Page 78 of Back to December
I’m grateful that she’s sharing with me. But it hurts a little. Despite how tough she makes herself seem, she’s got a soft gooey center—just like our kolaches.
“I’m a little jealous right now,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyebrows lift. “You’re jealous of our matching sleepwear?”
“More the tradition, I think,” I correct. “That you’ll let people close enough to share things like that.”
She stays quiet, then sinks further below the covers. “We sort of do.”
“What do you mean?” Now it’s my turn to be surprised.
Her arm appears over the wall of pillows. “It’s plaid.”
“Laila, I might be pattern-challenged, but those are stripes.”
She huffs, and the bed slightly shakes as she raises up on her knees. She leans just far enough that she doesn’t cross the pillow wall, but sort of butts up against the line.
“It’s a super light pink—almost white. But see?”
“Huh,” I say. “So even though yours is a totally different plaid, it still counts since it’s the same pattern? Plaid is plaid?”
A smile plays around her lips. “Plaid isnotplaid, Holden. They’re very separate, distinct patterns,” she says, but her voice is warmer now.
“Feels like a technicality, La.”
“You and your technicalities,” she sighs.
Silence settles. The house seems to exhale with us. I almost think she’s asleep until her voice threads through the pillows, so soft I almost miss it.
She peeks through a hole she’s made in the wall, her hazel eyes watchful but awake.
“We have another tradition that actually goes with the pajamas.”
I grin. Another olive branch.
“If it’s a Christmas movie night, I already know. You three have them for every major holiday,” I say. I only know because she’s freely offered this information to me before.
She shakes her head. “Dance videos.”
“You make dance videos in your pajamas? And post them on the internet?”
Her body shakes with silent laughter. “You really don’t understand how social media works, do you?”
“This is a thing? People really watch this?”
“Our last video got over a million views,” she says quietly. “It was technically branded content because yes—thosepajamas were gifts. So I made a lot of money off of it. But I split it with Ella and Bridget.”
Another piece of Laila I tuck away for later.
“And if you’d been with Ella instead of stuck here?” I ask.
She smiles. “Then we’d teach Lucy the dance and include her, since Bridget isn’t coming for a few more days.”
“I’m sorry you missed that,” I say.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “We have time.”
That’s one thing Laila and I have always had: time. And tonight, a house that seems determined to give us a little more.
