Page 4 of That Time I Kissed My Brother’s Best Friend

Her shoulders sink. “You don’t have to remind anyone here that it’s not really Christmas.” She lowers herself onto the couch. She’s basically a slump of mother beside me. “Everyone needs traditions, you know.” She sniffles. “This year more than ever.”

“Oh, Mom.” My own nose begins to sting. “You’re right. And I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.” She slips a crumpled tissue from her apron pocket and dabs at her eyes. “You came home. That’s what matters.”

We’re both quiet for a beat, then I meet her gaze. “How is Aunt Remy doing, anyway? And Mac and the girls? Are they all hanging in there after losing Uncle Ted?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Mom sniffles again. “You know, most of the time Big Mama talks like Big Papa’s just in the other room, and we don’t correct her. But Aunt Remy’s a whole other ball of wax. Not that she’s actual wax. That would be strange.” My mother pauses. Blinks. “She misses Uncle Ted like a fish would miss water. If the fish got thrown out of the bowl, that is.” She gulps. “I swear if I lost your father …”

“You won’t.” I lay a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort her and change this grim line of conversation. She and my dad adore each other. They have for their whole lives. Not to mention howIfeel about my dad. He’s my ally in the Graham family, and I can’t go down this grim line of thinking. “Not for a long time.”

My mother blinks. “God willing,” she chokes out.

“Please don’t cry,” I say. “I promise to be a good sport for this whole week. I’ll be the best sport ever. And I’ll wear whatever you want me to, no matter how sweaty I get.”

“Well, thank you, Kasey.” She swipes at her eyes again, then stuffs the tissue back into her apron. “First the corn. Now this.”

“There’s just one problem,” I say, with a wince. “I didn’t pack an ugly sweater. I didn’t even pack a cute one. All I brought are shorts, sundresses, and sandals.”

“Oh, dear,” she mutters. “This simply won’t do, Kasey.” When she starts fumbling for the tissue again, I scramble for a solution.

“The triplets!” I blurt.

She freezes. “What about the triplets?”

“You said the girls are staying next door with Aunt Remy and Big Mama, right? Well, Olivia hasgreatfashion sense,” I say. “Darby’salwaysoverly prepared. And Tesslovesa good theme party. I’ll bet one of them packed an extra sweater.”

My mother nods, smoothing her apron. “You’re right. They probably did.” She unclogs her throat, then glances at the window like she can actually see them in the house next door. “You know, Aunt Remy sent me a picture of the sweater Mac’s wearing to dinner,” she says. “He’s going to be stiff competition, because it’s hands down the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Her mouth quirks—just a quick twitch—but my mother is coming back to herself. “There’s an entire snowman glued to the front of it made of Styrofoam and felt and buttons. And the back side’s got the snowman’s…umm…”

“Backside?”

“Exactly!” She snorts, then covers her mouth. “Remy said little Daisy’s been dressed like an elf since this morning. She’s such a darling girl, and my word, has she ever grown since the last time they visited. What was she, two years old then?” She squints, calculating. “That horrible wife of his was here then, too, so it had to be before she took off with her Pilates instructor.” My mother clucks andtsks. “Can you imagine? Leaving on her daughter’s birthday? Such a shame.” She lowers her voice. “And now Daisy’s starting to look like her.”

“Like Gwen?” I grimace. “That’s got to be hard on Mac.”

Mom shakes her head. “Don’t get me wrong. That little girl is as cute as a button, with those big blue eyes of hers. And she’s got these crooked little pigtails. I swear your cousin can’t do Daisy’s hair to save his life.”

I chuckle. “Knowing Mac, that’s hardly surprising.”

“Oh, and just a heads up.” Her voice goes low again and she frowns, like being quiet is a supreme effort. “Daisy doesn’t talk.”

“Really?” I tilt my head, trying to figure out her age. “How old is she now? Like five?”

“She will be in September. But it’s not that the girl doesn’t knowhowto speak. She just stopped. Won’t say a single word to anyone.” Mom puts a hand to her chest. “Not even to me. And I’mveryeasy to talk to.”

“Oh, wow.” I swallow a laugh. “Thatishard to imagine.” While I chew the inside of my cheek, my mother nods in agreement.

“According to Mac, Daisy clammed up right after Aunt Remy left Apple Valley and moved back here to Abieville. He thinks Daisy’s silent treatment is the girl’s way of showing everyone she’s mad about her grandma leaving. Did you know Daisy calls Aunt Remy Little Mama? Like Big Mama. Except little.”

“Yep.” More cheek chewing from me. “I was able to Sherlock Holmes that connection myself.”

“Hmm.” She taps her chin. “I think of you more as a Watson,” she says. “In any case, Daisy was here last night, and I’ve never seen a child stay so quiet for so long. When you were Daisy’s age, you were always such a motor mouth. Talking, talking, talking. I must admit, on occasion, I was sorely tempted to wear earplugs.” My mother pauses to gasp for breath.

Ah, the irony.

“You know what?” I pat her knee. “It’s really good to be home, Mom. And I’m sorry I was late. But mostly I’m sorry I was so annoying twenty years ago.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be silly, Kasey. You aremuchmore annoying now.” She starts snickering at her own joke.

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