Page 6 of The Santa Situation
“He does,” I admitted, my voice coming out as a whisper.
Charlie had always seen me. That’s what made our friendship so beautiful.
“And when you’re with him, you look happy,” Eli continued. “You both do.”
I wanted to disagree, but I also didn’t want to lie to my son, so I did what he’d accused me of doing before. “We’ve known each other a long time,” I deflected.
“Exactly.” He sat back with a nod, giving me the impression he’d misinterpreted my words—whether on purpose or not wasn’t clear. “Outside of me and Uncle Jeremy, he probably knows you better than anyone.” He picked at a loose thread on his placemat, then looked up at me. “And he likes you.”
Eli reached for the ice cream. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you want more, stop pretending you don’t. Honestly, you’re both too old to be playing games.” He smirked to lessen the sting of his words.
I already had more than most people. A good kid. Work I loved. A house that held so many fond memories that I couldn’t even catalog them all. But Eli’s challenge worked its way under my skin like a tiny sliver of wood. I looked at him—this boy who used to stand on a stool to reach the counter, who now had to duck through the attic doorway—and I thought, “When did you grow up? When did you get so wise?”
“Eat your dessert,” I said, because I needed a minute to process.
He grinned and took another bite.
When the quart was empty and I was washing our spoons, he hooked an arm around my neck and kissed my temple.
“I’m heading to my room,” he said. “Robotics call. Caleb’s freaking out about torque.”
“The great torque crisis,” I said with mock solemnity.
“It’s always something.” He started toward the stairs, then paused, his hand braced on the door jam. “For what it’s worth, I think you should go to the New Year’s Eve gala.”
“I always go to the gala.”
“Yeah, but this year you should go to dance, not just stand around watching others celebrate.”
I rolled my eyes. He smiled like he’d won the argument and disappeared upstairs.
I took my time closing up the house—banking the fire, switching off all the lights, checking the back door. Up in my bedroom, I pulled that hideous red dress out of the back of my closet and stared at it with revulsion. Mrs. Claus was definitely getting a makeover. Then I showered and put on my pajamas, the flannel ones with candy canes on the butt because no one would see me in them.
In the mirror, I rubbed lotion onto my face and neck and tried to make peace with the person who looked back at me. She knew which wholesalers could ship floral wire by the case on two days’ notice. She knew how to start a tractor that had seen better days and would probably need to be replaced soon. She’d gotten a lovely, quirky kid through school with his head on straight and his heart intact despite the world trying to make it otherwise. A woman who never asked for anything for herself.
“I’m past all that,” I’d told Charlie.
I recalled the way his face changed when I said it, like he was surprised … and then disappointed. But why?
As I climbed under the covers, I couldn’t get that question out of my head.
I reached for my phone, staring at the screen and wondering if I should ask, or if that would be opening up a can of worms I wasn’t ready to deal with.
Instead, I simply typed out, “See you at Cade’s dock an hour before sunset.”
Then I locked the screen and set the phone face down on my nightstand, telling myself there was nothing wrong with wanting. There was also nothing wrong with not acting on that want.
Not until I was well and truly ready … if I’deverbe ready like that.
The thing about Charlie and me was that we didn’t end because we burned out—we just got pulled in different directions. When we were married to other people, trying again was never an option. But we’d both been single for a long time now, and I sometimes wondered if we’d stayed apart because what we had was too good back then—too perfect to risk spoiling.
What if we tried and we ruined the memory of what we once were?
Down the hall, the sound of Eli’s laugh carried through the walls, and I smiled into the dark.
I rolled to my side and pictured Charlie dressed as Santa. Tomorrow I’d put on a costume and be his Mrs. Claus while the town cheered. Then, I’d go back to being Jemma Price, a woman who—once upon a time—fell hard for a boy and never regretted it for a moment. The only relationship I’d ever had like that, if I was being honest with myself.
As I began to drift off to sleep, a thought took shape: maybe I wasn’t past all this. Maybe I had just been careful with my heart. After all, you couldn’t be disappointed if you never asked for more. You also couldn’t be surprised.
