Page 83 of Going Viral for Christmas
Before Ava can answer, her mother chimes in with a knowing smile, “No, he’s the online nemesis, remember? He made fun of her books on all those videos. Went viral.”
“Actually,” I start, trying to help, “we?—”
“Is he the one you called ‘that cocky writer boy with a face for sinful things and a womb broom to boot’?” Another aunt—I forget her name—adds from down the table.
Ava chokes on her wine. “I never said that.”
“Sure you didn’t.” G-Ma clicks her tongue. “We’ve got the group texts, Sugar.”
As the table erupts with laughter, I reach under the table and gently place my hand on Ava’s bouncing thigh, hoping to reassure her, or ground her, but she jumps like she’s been shocked. I retract my hand, the heat of her thigh still lingering on my palm.
Ava blurts, “Excuse me,” before pushing back from the table.
Around me, the noise continues. I want to follow Ava, explain why I touched her, ask her–no beg her–to let me in, only a little, or at the very least, talk to me about what’s bothering her. “Friend” to “friend.”
But I don’t. It’s not the right time. Ava needs space.
Eventually, the crazy winds down. Bellies full and plates scraped clean, the group separates into little pods—some toward the back porch for cigars, others toward the living room to claim space in front of the football game.
Lingering at the edge of the kitchen, I offer to help clean. Mandy shakes her head no, then reconsiders when I insist a few more times.
“Alright, handsome, you’re on drying duty.”
“My favorite.” I grin, clapping my hands and rubbing them together.
We fall into an easy rhythm, her washing and me drying. It’s quieter now, the family buzz melting into a post-feast lethargy.
My gaze lands on a photo above the sink—a much younger Ava, gap-toothed and muddy-kneed, proudly holding up a pumpkin twice her size.
I nod toward the picture. “She looks fierce.”
“She was,” Mandy replies with a soft smile. “Still is. That was her in second grade. Refused to let anyone help her carry that thing to the truck. Said if she picked it, she’d handle it.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Ava’s been that way since birth. Headstrong. Big-hearted. She’s had it broken into a million tiny pieces, so be careful with her, Soren. If Ava gives you the chance to be the one she lets in, don’t waste it.”
I nod, throat tight. “I won’t. Any other advice?”
“Guard your heart, though.” Mandy’s voice dips, a little heavier now. “My girl retreats when things get to be too overwhelming. It’s her defense mechanism. There might come a time when you’ll need her and she won’t be there, not because she doesn’t care, but because she’s terrified. You’ll think she’s selfish, but she’s not. She’s just scared. Ava doesn’t understand love the way she writes it… not yet. She can pen happily-ever-afters for everyone else, but when it comes to her own?” Mandy shakes her head slowly. “She’s still learning what that looks like.”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to learn.”
Mandy stops washing, looks over at me. “I believe you. I can’t wait for Ava to experience that. She’s got these walls. Gorgeous things, built from pain and brilliance and stubbornness. If anyone’s gonna tear them down, it’ll be someone who sees the masterpiece underneath.” She grips the edge of the sink, exhales. “She needs a man who’s serious and won’t walk away when it gets messy, Soren. I’m not asking you to promise that. I’m just asking for you to understand it.”
My voice is hoarse when I answer, “I promise, Mandy.”
She offers a gentle, approving smile and slides another dish into the drying rack. The scent of rosemary and lavender soap blends with the wood smoke drifting through the open window.
How badly I want this hits worse than ever before. Not just Ava. But this messy, complicated, nosy, wonderful family. I’ve been folded into something bigger than myself, and I want it permanently.
But the guilt creeps in like rot. We’re lying to them. Every laugh, every toast, every photo snapped tonight with me beside Ava is built on a stunt. A PR move. An illusion.
These people deserve more than what we’re giving them. Ava deserves more, too.
I close my eyes for a breath. Re-centering. I need to remember that I didn’t come here to keep up appearances.
She’s what I want.
