Page 58 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“She cares about you,” my mother insists. “She always has. And now, when you’re hurting over that… that girl, you could use a friend like Millie. Someone who understands you.”
I clench my jaw. “Her name is Caitlin, Mom. And I’m fine.”
“Are you? You don’t look fine. You look terrible.” She reaches up to straighten my collar, a maternal gesture that feels intrusive. “This is exactly what I was afraid would happen. That girl has broken your heart, and now you’re shutting out the people who truly care about you.”
I step back, and her hand falls away. “I really need to go, Mom.”
“Adam Kelley.” Her voice hardens. “I’ve given you space. I’ve been patient. But this has gone on long enough. The Greenes are coming for Christmas dinner, and you will be there too. You will be sociable, and you will stop avoiding Millie. She needs you, and frankly, you need her too. This is non-negotiable.”
For a moment, I consider refusing. I picture the scene it would cause, the tears, the accusations of selfishness and cruelty. But then I think of Lauren, of our plan, of the fact that in less than two weeks, I’ll be free of all this. One last Christmas. I can endure it for her sake.
“Fine,” I say finally. “I’ll be there.”
Relief softens her features. “Good. Dinner’s at two. Wear the blue sweater I got you last year.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
“This will be good for you,” she continues, patting my arm. “You’ll see. A nice family Christmas, just like always. It’s exactly what you need to help you move on.”
If only she knew. But she’ll find out soon enough. We all will.
“I’ll see you on Christmas, Mom,” I say, and climb into my truck before she can say anything else.
As I drive away, I catch her in my rearview mirror, standing in the parking lot watching me go. For a moment, I feel a twinge of something like sorrow. Not for the choice I’m making, but for the relationship we might have had if she’d ever been able to see me as I am, not as who she wanted me to be.
If either my mother or I had known then just what was going to happen at Christmas dinner, I don’t think she would have been as insistent that I come.
19
Chapter 19
Adam
I pull into my parents’ driveway, my hands tight on the steering wheel. The house is decked out in Christmas glory; white lights trace the roofline, a wreath hangs on the door, and through the front window, I can see the Christmas tree, towering and perfect like everything else in my mother’s home. A row of cars already lines the curb, which means everyone’s here: Lauren and Jake, Hailey, and the Greenes. For a moment, I consider backing out and driving away, but I decide against it. One last Christmas. I can endure it. In eleven days, I’ll be on my way to Oregon. Eleven days until I’m free.
The thought gives me enough courage to kill the engine and step out into the biting December air. I grab the bag of presents I bought; generic gift cards mostly, except for Lauren and Jake’s, which I actually put thought into. The small, wrapped packages feel like props in the performance I’m about to give.
I’m halfway up the front walk when the door swings open. My mother stands there, elegant in a deep green dress, with a string of pearls at her throat, her makeup perfect as always. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Adam! Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” She pulls me into a hug that feels like a straitjacket, her perfume suffocating.
Her smile falters when I get inside and pull my coat off. “Adam,” she says, her gaze traveling from my face down to my chest. “You’re not wearing your blue sweater.”
I glance down at the red cable-knit I pulled from the back of my closet this morning. “Yeah, so?” I shrug. “I couldn’t find it. Besides, I like this one better. Red is festive.”
Her lips press together momentarily before she schools her features back into a welcoming smile. “Well, you’re here. That’s what matters. Come on, everyone’s waiting.”
I let her usher me into the warm, pine-scented air of the living room. It looks like a Christmas catalog threw up in it. Garlands drape every surface; the tree commands pride of place in the center of the room, gold and silver ornaments gleaming, brightly wrapped presents stacked beneath. The Dickens Christmas Village Mom has been collecting for years sits on a table, among carefully arranged drifts of fluffy fake snow. My mother has outdone herself, as always.
“Look who’s finally here,” she announces, her hand firm on my back as she guides me into the room.
My father rises from his armchair, relief washing over his face. “Adam,” he says, crossing to pull me into a hug, slapping my back a few times before letting go. There’s something in his eyes, a question, maybe even a hint of concern. “Glad you’re here. Hope you’re feeling better?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, meeting his gaze. For a minute, it seems like he’s going to say something else and then thinks better of it.
Behind him on the sofa, Millie sits with her mother. The dress she’s wearing is a shade of blue that matches the sweater my mother wanted me to wear almost exactly. The coincidence makes my stomach turn. But of course, it’s not a coincidence. Mom told her what she thought I was planning to wear, I’m sure of it.
“Adam!” Millie’s face lights up, and she rises.
But my father doesn’t move his arm from my shoulders. Instead, he steers me toward the bar cart in the corner. “Let me fix you a drink,” he says, his voice just a touch too loud. “Eggnog? Or something stronger?”
