by Nicole Deese
“Okay.” Jenna’s determined tone alarmed me. “Then it’s settled. Brian and I are staying home. We’ll do Christmas with you this year.”
“No, you will not! I’ll be totally fine. I’m not a depressed teenager. I’m an adult. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Lauren.”
“What do you need me to say to convince you, Jenna?”
“Say you won’t be alone.” Her voice snagged on the last word, and I could picture the tears flooding her fiery eyes. “You can’t expect me to go off and have a good time knowing you’re here alone, trying to heal from a broken heart.”
I sighed into the phone, searching for a compromise we could both live with.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll find somewhere to go on Christmas Day.”
“You promise?” She sniffed.
I hesitated, racking my brain for how to go about keeping such a promise. “Yes, I promise.”
“Lauren?” Joshua asked, pulling my mind back to the present. “Spend Christmas with me. Please.”
I glanced out the window nearest my desk. “You don’t have to invite me to your family’s Christmas, Joshua. Jenna really shouldn’t have said anything to you. I’ll be fine. I have options.”
“I’m sure you do, but I hope you’ll choose this one. My family will be honored to have you join us—they’re counting on it, in fact.” He touched my shoulder, the tips of his long fingers grazing the naked skin at the base of my neck. “Plus, the crab legs are out of this world.”
“I’m sorry . . . did you just say crab legs?”
“Yep. Why?” Panic masked his face. “You’re not allergic to shellfish, are you?”
“No . . . but what does any of that have to do with Christmas?”
He smiled. “Quite a bit, actually. But I’m not going to spoil the surprise. You’ll just have to experience it for yourself.”
He laughed at whatever confused expression stared back at him. “Trust me, as long as you’re a fan of crustaceans, you’ll love it.”
I gave him a slow nod and felt myself caving to the idea of Christmas with the Avery family. “Are you positive I won’t be an imposition on your parents?”
“One hundred percent. They’ll love you.”
I swallowed, trying not to read into such a kind statement. “Okay.”
“Great, then I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After four.”
“Uh, tomorrow is only December twenty-first.”
“I know, but I need you to help me shop. I drew Rebekah’s name and I’m clueless.”
I thought back to our previous conversations involving his family members. “She’s your brother’s wife?”
“Yep. And if you don’t help me she’ll end up with a holiday-scented car air freshener and a gift card, and there’s a strict no-gift-card policy in the Avery household. Plus, I know for a fact that you haven’t purchased anything for your nephews yet. I saw the list on your desk.”
I scoffed and crossed my arms over the hardback book on my chest. “And how do you know I haven’t already ordered them something off Amazon?”
“Did you?” He arched an eyebrow.
“No, but my point is, I could have.”
“And my point is that after four tomorrow, I’m all yours.”
“Um . . .” I laughed, wondering how he’d managed to twist this entire conversation around, as if I’d been the one begging for his gift-giving advice. “I think you mean I’m all yours. You’re the one who needs the shopping help, remember?”
His smile lit a match in the base of my abdomen. “That works even better.”
chapter
twenty-two
I’d read about wedding festivities in Asian countries, where the bride and groom partake in a week’s worth of detailed events before they exchange vows. Apparently Christmas with the Averys was much the same. The list of holiday activities I was expected to participate in had grown exponentially since accepting Joshua’s original invitation. So far he’d mentioned caroling, ice-skating, a candlelight service at his parents’ church, and something about seafood. And that was all before Christmas Day.
Joshua slid his gooey cinnamon roll across the table top at the food court. “Time’s up. Trade.”
“What? But I’ve only taken one bite of this one—”
“You obviously did not grow up with a brother.”
He swapped our plates and took a giant bite of my maple and pecan roll. I frowned and cut the corner off his original deluxe with extra cream cheese frosting. “Nope. Can’t say Lisa and I ever fought about food.”
He chewed and pointed the end of his fork at me. “So what do sisters fight about, then?”
I rolled my eyes good-naturedly and combed through my memories for a theme. “Hmm . . .”
Joshua switched our plates and immediately stabbed the frosted roll once again.
“Hey!” I tugged the plate back from him. “Was that some kind of diversion tactic?”
He swallowed and laughed. “You’re catching on. But I actually am curious.”
I held up a finger and took a small bite of the maple variety. It melted on my tongue, and I couldn’t help the tiny sound of pleasure that vibrated in my throat.
Amused, he leaned back in his chair, watching me. “That good, huh?”
I nodded and wiped the corner of my mouth with my napkin. “You’ve got to admit that my pick was way better than yours.”
“Happily. The original is always good, but yours is better. Let’s hope Rebekah feels the same about your picks for her, too.”
“Oh, she will.” I’d stalked her social media pages before we shopped at the department stores. It was easy to figure out her fashion likes and dislikes by the pictures she’d posted.
“Whoa . . . such confidence,” he teased.
“I can say the same about your little victory dance in the toy store over that robot ball thingy you found for my nephews.”
“It’s called a Sphero Bolt, Lauren. And they’re awesome.”
I gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “Please don’t go into all the engineering mechanics again. You might as well ask me to translate hieroglyphics.”
He chuckled and gestured for me to continue. “Anyway, go on. Your sister fights. What were they about? Stolen clothes and boyfriends?”
“Oh my gosh.” I wadded up my napkin and threw it at his chest. “That is such a guy thing to say.”
“Well? Then what?”
My cheeks heated as I realized that his guess really was what most of our arguments had been over. “Well . . .”
“Ha! I was right?”
“Stop gloating. You have no idea how annoying it is to go into your closet and have nothing to wear because everything you own is in your sister’s dirty hamper.”
His laughing continued, and I took the opportunity to have another bite. I wouldn’t have to guess where the extra five pounds had come from this holiday season.
“And what about the boyfriend fights?”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” I fake pouted.
“What if I promise not to laugh?”
“I wouldn’t believe you.”
“Okay, then what if I promise to try not to laugh?”
Giving in to his puppy eyes, I rubbed my lips together and tried to recall the details. “Once there was this neighbor boy who was exactly a year younger than me and a year older than Lisa.”
His eyebrows hiked a half inch, but he made a show of saying nothing.
“Anyway, we both liked him, so we both wrote him notes asking which one of us he liked more.”
“Really?” Joshua inched the maple roll in his direction once again, never breaking eye contact with me. Sneaky man. “How did he respond?”
“He wrote a note back to each of us, explaining that he preferred the other sister more, only Lisa and I never shared his response with each other, so each of us just went on believing he’d chosen the other sister. We spent an entire summer trying to one-up each other to
win over his affection. Only all the while he was secretly going out with Megan Floyd from two blocks over.”
“No way!” Joshua smacked the table. “What happened when you finally found out?”
“We burned his letters and then TP’d his house four weekends in a row.”
“Ha. Brilliant!”
“We laughed at him from our window as his parents made him clean it up every time. He never did find out it was us.” It was a rare moment of sisterly collaboration. If only we had more to collaborate on these days.
“Are you two still close?”
I took a long sip of ice water, deciding how best to answer that. I’d shared bits and pieces with Joshua about my family, about the disconnection that had started around my sixth-grade year and continued on into adulthood. But in many ways, Lisa was in her own boat when it came to the dysfunction of our parents. “I wish we were closer.” The truth.
He tipped his head as if waiting for more.
“Lisa has always been a strong-willed, leader-type personality, which can be awesome depending on what—or who—she’s trying to lead. But it can also be . . . well, alienating if you don’t align with her causes.”
“Ah, right. You’ve mentioned her interesting matchmaking tactics before.”
“Those are hardly her worst offenses,” I mumbled before drinking some more water.
His next bite stalled midair, and instead of shoving it into his mouth, he lowered it back down to his plate. “Have you talked with her much since . . .” In his prolonged hesitation, I heard his unasked question.
“No.” I shook my head. “Nobody in my family knows the adoption fell through yet.”
I cringed at my use of the phrase fell through. Adoption shouldn’t be categorized in the same vein as a failed business transaction.
“Why not?” Joshua had an innocent way of inquiring about the deep, personal stuff without seeming judgmental or critical.
“Because if I tell her what happened, it will only fuel her arguments against me adopting in the future.” And lately I had enough doubts of my own to sort through.
“So, she feels the same way your mom does?”
I remembered the text thread Joshua and I shared a few nights before all my hopes had come crashing down, one of our many midnight conversations when my inhibitions had been low and my vulnerability high. It was one thing to discuss my family’s negative views on God and the church, but quite another to pinpoint my most painful moments of rejection as a daughter.
“Similar enough, yes.” Though Lisa had her own reasons to think I was being reckless and irresponsible.
“Which likely plays into why you don’t want to spend Christmas with them.” A statement underlined in empathy.
Again, I nodded. “Yeah, but I do plan to drop off my gifts for my sister’s kids.” Though the thought of facing Lisa again so soon was enough to make the doughy goodness in my stomach rebound.
Joshua scraped the last bite off his plate. “Speaking of kids . . . I do have one more present I need to search for if you’re up for it today. I’m hoping you might have some ideas for a four-year-old girl?”
“Your niece?”
“Yep. Four going on fourteen.”
“Aren’t they all.” I smiled, thinking of my own niece and wishing the emotional climate was better between Iris’s mother and me. It’d been way too long since she’d slept over and begged to do my hair in what she called a snake braid—code for tangled mess. “Sure, I still need to get Iris something, too.” I scooted my chair and hooked my purse over my shoulder. “And I know just the place.”
“This is insane.” Joshua stood in the center of the Build-A-Bear store, surrounded by every kind of stuffed creature imaginable and several dozen harried parents all vying for the perfect accessory for their child’s newest fluff-filled toy. His eyes widened like a soon-to-be roadkill victim.
“More insane than usual, yes. It is Christmastime.”
“Still.” He wiped a hand down his face, and I fought the urge to laugh at his bewilderment. “How do we even go about . . . doing this?”
I nudged him and pointed to the far left of the store. “We start over there at the choosing station. You first have to pick a shell.”
“A shell?”
I took pity on his confused state and pulled him toward the selection line. “Yes, we’ll pick out the shell of the animal you think Emma would enjoy most, and then we’ll fill it with stuffing and a heart. Iris has a cute little puppy she got here a couple years ago on her birthday. Right now, though, she adores unicorns—like every other little girl in the universe—so that’s what I’m going to get her for Christmas.”
He reached for the one and only dinosaur shell left on the shelf.
“Um, do you really think Emma would choose a dinosaur over a sparkly pink unicorn?”
He paused, looking down at his selection as if considering this idea for the first time. “Hmm, you might be right.”
“I mean, to a four-year-old girl, a dinosaur and a unicorn are likely in the same general category—but one is definitely prettier than the other.”
He spun around so quickly I nearly tripped into a pile of empty panda skins.
“Did you just compare a mythical creature to one of the greatest wonders to ever walk our planet?”
Feeling more ornery than usual, I smirked and selected our two limp unicorn forms from the shelf. “You mean, one of the greatest extinct wonders? Yes, I did. Because I’m sure you can see how a child could easily confuse extinction and mythology.”
His eyes narrowed on me, causing a bout of suppressed laughter to expand my chest, a feeling as foreign as it was rare these days. “You just declared war, Lauren Bailey.”
Exhilarated by the challenge in his tone, I practically skipped to the fluff tank line. With quick, long strides, he followed after me.
As we waited to fill our multicolored unicorns with batting, Joshua used the time to inform me of all things dinosaur, as if he were debating a hot topic at a political rally.
“Did you know a single T-Rex tooth was over a foot long?”
“Can’t say that I did.”
His grin broadened. “And did you know the Dromiceiomimus could run up to forty miles an hour?”
“Nope,” I said as snottily as possible while the grandmother in front of us filled four black-and-white puppy dogs to maximum capacity.
“And it’s currently under debate by paleontologists, but it’s believed that the Stegosaurus could actually sing through the crests on its head.”
That one stopped my charade cold as my mind tried to make sense of a singing dinosaur the size of a school bus. “Did you just say sing?”
“Yes.” Joshua was loving this impromptu trivia game. “Sometimes as a warning for predators but also for romantic encounters.”
My jaw slacked just enough at his explanation that Joshua reached out and gently tapped the underside of my chin to close my gaping mouth.
“See? So much better than a myth.” He spoke in such an intimately quiet voice that I nearly forgot I was in the middle of a toy store days before Christmas. And suddenly I wanted nothing more than to hear him speak that way to me again. To hold me close and whisper against my mouth and—
“Miss? Miss?”
Joshua placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me to face the exasperated Build-A-Bear employee waiting to fill my droopy unstuffed creature.
“Oh, sorry. Here you go.” I handed her the lifeless unicorn and tried not to react to the loss of Joshua’s touch.
“Just tell me when,” the clerk said, pumping the fluff pedal with her foot.
The velvety unicorn expanded to life.
“That’s good,” I said, making sure the neck was still floppy enough to be snuggled by a child.
“And what would you like to add inside it?” she asked.
“Oh . . . uh . . .” With all of the dinosaur talk, I’d forgotten about this part. The specialty add-ins.
The young wo
man, who looked to be in her last year of high school, began listing off our choices with about as much enthusiasm as the stuffed animals she filled. “A fabric heart, a beating heart, a fruity fragrance, a sound machine, a voice recorder . . .”
Joshua’s breath on my cheek sent a shock wave of tingles up my spine. “That’s more choices than I give myself in an entire day.”
I laughed and then spoke to—I searched for her name tag—Kelsey. “I think we’ll just do the fabric heart option today, thanks.”
Kelsey nodded and reached into the bin of flimsy, satin-red hearts. She handed them over to us with instructions to make a wish before she sewed them inside our chosen creatures.
And just like that, as I brought the silky heart to my lips, the obnoxious organ in the center of my own chest began to knock.
What should I wish for? The question flitted through my mind, yet the gravity of it took root.
Without hesitation, Joshua handed his wished-on heart over, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. As if giving it away didn’t have lasting, eternal implications or consequences. As if simply believing in happily-ever-afters was enough to make them a reality.
Why can’t I be the same way?
As if sensing the struggle going on in my head, Joshua stepped in to me and placed his hand on my upper back. “You need more time?”
Something about the patient way he asked, warming my face with his gaze and my ears with the timbre of his voice, prevented me from retreating behind my crumbling wall of self-protection. Because I was beyond exhausted from reinforcing the boundary between Joshua and my heart. What exactly was the point of blocking him out now anyway? It wasn’t like I was actively pursuing a child to bring home at the moment. As far as Small Wonders was concerned, I was on hiatus until . . . until I didn’t know when.
What if losing Noah was the big neon sign confirming that adoption wasn’t meant to be my path? That no matter how much I’d prayed it into being, the adoption door, just like the nursery door in my home, was supposed to remain closed. What if . . . what if Joshua had been the door I’d been meant to open from the very beginning?
