Page 33 of Holiday Love
She spreads her arms. “Surprise!”
I stare at her, then at Teddy, then back at her. “What’re you doing here?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “I used my key. Figured you’d still be at work. Wanted to drop off some cute Christmas decorations I got for you.” She grins, pulling cartoonish gingerbreadmen figurines out of a plastic shopping bag. The cookie men hold lollipops with swirls of red and green. “I know you don’t usually decorate for the holiday, but I couldn’t resist. Aren’t they adorable?” She places them on the counter and shoves them at me.
Right. I haven’t told my parents about the suspension yet, that I’ve been benched. Because admitting that is failing. It’s telling my parents they were right. They’d had reservations when I announced I wanted to apply to medical school. My dad had warned that medicine might be too hard, too much work. I’d heard his unspoken concern that I couldn’t handle it.
Fuck that.
I paste on a smile that feels more like a reflex than a choice. “Well. Surprise.”
Teddy raises his mug in greeting, like this is just another Tuesday. “Hey. So, umm, this is your mom.”
I bob my head. “Yep. Sure is. My mom who thinks November first is the official start of Christmas.”
Mom beams. “And this is your boyfriend. Honey, why didn’t you tell me?”
Teddy flushes red and waves his hands. “No, Mrs. Chu. It’s like I said, I’m not—”
“Oh, shh.” She laughs with delight, grinning at Teddy. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re here. Alone. Barely clothed. Making tea. If that’s not a boyfriend, then what is?”
“Mom, please.” Heat rushes up my neck, flooding my cheeks until I’m sure I’m the color of a ripe tomato. I drop the bags onto the counter with a thump. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“I’m just so happy,” she continues as if she can’t hear me. Her eyes glisten with something that looks like tears.
Oh my god. Please don’t cry.
I mentally beg her, knowing if she starts crying, then I’ll start crying and this is already so embarrassing. I’d lied when I told Teddy I wasn’t a crier the other day. The truth is that I didn’tusedto cry, but since my mom’s breast cancer diagnosis and then her recurrence over a year ago, tears have become a new, unwelcome friend of mine.
She waves Teddy toward her. He approaches hesitantly, then startles when she grabs his hand and pulls him close. Leaning in like she’s telling him a secret, my mom says, “I used to worry about Helen. She’s always been a bit of a loner—”
“Mom!” I hide my face behind my hands.
“—but I can tell you’ll take good care of her.” She gives Teddy a watery smile and pats his hand.
My breath stutters because I hear her unspoken words.
Take good care of Helen, for when I’m gone.
That’s a reality I can’t face.
Teddy turns to me, his eyes wide, silently pleading for an escape route.
I feel his pain.
Mom sets down her tea and clasps her hands. “Well, since you’re here, you’re both coming to Thanksgiving at our house. No excuses!”
“What?” I squeak.
“I’m serious, Helen. You can spend the night, and I’ll make my special cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I want you to bring this nice boy home. Your father would love to meet him.”
“I highly doubt that,” I mutter dryly, imagining my serious, stone-faced dad meeting my shirtless, tattooed,currently-wearing-my-robehousemate.
My mom gives me her best pleading expression. “Please? I’ve always wanted to host your boyfriend.”
There’s that word again.
Boyfriend.
