like I finally found my thing. The price of the set was a steal, making Gran even prouder. “Yeah, he knows the story behind it.”
“It’s more than that.” She sets her mug on the coffee table and brackets my shoulders with both hands. “I love you—you know this—but sometimes you’re absolutely oblivious.”
I can’t argue with her there. I thought I was doing the right thing when I traded the sets.
“Girl, the man’s in love with you.” She shakes her head, her gaze squinting as if my ignorance is physically painful to watch. “And not some grade-school crush either. Mitchell told me when he called Leo about your run-in with the snowdrift, the man was having lunch with Chief Todd and Mayor Perkins. He abandoned his superiors to go save you.” She splays a hand over her heart with a dreamy sigh.
“He said it was a work thing and wasn’t a big deal.”
“To him, it probably wasn’t. Not compared to you.”
Did he miss an important meeting? It would have to be something huge if Vernon Perkins was involved. No doubt SilverCreek’s mayor didn’t appreciate Leo’s disappearing act. And he did it for me. “I think I messed up.”
“As I said, he probably hates that you sacrificed so much.” Her head tilts, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “Why exactlydidyou give up the set? Tell me, what was going on in your head? I’m struggling to see why you handed over a valuable family heirloom to a total stranger.”
When phrased like that, I look like an idiot. “It was automatic.” My brain’s been replaying those moments all day but without supplying any answers. “I can’t explain it. I felt like it was expected of me. Which is stupid because the woman didn’t know I had a Garrick until I told her.”
“Almost as if … you’re conditioned to act that way.”
I look at her and can practically hear all the disjointed pieces of my life finally clicking into place. “I’m the queen of spades.”
“Um, repeat that.” Tilly shifts closer, making a crumpled tissue—one I must’ve missed in my rushed clean-up job—topple onto the floor. It’s gross, but I’m on the edge of an epiphany. “Because for a second I thought you said you’re?—”
“The queen of spades.” I can see it so clearly. “I have the queen of spades complex.”
Tilly grabs her hot chocolate mug, cupping it with both hands, as if gleaning from its warmth. “Are you just making up complexes or are you in full-blown crisis mode?”
“It’s from the game of Hearts. Nobody wants to be stuck with the queen of spades because she costs you the most penalty points. If she’s in your hand, you pass her off. She gets shuffled around until someone is eventually stuck with her.”
“Okay. I’m with you so far, I think.”
“Mom didn’t like the hand she was dealt. She didn’t want me. She passed me on to Gran and Pap. They were stuck with me, and I did everything I could to be good, so they wouldn’t see me as penalty points.”
“Oh, honey.” She sets her mug down and wraps an arm around me. “Is that how you really feel?”
“Growing up, Gran constantly complained about how selfish my mom was. My little brain understood that selfishness disappointed Gran, and I guess I disciplined myself to act the opposite. I thought of myself last. Which isn’t always a bad thing but …”
“There’s a difference between giving from your heart and giving as a default response.”
“Tilly!” I hug her. “How are you so good at this?”
“I told you that a barista is like a bartender. I hear problems, I assess. I give people advice and sometimes an extra shot of espresso. But since I know you, this one was easy. Now.” She sets a hand on mine. “Can I offer a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Talk to your mom.” Tilly gives a compassionate smile. “She might not be as selfish as Gran thought. She could have a valid reason behind her choices.”
