“No, I mean you like-like her. You have a crush.”
“What is this, middle school?”
“You’re not denying it.”
Since Nick knew already, I confessed, “Yeah, I have a crush.”
“Holy shit, Alex Clarke is growing feelings in his old age. I wonder if it came in with your longer nose hairs.”
I ran my hand over my nostrils to check. Jerk.
“This could get messy,” Nick warned. “If she gets hurt, Mallory will be livid.”
“I won’t hurt her.”
“I believe you won’t try to,” he sighed. “You’ll fly back to California unscathed while she deals with any fallout. Are you sure I can’t talk you out of this?”
I grunted a no. I wanted his professional advice, not his judgment. After all, my brother had developed a reputation for three things:
On set, he was known for being a perfectionist but not a diva, a quiet leader beloved by his coworkers.
Off-set, he was known for letting loose. He hosted giant invite-only house parties — sponsored by Elysian tequila, of course. In the press, he was photographed a revolving door of women. When one managed to date him for three months, Cosmopolitan ran a cover story: “How to Keep An Unattainable Man.”
Gossip columnists and paparazzi grilled his exes, but they didn’t engage in the usual Hollywood slander, insisting that he was a perfect gentleman. When pressed, they said they didn’t feel like they knew him.
Because that was the final part of his reputation: secrecy about his personal life.
Nick had always kept to himself, and when he finally hit it big, our whole family was harassed for access. His quest for privacy started as a way to protect us from scrutiny … but then the stories escalated.
If you believe the gossip, his house supposedly has an off-limits wing. The Hollywood Reporter claims it's a sex dungeon, but that’s unconfirmed by anyone he’s publicly dated. If I had to guess, it’s something nerdy, but I wouldn’t know; he’s usually filming on location, so I haven’t visited his place in LA since he first bought it five years ago.
“You know the campsite rule? Leave the person in better shape than you found them,” Nick asked. “As long as you communicate about your timeline and boundaries, and treat her well during your time together, you should be ok. Oh, and one more thing …”
Mallory returned with another pony, looking almost as excited as Ruby. Grace had been right: Mal's childlike joy was one of my favorite things about her. They started playacting a scene about the ponies being, I don’t know, chased by dragons on a volcano … who knows what those two were up to?
“What did Nick say?” Dad prompted.
“He said Grace should tell Mallory about us, without my involvement.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Dad said in relief, then clapped my shoulder. “Come on, football time until dinner is ready.”
After dinner, Mom pulled out a small red satchel and declared it was time for the Peppermint Pig. She explained theSaratoga Springs Christmas tradition to Jean and Ruby: Families strike the candy pig with a hammer then eat a peppermint shard while sharing a tale of the past year’s good fortune.
As she explained, my mind whirred. What good fortune could I share?
Mom slid the small pig into the velvet bag and whacked it with a mallet the size of a mini-golf pencil. “Since I’m going first, I get to claim the overly sappy fortune of being together. It’s been a long time since Alex has been home, and Grace has brought even more wonderful people into our lives."
Mallory was thankful to Grace for being her studio work wife and taking care of all the boring stuff. Dad was grateful for the doctors and therapists, working tirelessly to help him regain his strength, and Grace for being there when he needed her. Jean was grateful for Grace’s unexpected hospitality.
Ruby, who looked so little in her chair between Jean and Grace, glanced skeptically inside the red velvet bag. “There’s a pig in there?”
“A candy pig, about the size of your palm,” Mom said. “If we break it into smaller bites, there will be enough pieces for everyone.”
Ruby picked up the mallet. “I won’t hurt it?”
“No, sweetie, it’s already broken," her grandma said.
Ruby whacked the bag, thanking to Santa and Mallory for her new ponies. When Jean nudged her, she added that she was glad Grace called Santa.
When Grace reached for a shard, her eyes flicked to mine as she placed it in her mouth. Under the table, my body reacted to the pinkness of her tongue and the shape of her lips around her fingers. She looked down at the table with a flush in her cheeks, then her eyes rose to Mallory’s, then Mom’s, then Dad’s. “My good fortune this year is the sensory room. It couldn’t have happened without this family.” Then her eyes dropped to Ruby. “And my favorite patients will get to enjoy it.”
When the pig landed in my hands, my mind went blank. I didn’t want to talk about work … and I didn’t have anything else.
I whacked the velvet bag, the candy pig cracking inside. Took my time to remove a sliver, hoping that stalling would bide my time for a good idea. It didn’t.
I cataloged everyone else’s answers: Grace’s hospitality. Grace's resilience. Grace's kindness and generosity.
And then I knew what to say.
“I’m grateful that Grace yelled at me,” I smirked. When her lips parted in surprise, Mallory nudged her shoulder in approval.
I crooked my finger at Ruby so she leaned closer, delighted at the secret. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but the first time Grace called me, she was mean to me.”
Ruby turned to Grace in shock. “You were?”
“She needed to be. She's sweet to the rest of you, but she understood, even before we met, that I needed tough love.”
