Page 27 of Holidating
“Think I won’t,” he snorts. “This is top shelf bourbon. Only an asshole would mix it with lemon juice.”
I sigh.
“Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” Uncle Jerry says to the meatball platter.
“Impossible,” my father slurs. "Wasn't aware you had any."
"Dad," I warn.
"What? It's true."
Shit. I’m glad my sister has gone to the ladies’ room with Abbi, so she doesn’t have to hear this.
Jerry turns around, and I brace. “Let him say whatever he wants.” My uncle shoves a meatball into his mouth. "He’s only making himself sound like a dick. You go ahead and rant, Mickey. Or steal that bottle of bourbon. Whatever floats your boat.”
"At least I didn’t steal someone's family. Does that make your dick feel bigger, I bet?”
“Dad,” Lauren gasps from the doorway.
"What?" my dad bellows. “You want to take his side? You always do.”
“Mickey,” my mother hisses. “Don't wreck your only daughter's party.”
“I didn’t wreck anything! You two did!” As he shouts, he swings the bourbon bottle wildly.
And it crashes into the brick fireplace and shatters.
“Shit!” he howls. Then, as everyone stares lasers at him, he walks right past me and leaves the room.
My fingers knot into fists, and my first urge is to chase him down and tackle him into the snow. But I get a look at my sister’s face, and I don’t do it. I count to thirty and breathe.
And then I bend down and start picking up shards of glass off the rug. Because the people who work here do not deserve this.
Nobody does.
CHAPTER 9
SMELLS LIKE WOODSY GOODNESS
ABBI
I’m standing outside the building when the shouting starts. I’d been about to answer a phone call from my stepfather. He probably wants to wish me a Merry Christmas.
But I silence my phone instead, and listen as the awful sound of glass breaking pierces the silence.
Uh-oh. Poor Lauren. Poor Weston, too. This is exactly what he’d been hoping to avoid. I don’t move from my spot on the inn’s back porch, because the Griggs family doesn’t need one more person gawking at them right now.
But a moment later, Weston’s father emerges out of the back door, too.
I’m so stunned that for a beat I just stare at him, open-mouthed. “How could you?” I whisper.
Oops. I shouldn’t get involved. I know this. But I’m just so mortified for his family. I turn away because I can’t stand to give him any more of the attention he craves.
It’s not like I don’t understand that he’s hurting. It’s just that I know how to suffer in silence, like a grown-up. A skill he obviously never learned.
We ignore each other for a couple of very long seconds. I fingermy phone in my pocket, and wonder what I could do to help Weston right now.
Meanwhile, the person who should have been helping Weston is pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting up.
