Page 13 of These Godly Lies
Jiro springs the question on her mid December, the rain outside thunderous and his voice deceptively casual. “Is your husband going to be here for Christmas?”
Seven months.
It’s been seven months and they still don’t get along.
Anna’s eyes lift from the page of the novel she’d been reading, studying his expression. He doesn’t return her stare, instead flipping the page of the cookbook he’s been looking over the past few dayswhile they’ve been avoiding the torrential downpour outside their walls. Jiro has probably looked over that same recipe a dozen times over by now. Certainly enough that it can’t possibly be holding his attention the way he pretends it is. He’s more invested in her answer than he wants her to know, but Anna’s not surewhy. She gives him the most honest answer she can. “I’m not sure.”
The holidays were never something they bothered to celebrate. The meaning and spirit of them was lost to Anna over the centuries. Occasionally, she would find herself enjoying the festivities when whatever life she had built called for it, but it had always been social rather than spiritual. She participated, but the holiday held no personal meaning to her.
His lips thin in response, glowering into the open pages.
A thought occurs to her—one she kicks herself for not recognizing sooner. “Jiro, do you celebrate Christmas?”
He shrugs. “We used to. My mom used to take us to church every Sunday. Would decorate the house and convince my father to get a tree.” A frown pulls at his mouth, bitter longing at the edges. “I think a lot of it was just her trying to fit in, but it was fun.”
Anna closes her book, looking around the living room thoughtfully. “I’ve never had a tree of my own,” she confesses, measuring the room and rearranging furniture with her eyes. “Would you be willing to share some of your traditions with me?”
She catches the tiny smile curling his lips. “Sure.”
Khiran blinks, frozen in the doorway as he surveys the chaos. “There’s a tree in our living room.”
Anna hums, threading a needle through a piece of popcorn. There’s a pile of popped kernels in the lap of her dress that she’s been alternatively eating and decorating with. Jiro decided to brave the rain to try to find more red hollyleaf berries, so he can finish the strand he started. “There is.”
“It’s rather large.”
She glances at the tree, its peak so tall it curls against the ceiling. “It looked smaller in the forest.”
“I see,” he murmurs, setting a box labeledMoulin de la Viergebeside her before joining her on the floor. “I suppose this is for the boy?”
“A little,” she admits, shrugging. “He asked if you would be here for Christmas.”
He raises a brow. “Would you like me to be?”
“It might help. Maybe it will encourage you both to connect.”
He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Your optimism is charming. Hopelessly blind, but charming.”
Anna huffs, her needle pausing as she lets her hands drop to her lap. She leans her head against his shoulder. “I just don’t understand it.”
He reaches for the box between them, opening the lid to reveal neat rows of colorful macarons. When he holds it out to her in offering, Anna closes her eyes and selects one at random. Yellow. She takes a bite, savoring the citrusy sweet taste of lemon.
Khiran selects a green one. “Don’t worry yourself over it.”
The sound of the kitchen door shutting and the quick fall of footsteps announces Jiro’s return. He comes from around the corner, his dark hair wet but his grin bright. “I found some!” His expression falls flat when he sees who sits beside her. “Oh. Your husband’s here.”
He avoids Khiran’s name as much as Khiran avoids his. A petty game they seem wholly uninterested in ending anytime soon.
Khiran’s brows rise. “I am.”
Anna holds out the pastry box, not above bribing Jiro’s mood with sweets. “Macaron?”
He frowns at the rows of colorful cookies as if weighing whether to say no strictly because Khiran brought them. In the end, he grudgingly accepts a raspberry flavored one. Taking a small nibble from the corner, he makes a show of chewing thoughtfully before shrugging. “It’s alright, I guess.”
Khiran’s lips twitch in the corners. Anna can’t be sure if it’s a smile or a grimace.
Jiro pops the rest of the cookie in his mouth, lips stained with the smug shadow of a grin as he chews.
Khiran returns home late Christmas morning.
