“Don’t be dramatic.”
“Don’t be patronizing.”
“How am I being patronizing? Why would you need to quit your job if I’m lucky enough to convince Josie to be a part of this house?”
“There wouldn’t be room for anyone else here, Ethan. This is her house, remember? The one she used to dream about living in … with you. It’s a house built on the memories of her Avery. Not mine. You and Josie loved Avery. I was on the periphery.
“I spent way too many years playing the third wheel, Ethan. I won’t do it again. If Josie comes back, then she needs to sit in the director’s chair, not me. She needs to come back, heart and soul, not just dabble in some part-time counseling. And if she can’t, then she really doesn’t belong here.”
He sat back, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. Shit. This is not how this was supposed to go. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead.”
Ethan winced. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say Go back to Boston, Josie. Easy-peasy.”
Ethan smiled tightly, but couldn’t miss the fear in Molly’s eyes. Time to tread lightly. Very, very lightly.
“I don’t know, Mols. I have no idea what’s going to happen. She could show up here tomorrow with her suitcase packed, saying her good-byes.”
“Exactly my point, Ethan. She could do that any day, job offer or not. Or not show up at all and just be AWOL some morning. I think that’s the part you have to remember. She’s pretty good at the running-when-things-get-sucky thing.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
“Well, then?”
“Well, then?” He sighed. “I guess I just want to believe that maybe we’re worth not running from this time.”
* * *
Three days after her mind-altering trip to Avery’s House, Josie drove gingerly into her parents’ driveway. She felt like she was in a daze, suffering from three sleepless nights in a row. Coming to terms with Ethan buying their someday-house and naming it after Avery was big enough. Realizing he’d done it all with Molly and Josh was a whole different level of shock she hadn’t quite figured out how to process yet.
On one hand, she felt a sense of awe so huge it made her chest hurt. What he’d done was incredible. It was amazing. It was—God—inspiring, and it humbled her in a way she hadn’t yet come to terms with.
She’d been so afraid of him following in her dad’s footsteps that she’d forgotten to figure in that this was … Ethan. She should have known better. Way better. And she was ashamed of herself for not believing in him ten years ago. Ashamed that she hadn’t believed he could be the kind of man she’d want to spend forever with.
She’d been dead wrong.
She’d texted him the day after she’d seen the house, asking for time and space, and he—so far—was abiding by her request. She’d spent the days sitting with Dad, alternately relieved Ethan was doing as she’d asked—and wishing he’d ignore her and come charging in on a white steed, scooping her up and promising to make everything all right again.
A tinny version of “Jingle Bells” assaulted Josie’s ears as she unlocked the front door of her parents’ house and stepped inside, making her stop warily. What in the world? Christmas carols played twenty-four-seven at Snowflake Village, but Josie couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever heard one playing at home.
Even when it was really the holiday season, Mom had never allowed carols in the house. Said they drove her crazy as a loon. Right, Josie had always thought. Because that’d be such a long trip.
“Mom? Mom?” She stood rooted in the doorway, instinctively ready to flee. A lump of fear settled deep in her stomach. Mom had been doing so well. Had something finally made her snap? Was Josie about to walk around the corner and see her sprawled half-cocked on the couch, a wine bottle in her hand, even though it was only one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon?
Her breath came faster as she peered around the corner, but instead of the scene she feared, she saw Mom standing on tiptoes to put a little glass angel at the top of a freshly cut Christmas tree.
Um …
“Mom?” Josie padded softly into the living room, trying not to startle her, trying not to admit to herself that she was walking like she might approach a fragile patient. Mom was humming—humming!—a sound Josie hadn’t heard since she was really little.
Three steps more, and she’d be close enough to get a look in her eyes. Then she’d know whether she needed to play the let’s-go-to-the-hospital game so Mom could get dried out before she did more damage.
Mom finally turned toward her, bright smile and clear-as-glass eyes flashing her way. “Josie! You startled me! I didn’t expect you yet! Shoot! I’m not quite finished!” She crossed the room and grabbed Josie into a fierce hug. “Come on in! Want to help me do the last decorations?”
“Mom?” Josie tipped her head. Was she witnessing a woman about to step over the proverbial edge?
“Don’t worry. I’m not going nuts. I just needed a pick-me-up, so I had Ike cut me a little tree and bring it over this morning. Thought we could decorate it and have our own little mini-Christmas in August.”
“Do you … do this often?”
“Nope! First time!”
Suddenly a scent hit Josie’s nose, and she looked toward the kitchen in alarm. “What’s that smell?”
Mom tried to mute her smile, but only lasted a second before she broke. “That, my dear, is called roast chicken.”
“From the actual oven?”
“Yes, with mashed potatoes, crisp green beans, and fresh, hot yeast rolls with butter.”
Josie stared at Mom. “Are you an alien posing as my mother?” She sniffed again. “What else do I smell out there?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” Mom motioned her into the kitchen, and Josie followed, madly trying to reconcile new-Mom with old-Mom. Apparently she wasn’t done being startled by the differences.
As they came into the kitchen, Josie spotted gingerbread men on a cooling rack and little bowls of pastel frosting at the ready. She looked at the cookies, then at Mom, then at the cookies again. “You made gingerbread cookies?”
Mom nodded. “They used to be your favorite, remember?” She winked, then opened the fridge.
Josie nodded warily, checking out Mom’s pupils as she did so. Had she given up drinking only to move on to something more serious?
In the midst of taking cranberry sauce out of the fridge, Mom stopped mid-turn, then set the bowl carefully on the counter and put both hands on Josie’s shoulders. “Honey, you look like you’re seeing a ghost.” Then she put one hand to her mouth. “Oh God. You kind of are, aren’t you?”
Josie nodded carefully, not trusting herself to speak.
“I promise you I’m fine right now. I’m not on any sort of manic high, or any sort of mood enhancer, or any sort of … anything. I’m just starting to feel optimistic about the strides your dad is making, and feeling incredibly grateful that you’re here.” She paused for a long breath. “And I got to thinking about all the terrible, lousy Christmases we had over the years, and I thought it’d be nice to have a normal one.”
“In August.”
“Well, yes. In August. But in my defense, I don’t know that you’ll be here in December, so I had to catch you while I could.” Mom tweaked her cheek like Josie was five. “I’m good, honey. Good. Happy. Things are going to be very different around here, but for today, for right now, I’ve got my daughter here and y’know what? We’re going to have Christmas!”
As she finished, the doorbell rang, and Mom got a cat-ate-the-canary look on her face. “Want to get the door?”
“Who’s here, Mom?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Go see!”
Josie walked to the door, shaking her head. Fresh tree in the living room, fresh chicken in the oven, fresh cookies on the counter. She’d definitely been away a long, long time. She opened the door and swallowed hard as she caught sight
of the person on the other side.
Chapter 38
Ethan grinned as he held up a bottle of sparkling grape juice and a Santa bag full of packages. “Ho-ho-ho! Merry Christmas!”
“Are you kidding me?” Josie couldn’t help but laugh as she opened the door to let him in. “You’re in on this craziness?” She almost looked behind him for the white steed.
“Better believe it.” He planted a kiss on her nose as he came in, like they’d just seen each other last night, not days ago. Like they’d left things all cozy and warm, not fragmented and strange. “It’s only the best kind of crazy, though.”
She stepped back and got a better look at him. “Omigod. What are you wearing?”
“A Christmas sweater, of course!”
A laugh burst from Josie’s very stomach as she looked at his impish eyes. “I cannot believe you still have that ugly thing!”
“Are you insulting my sweater? That you made?”
“It’s awful, Ethan.” She turned him around. “It’s got dropped stitches and holes all over the place. And—omigod—the left sleeve is about three inches longer than the right one.”
“It’s perfect.” He pulled her close and she couldn’t help but melt into him, scratchy wool sweater and all. “I loved it then and I love it now.” He leaned down and kissed her softly. “Are you okay?”
She nodded carefully. “I think so? I don’t quite know how to process this scene.” She waved vaguely toward the kitchen. “That’s not my mother in there.”
He laughed, running his index finger playfully down her nose. In an automatic gesture that surprised her, she grabbed it as she swatted it away. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then squeezed her fingers. “I’ve missed you at the park.”
“Well, there’s something I bet you never thought you’d say.”
“True enough.” He caressed her palm slowly, carefully, making her knees go squishy. “I’m hoping maybe you’ll be done avoiding me soon so we can talk.”
“I think I already told you that I don’t do avoidance.”
Dammit, why was her voice doing that shaky thing again?
“Of course you don’t.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve just been very, very busy the last three days.”
“I have!”
“Okay.” He used his chin to indicate the kitchen. “Do I smell chicken?”
Josie nodded, still a little mystified. “I think she actually cooked it.”
“This I gotta see.” He gave her fingers another squeeze, then motioned for her to precede him down the hallway.
As they walked into the kitchen, Mom was putting mashed potatoes into a bowl. The roast chicken was on a platter surrounded by greens, and a basket of perfectly browned rolls rounded out the picture. Josie stopped fast, causing Ethan to bump into her from behind. She looked over her shoulder at him, and he nodded encouragingly, then squeezed her waist as he sidled past.
“Diana! It smells delicious in here!” He walked over and kissed her on the cheek, pulling a bunch of flowers out of his Santa bag. “For you, madame.”
Mom grinned, taking the flowers and giving Ethan a hug. “Thank you! They’re lovely! I hope you’re hungry!”
“Dad sends his regrets, but he was bound and determined not to miss his poker game. Even for Christmas.”
“That’s fine. It’ll be just the three of us.” She motioned them toward the dining room. “Come! Let’s eat!”
When Josie walked through the archway into the dining room, she stopped again. What in the world? Candles were on the table, china was set, and the tiny chandelier over the table was decorated with swags of gold ribbon. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d used this room, let alone had an actual dinner in here.
Mom’s face was glowing as she watched Josie take in the scene. She bustled back and forth from kitchen to table, bringing in the food, then sat down, motioning Ethan and Josie to join her. “Sit! Sit!”
They sat. And ate. And ate some more. The food was delicious, better than anything Josie remembered Mom ever cooking. Ever. Josie couldn’t stop watching her the entire time they sat at the table. This mom was the one she remembered from way back in elementary school, the one who’d spin funny stories at dinnertime, the one who’d ask just the right questions and listen intently to the answers, the one who drew you into her light and made you never want to leave.
After an hour, Ethan pushed his chair back with a contented sigh. “Diana, I would never say this in front of Mama Bellini, but that meal rivaled anything I’ve ever had at the restaurant.”
“High praise indeed, coming from someone who eats there as often as you do.” Diana winked, and Josie was struck once again by the thought that this was one of those scenes she’d dreamed up long ago, where she’d bring home a boyfriend for dinner, and Mom would cook a chicken and joke around with him while Josie made plans to get him alone later.
“Should we do presents?” Ethan’s eyes were playful as he grabbed a couple of serving dishes and headed to the kitchen. Diana followed him, but Josie was momentarily too stunned to even stand up. Is this what Christmas was supposed to be like? Warm and soft and delicious-tasting? Cinnamon candles, laughter, and horribly adorable wool sweaters?
She thought back to Christmas of her senior year, when Christmas had been anything but those things.
* * *
Josie stared at the last embers of the fire Dad had started hours ago in a delusional fit. Because, of course, a fire in the fireplace would make it feel like Christmas even if Mom was already half in the bag and he was already half out the door. She drained her glass of eggnog and picked up the Malibu Barbie Mom had ordered from the Internet. It was exactly what she’d wanted … eight years ago. Same with the stuffed puppy and Easy-Bake oven on the coffee table.
She leaned over to look down the hall, but there wasn’t a sound. Dad had left for the park two hours ago, and Mom had responded by finishing her bottle of Stoli and dragging her muttering self to bed. At least there hadn’t been screaming this year.
Josie reached under the couch and brought out three gaily wrapped packages with bows and ribbons and shiny tags, all addressed to her. She opened the first one and gasped dramatically. It was the book she’d been eyeing at Turn-the-Page for weeks. Four hundred pages of pure, unadulterated escapism, and she couldn’t wait to sink into the recliner and start it. The next package was a CD of the group Ethan had taken her to see in Boston. Just listening to it would bring her back to that long car ride together, the energy of the concert … the whole weekend away from Camp Ho-Ho.
The last present was soft, and at first she grimaced. “Clothes.” Then she smiled and ripped open the paper, pulling out a brand-new Wellesley College sweatshirt. She put it to her cheek, grinning like an idiot. Her early acceptance had come last week, but she hadn’t told anyone yet.
She gathered up the paper, folding it carefully, then the ribbon. Lastly, she grabbed the tags so she could make sure they hit the trash before anyone saw them.
After all, seeing three tags marked “To Josie, From Josie” would pretty much peg the pathetic scale, and she didn’t need anybody to know she’d bought her own damn Christmas presents this year.
* * *
“Jos? You still awake?” Ethan leaned down and whispered in her ear, making her shiver deliciously. Damn him.
She shook her head, knocking the memory out as she pushed back her chair to help clear the rest of the table. “Yup. Sorry. Just a little discombobulated.”
“That a therapist word?” His eyes looked too knowing, like he could see right through her.
“Nope. I’m just trying to process … everything. Avery’s House, you…” She motioned to the table, the candles. “This.”
He picked up a bowl of pickles. “I’m really sorry you had to find out about it the way you did. Molly had no right to do that. I really am sorry.”
“You’re not responsible for Molly’s actions, Ethan.”
“No, but if I’d told you
about Avery’s House myself, I wouldn’t have given her the opening to do it like she did.”
“True. But what’s done is done, Ethan. Molly’s—she’s just trying to protect you.”
“From?”
“Me.”
“I hardly need protecting, especially from—you.”
“Well, she doesn’t agree.” Josie picked up the salt and pepper shakers. “And I understand. I do.”
She did. Of all the thoughts flipping through her mind the past three days, this was the part that surprised her the most—this sympathy for Molly’s actions. And though she wished Ethan had been the one to show her Avery’s House, and do it his own way, at least now she knew.
Diana came back through the doorway. “You know what? I think I might head back to the rehab hospital and check on your dad for a bit. I trust you can find something to do to entertain yourselves?”
“Diana, I think you just made your daughter blush.” Ethan winked at Josie as he gathered their plates.
“I’m too old to blush.” Josie grabbed two serving bowls and headed into the kitchen.
Mom joined her at the sink, brushing shoulders conspiratorially. “Never get too old to blush, sweetie.” She washed her hands, then turned to grab her purse off the barstool at the counter. “Leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.”
As she headed down the hallway, she blew a kiss. “Be good!”
After they’d done the dishes, Ethan pointed to the gingerbread cookies. “Was she hoping we would decorate these?”
“I have no idea. This is not a scene I’ve ever been part of before.”
He picked up a cookie and a knife. “I bet I can frost more than you.”
“Oh really? Now you’re a pastry chef, too?”
“Nope. Just love cookies. Mom used to let David and me race.”
“That sounds messy. Two boys, frosting, and a race?”
“Yeah. She loved it.”
Josie smiled, picking up a knife and a cookie. “Ready?”
Forever This Time Page 28
