Page 33 of Decking the Halls
“Edie, then.” He sets the tablet aside. “I owe you an apology. Last night got out of hand.”
“Nick shoved me,” I say. “That’s what got out of hand.”
“Your brother was understandably upset,” Dad replies.
“My brother was furious his trophy cracked,” I snap before I can stop myself. “He’s not upset about losing Edie. He’s upset about losing control.”
“Wren,” Mom warns gently, setting down a tray of cinnamon rolls.
“Nick cared for her,” she adds. “You can’t deny that.”
“He cared about how shelookednext to him,” I fire back. “Until she started being herself instead of his campaign accessory.”
“Wren.” Edie touches my hand. “It’s Christmas.”
Her voice breaks the tension like light through a thick fog. I take a breath, unclenching my fists. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“We all are,” Mom says, sitting down across from us. “This is just… new. We need time to adjust.”
“Adjust to what?” I ask. “That I’m happy? That Edie’s with someone who likes her?”
Dad sighs. “That you’re with your brother’s ex. There are lines, Wren. Family lines.”
“Lines Nick crossed first,” I say, meeting his gaze. “He saw something I wanted and couldn’t stand to let me have it. Same story as always.”
Silence settles over the table like the snowfall we rarely get here on the coast. It’s soft and heavy, and you can’t ignore it. Not even if you close your blinds and pretend you’ll get your car out of the driveway in the morning. The only sound is the faint crackle of the wood stove and the wind nudging against the eaves. Mom fidgets with her napkin, her lipstick-stained coffeecup forgotten. Dad stares down at his plate, his jaw working as he processes what I’ve just said.
“Is that true?” Mom finally asks, her voice careful. “Did Nick…?”
“Ask him,” I say. “Ask why he suddenly decided Edie was the love of his life two weeks after we talked about her for the first time in forever. Ask why he brought her to Christmas dinner when he usually kept girlfriends away from family events.”
“To hurt you?” For the first time, it sounds like my dad is invested in my feelings.
“To win.” The laugh that escapes me isn’t kind. “Everything’s a competition with Nick. Always has been.”
“And Edie’s the prize?” Mom’s eyes flick to her.
“No.” Edie sits a little taller, her voice steady. “I was collateral damage. Nick wanted to win. Wren wanted something she couldn’t have. And I…” Her voice falters, then firms. “I just wanted to be loved.” She squeezes my hand under the table. “Turns out only one of those wants was honest.”
Mom studies her in a way I should be able to parse, having been raised by her, but to this day, my mother has the uncanny ability to mask half of her emotions. Or maybe I’m just terrible at reading the women closest to me. “You think Wren loves you?”
I open my mouth, but Edie beats me to it.
“I think Wrenseesme,” she says. “The real me. Not a version she’s trying to edit into something palatable to cronies and toadies.” She looks at my parents, her chin lifting. “Do you know Nick put me on a diet? Counted my calories? Told me my laugh was too loud, my stories too long, my enthusiasm too much?”
Mom’s face changes—something in it cracking like the thin ice that coats my windshield in the morning. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” Edie says. “Every day for a year. Little corrections. Little improvements. Death by a thousand cuts is what it was.”
I can’t stop myself. “While I had to watch it happen. Watching this incredible woman alter herself just to fit inside Nick’s idea of perfection.”
Dad chokes. “So, you swooped in the moment they broke up?”
“I stayed away for six months,” I say, forcing calm. “Six months of watching her rebuild herself. Until I couldn’t stay away anymore.”
“Three days ago,” Mom says, though she lacks conviction. “You couldn’t stay away starting three days ago.”
“Years ago,” I correct. “I haven’t been able to stay away since the moment I met her.” My throat tightens. “The tree lot was just where I stopped pretending I could.”
