Wanting to lighten the conversation, I let my voice rise playfully. "I guess the silver lining is when Shannon realized she was bisexual, I did too. Your sister had a field day with that one."
Mallory, who had never been Shannon’s biggest fan, assured me I'd been out of Shannon's league, and I’d find love again when I least expected it … and she'd be my wing-woman to introduce me to every man, woman, and non-binary person she knew — and some she didn't — since she knew how shy I was about dating.
Alexander smirked slightly as he assessed my makeshift assembly line. “How many pies are you making?”
“Three for the cardiology staff, one for Dr. Tran.”
His arms crossed at the cardiologist’s name. “You’re making four pies?”
“Six,” I corrected sheepishly. “Another for the OR team, and if the social workers found out I made pie for cardiology without bringing any to our weekly meeting, they would riot.”
He tilted his head side-to-side, weighing his options. He uncrossed his arms, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves. “Seven.”
I tore my eyes away from the perfect veins on his forearms. “Seven what?”
“If you make a seventh pie, one just for me, I’ll slice apples.” He looked critically around my kitchen. “But we can’t do it here.”
Chapter 7Alex
“We’re going to get in trouble,” she said as I unlocked the door to my aunt and uncle’s house. “I’m going to get arrested, and kicked out of my apartment, and —”
“Even if the police came, which they won’t, I’m family,” I shrugged. She didn’t look convinced as I pushed open the door.
Growing up, this house had been my second home. It had been my grandparents' house where Mom grew up before her sister Carol inherited it. When I needed a break from my whiny sister or couldn’t stay quiet enough for my brother’s migraines, I’d bike over to hop in the pool or play video games or basketball with my four cousins.
My memories of this house bustled with life: kids yelling with squirt guns around the yard, the parents' laughter resounding over endless games of Euchre, and rock music blaring from the teenagers' rooms upstairs. It had been my haven, my definition of how a family should feel: big, loud, and loving.
Our families spent Christmas together, cutting down the biggest fir at the tree farm and trimming it in this two-story foyer. I could almost hear the echoing laughter of my aunt, who renamed herself ‘Christmas Carol’ for December, singing with Mom as they drank mulled wine and draped tinsel. Uncle Terry lifted Mallory to put my grandmother’s angel on the top. All of us kids goofed around, scolded by any parents when we got too rowdy.
Of course, we all grew up eventually. My cousins went to college first, I’d gone to Princeton, Nick off to USC, and Mallory left to travel the world.
Seven years ago, Nick’s acting career took off when he was cast to play the Greek god Apollo in the popular TV drama The Twelve. His stage name, Dominic Martin, had become a household name, not only for his Emmy-award winning performances, but also for his product endorsements, from sports cars to dog food. He even co-owned the Elysian tequila brand … although I wish he’d invested in a whiskey distillery.
When Nick stopped coming home for Christmas, I did too. It hadn’t been intentional, but without him convincing me to catch the same flight east .. I just … stopped. And I guess I wasn't the only one.
Now this giant house was abandoned. A gust of stale air enveloped me and heavy curtains blocked the early afternoon sunlight, lending an eerie quality to the silent space. I flicked on lights, waking up dormant memories.
I dropped the baking supplies onto the kitchen island and meandered into the pantry. Grace’s hot chocolate mix had been sorely lacking in the marshmallow department. I hoped since Uncle Terry built a giant fire pit in the backyard, I could raid their marshmallow stash to replace the tinge of bittersweet nostalgia. I tore open a bag and continued exploring.
I expected stockings with all seven kids’ names over the mantle, but nothing hung in front of the fireplace. I recognized the sofa where we waited in joyful anticipation for Santa, all seven cousins camping out until we couldn’t keep our eyes open.
I bet our parents had enjoyed our Christmas spirit, looking as hopeful as the kids in the hospital … but this year, I’d been on the other end of the magic.
I found Grace in the dining room, eyes flicking as if following a phantom, fingers gripping an armchair. When I said her name, she jolted and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I couldn't figure this Grace girl out. The first night I’d pegged her as naive and she’d countered that she was optimistic. Whatever it was, her innocence intrigued me, and I wanted to pinpoint was so appealing.
Dad was especially invested. When I’d returned to his room after the Santa visit, he saw a change in my expression. “She won you over, huh?”
I slumped in my chair and picked up my laptop: 87 new emails. Fuck.
As I worked my way through my inbox, Dad’s eyes lingered on my face. I met his stare over my laptop screen and raised a brow.
“Listen, Alex. Grace is a special girl, and she’ll overturn the world for the people she cares about. She gives with both hands and never saves anything for herself. And men like you …” He let out a long sigh. “She’s not like Mallory or Victoria. Don’t take advantage of her generosity.”
His obsession with her annoyed me, and I didn’t appreciate his implication about my sister and ex-girlfriend. Before I could defend myself, he held up his hand. “I’m closing my eyes, you’re welcome to work here or catch a class at Mallory’s studio.”
I couldn’t waste time on yoga. As he drifted off I opened a new tab, searching for a better Santa suit and trying not to think about seeing my Mrs. Claus again on Monday …
Then she’d shown up in my aunt’s driveway and invited me upstairs. She seemed to regret the offer instantly, but after shoveling in the whipping wind, my bones were cold.
Plus? I fucking love hot chocolate, and I hadn’t had one in ages.
Cold bones and hot chocolate. Those were the only reasons I went upstairs.
Oh, and I’d wanted to check out the man cave, which had been a pleasant surprise. My memories featured plain drywall and the awful stench of teen boy and Axe body spray, but now it was tidy, feminine, and smelled faintly of cinnamon.
In her apartment, I'd realized that waiting for her to speak led to the most interesting revelations. I suspected most people only got happy Grace without waiting out the deeper stories, and that was what made her fascinating.
So I sat at the dining table and used one of my favorite negotiation techniques: silence. Most people think negotiation is fast, loud yelling — it is, and I love that part too — but if you stay quiet long enough, the other person will crack. I shoved a marshmallow in my mouth and held up the bag as an offering.
She released the chair and walked over, but at the last second, I smirked and tugged it away, tilting my chin to the seat next to me. When she slid into it, I pushed the bag over. She held a marshmallow on her fingertips as she glanced around the table again.
Her courage kicked in after two more marshmallows of my silence.
“Our kitchen only had room for my parents, my three older brothers, and me. As the youngest, I’d be the first to be demoted to the kids’ table.” The marshmallow spun between her fingertips, her gaze tracking her fidgeting. “At church, my father told the story of the Last Supper: Jesus knew it was His last night on Earth before He walked to his death. He wanted to spend it eating with all Twelve Apostles around one table.” She picked apart her marshmallow, the stringy bits stretching between her fingernails. “That was the Christmas present I prayed for: A table big enough to host all my family and friends.”
