Page 117 of Nice Guys Don't Kiss Like That At Christmas
But instead of swallowing this pain like I've swallowed so many others, instead of handling it alone because "Eve is so strong, Eve can handle anything", I do something I've never allowed myself before.Something I told Adam he should learn to do.
Lean on people when you get bad news.And not only share the parts of you that you think might be palatable.My friends have started to teach me that after Chuck, but I'm really putting it in practice now.
I slide down to the floor, my back against the bed.With shaking fingers, I pull out my phone and call the only people who might understand how the smallest thing can break you wide open.And how the smallest man can still cast the longest shadow.
Chapter thirty-seven
ADAM
Icranktheshowerknob tooff,still humming “All I Want for Christmas Is You” under my breath, a song I’ve spent years actively avoiding until this week.Funny how quickly your musical standards change when you’re happy despite yourself.
That’s when I hear Eve’s voice, with that razor-edge tension that she thinks nobody notices.The one that usually precedes her putting on what I’ve come to think of as her“Nurse Foster, Professional Wall-Builder”expression.
I freeze, water dripping down my spine as I strain to hear through the door.
“...threatening a podcast about my case and saying he could ruin your reputation too.And Adam’s.And Adam’s father...”
My jaw instantly clenches so hard my teeth might crack.Chuck.That manipulative, egotistical—
“That fucking narcissistic asshat!”Claire’s voice erupts through what must be Eve’s phone speaker.“I’m going to stuff a stethoscope so far up his—”
“Eve?Eve!”Julie cuts in.“Don’t you dare go clinical voice on us.”
Screw the towel situation.That slight tremor in Eve’s usually steady voice matters more than my modesty (though I do grab the ridiculous pink reindeer towel Sally left on the rack,“festive bathroom experiences,”she’d called them).
I push into the bedroom, still dripping enough to annoy Sally’s antique hardwood floors, the pine-and-cinnamon soap she insists is“the true scent of Christmas spirit”probably overwhelming the room.
And there’s Eve (my stubborn, brilliant,too-damn-strong-for-her-own-goodEve) sitting cross-legged on the floor like she’s performing triage.In her hands is what can only be shards of her grandfather’s ornament.
Her friends stare from the phone screen with expressions ranging from murderous (Claire) to analytical (Julie) to inappropriately intrigued (definitely Harper, eyeing my towel situation).But all I can focus on is the careful blankness on Eve’s face that tells me she’s fighting like hell not to fall apart.
The dogs have formed a protective perimeter with Dorothy methodically delivering what appears to be every sock I own, Blanche making anxious circles that set her jingle bell collar playing a discordant Christmas soundtrack, and LoverBoy peering out from under the bed with the traumatized expression of someone who’s witnessed Santa Claus going at it with Mrs.Claus under the mistletoe.
Well, shit.
“Is that Adam I see in the background?”Harper asks suddenly, squinting at the screen.“Because if so, Pine Creek’s calendar committee made an excellent choice.”
Eve’s head jerks up, honey-blond hair whipping across her face as she finally spots me standing there.Water droplets trace cold paths down my spine, stark contrast to the overheated flush that spreads across her cheeks.
“Oh!”Eve squeaks.“I didn’t… you were in the shower, and—” She swallows hard, her throat working visibly.“Chuck called.He’s threatening a podcast about medical errors using my case unless I go back to Chicago.Also, he implied he could ruin your reputation too.Also, my grandfather’s irreplaceable heart ornament shattered into pieces.Because of me.Also, I think Blanche found your Christmas Testicle and was using it as a chew toy.”
“Your what?”Julie chokes.
“The crocheted brain that looks like a testicle,” Eve says.“Adam made it.It was under the bed.”She delivers the news in her clinical tone, but her pulse hammers at her throat.
“First of all,” I say calmly, adjusting my towel as it threatens to slip, that muscle in my jaw ticking in the way she always stares at, “I can definitely repair that crocheted monstrosity.”
Eve blinks, a droplet of moisture clinging to her lashes.
“Second,” I continue, “That tinsel-wrapped asshole thinks he’s a medical influencer now?”
“Oh, I really like him,” Julie chimes in.
“Same,” Harper adds.“The righteous anger really works with that towel.Especially when you gesticulate with those hands.”
“Careful with the gestures,” Claire says.“This call’s PG.For now.”
Eve lets out a watery laugh, but her eyes remain fixed on the shattered pieces in her hands.I notice the cut across her palm getting worse as she holds the pieces, careful to keep them away from the curious dogs.“It’s really gone.”
