Page 5 of The Santa Situation
“Why not both?” I teased, pushing my own plate away. “Are you seeing him after the tree lighting?”
“Maybe,” he said, standing and gathering our plates. “Assuming I don’t have to drive you back afterward.”
“Charlie and I have to meet out at Cade Murphy’s place, so I’ll need to head back out there to pick up my car.”
I watched Eli rinse the dishes, his frame backlit by the warm glow over the sink. His shoulders had broadened lately, his movements less clumsy—the lankiness of boyhood giving way to the first outlines of the man he’d become.
And suddenly it hit me: Eli was the same age Charlie had been when we dated. Given whatthathad been like, it was probably time for another talk with my son about hormones and responsibility.
Eli glanced back over his shoulder, giving me an imploring look.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Who am I to resist the allure of young love? You’re off the hook. I’ll figure something out.”
He grinned as he shut off the faucet, flicking water droplets from his hands before he dried them on a nearby towel. “You’re such a sap.”
Before I could defend myself, he opened the freezer door and pulled out a quart of ice cream, setting it in the middle of the table with athud. He spun back around, fished two clean spoons out of the drawer, and passed me one.
“Speaking of young love,” he began, his eyes bright with mischief. “When was the last timeyouwent on a date?”
I blinked. “That was not the subtle pivot you think it was.”
“I’m seventeen,” he said, talking around his bite of ice cream. “We’re not generally known for our subtlety.”
“There’s no one I’m interested in.” I stabbed my spoon into the container, poking around for a piece of peppermint bark. “And besides, I like my life the way it is.”
He nodded slowly, his expression softening before it turned thoughtful. “So you don’t ever think about Mr. Emerson that way?”
The ice cream I’d just put in my mouth chose that exact moment to slide down the wrong pipe. I coughed until my eyes watered.
Eli, trying and failing not to laugh, slid a glass of water my way.
When I could speak again, I croaked, “You’re a terrible child.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
“He’s my friend.”
“Not just that,” he said, his tone turning gentle. “He’s also your high school boyfriend. The one who got away.”
I dropped my gaze, focusing on the napkin in my lap. I folded it in half, then in half again. It was pointless busywork, but it gave my hands something to do. “Where’d you hear that?”
When I looked up, Eli was shrugging.
“Grandma, before she died. Mrs. Sinclair. A few others.”
“Well, your grandma didn’t know what she was talking about,” I said tightly, reaching for my Chardonnay and emptying the glass in two deep glugs. “And your guidance counselor shouldn’t be gossiping about me like that.”
“So there’s nothing to it then?” he pressed. “Just people talking nonsense?”
I opened my mouth to say, “Yes, exactly,” but the look of hope I saw in his eyes stopped my words cold.
Eli’s expression was earnest, lit with the look of a boy who—despite what history had shown him—still saw the world as a place where good people who cared about each other always ended up together. Exactly as it was meant to be.
I glanced away before he could interpretmyexpression. Because the truth was, the idea of Charlie and me together wasn’t nonsense.
It just wasn’t simple.
Eli leaned in, bracing his forearms on the table. “Mom, all evidence to the contrary, I’m not dumb. I know what you’ve been through. I know Dad made you feel small sometimes.Mosttimes.” He said this carefully, like he was weighing his words as he spoke and trying to choose only the least hurtful ones. “But Mr. Emerson isn’t like that. He values you. Heseesyou.”
