Page 48 of Snowed In
“Yes, but it’s different now,” she insists. “You were just children, and now you’re…” She frowns. “I saw his mother in town the other day. She didn’t say anything.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Did you say anything to her?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Mam.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” She makes a weird shrugging movement and wanders toward the kitchen. “I’ll write her a note. Maybe they could all come to the fundraiser,” she adds. “Or I could throw a dinner! Do you think they’ll like that?”
“Maybe,” I say, following her. “But we’re trying not to make too big a deal of it.” Or at least I’m not. “Okay?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. New love and all that.”
“Not love,” I say firmly. “Just dating.”
“Sure,” she says brightly, and I swear to God I can see wedding bells in her head. “Now. What would you like to drink?”
* * *
The rest of the evening is actually pretty nice. I take a quick shower and change into my pajamas, deciding to leave the unpacking until tomorrow. Mam’s waiting for me with a glass of celebratory prosecco when I come downstairs, and she puts a comedy panel show on the television and tells me about the latest renovation she’s considering for the main bathroom and how she’s finally going to tackle the garden and the way her book club has gone downhill ever since someone named Sorcha joined and keeps expecting them to have actually read the books.
She asks about my job and Frankie and whether I used that Pilates voucher she got me and tells me my skin is looking much clearer than it did. She seems giddy to have me home. Giddy enough that I get excited too. And all worries about Christian and Isaac get pushed from my mind as I let my mother fuss over me. It’s been a long time since anyone has.
It’s a nice night. The nicest I’ve had in a while, and by the time she finally lets me go to bed, I’m so exhausted by the day that I figure I’ll probably sleep until tomorrow afternoon. As it is, I barely get a few hours in before I’m woken abruptly by a heavy weight collapsing on top of me. My brother is back from the pub.
“What the…Aidan!”
A grunt comes from somewhere above my head.
“Move,” I hiss, catching a whiff of beer as I try to push him off.
“Merry Christmas.”
Ugh. I shove him again until he rolls partially over and hits the wall. “Go to bed.”
“I am in bed.”
“Your own bed.”
“Your mattress is better.”
I tug my pillow away from him, squinting in the darkness. He’s left the door open, and from the soft light left on in the landing, I can just make out his face, flushed from the cold or, more likely, the alcohol. He’s grown in the few years he’s been away. Gone is the chubby-cheeked brat who used to terrorize me, and instead is a young man who seems to have inherited all of Mam’s best features. The straight brows, the square jaw, the brown eyes so much warmer than my own dull gray ones. He’s probably got a tan and everything, though I can’t tell in the dark.
I haven’t seen my brother in person in nearly two years, but right now, I couldn’t care less.
“Get out,” I tell him when he doesn’t move.
“I saw a massive spider in here the other day.”
“Shut up. No, you didn’t.” I twist his wrist toward me, ignoring his noise of protest as I check his watch. Three a.m. “Did you just get home?”
“Maybe.”
“Who were you with?”
“Friends.” He makes a show of pushing himself off the bed. Not all the way, though. No. He just sits on the side of it, peering down at me with those slightly dazed,I’m still buzzedeyes, and I have to admit, I’m jealous at how easily my brother has just slotted back into his life here. He probably had a million invitations when he told people he was coming home. Just another reminder of how firmly I’d shut the door on this place.
And then he flicks my nose, and I’m back to being annoyed again. “Stop.”
