Page 81 of Meddling Under the Mistletoe
“I’d have to say Chandler,” Ron says finally. “I can be a little dry at times, but I like to think I have a good sense of humor. And I’m a bit of a romantic.”
Rose taps a red nail against her wine glass, glancing from Ron to me, then back to Ron again. Finally, she points at me with her fork. “Wellyou, Myra Jean, are as Monica as they come,” Rose says. “You’re an amazing chef, and you love playing hostess. You’re everyone’s caretaker, but you’re also a little uptight. So, I approve.”
“Well, I appreciate that, but there’s nothing to approve of.” I squirm in my seat, the implication of us being compared to two characters that make up one of the show’s most iconic couples not lost on me.
Rose opens her mouth, likely to protest, but Ron cuts her off.
“And who would you be, Rose?” he asks.
“Rachel, obviously,” she answers, and Ben, who’s sitting next to her, nearly chokes on his water.
I chuckle. “Has anyone ever told you self-awareness isn’t exactly your strong suit?”
Lindsey, Ben, and Lucy snicker.
“What?” she asks, chomping into her roll. “Who doyouall think I am?”
“Phoebe,” we say together, bursting into laughter.
She gasps. “I am not.”
I stifle a giggle. “Have you met you?”
“I have to agree,” Ron adds. “She’s one of those characters that grows on you more with every rewatch. She’s free-spirited,blunt, but she’s also kindhearted and unapologetically herself. Now, I haven’t known you long, but I think that sums you up pretty well.”
I give him a small smile. Not only has he described my sister to a T, but he’s just highlighted the many reasons I love her so beautifully. Rose is my best friend as much as she’s my sister, and she’s one of the biggest parts of my life. And Ron understands her.
More and more, I think Ron understands me too.
Rose considers his explanation for a moment, mulling it over as she picks up her glass, swirling the liquid inside.
“I see your point.” Rose nods once and sighs. “I mean, Iampretty great.”
“We couldn’t agree more,” I say.
Rose spears a carrot with her fork. “Have any of you heard anything about that Eddie O’Donnell fellow? He sure is a cutie. Do you think he’s single?”
I shake my head, stifling a laugh, and Ron catches my eye. There’s something comforting about his gaze. It’s steady but exciting—familiar, yet completely new.
And somehow, that makes me feel new too.
“Those two seemto be getting close,” Ron whispers in the kitchen after dinner, gesturing toward the back door where we can see Lindsey and Oliver huddled together on the deck with steaming mugs of coffee in their hands.
“They do,” I agree, snapping the dishwasher shut. “Are you sure you don’t want some coffee?”
“I’ll be up till next Sunday if I have caffeine this late,” he says with a laugh.
“You can head into the living room if you want. I’ll be in there as soon as I finish washing up these pots and pans.” Lindsey and Oliver tried to do them for me, but I insisted they get some coffee and enjoy themselves. The rest of the kids and the grandkids are in the living room playing with June Bug, their laughter carrying through the house.
“I have a better idea,” Ron says, grabbing the towel off the hook by the sink. “You wash, I’ll dry.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he beats me to the punch.
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Okay, then.” I dunk my hands into the sink and set to work.
“Thank you again for inviting me and June Bug tonight. I’ve had a great time.”
