Smart Girl

by Rachel Hollis

  When I come back a few minutes later, the jewelry box is exactly where I left it, and Liam is lounging against the pillows, drinking his coffee. He laughs when I run across the room and leap onto the bed with the enthusiasm of a flying squirrel. I sit on my knees in front of the box and look at him expectantly.

  “Are you going to open it?”

  I nod quickly. “I’m just memorizing this moment.” I look around us at the bedroom with framed movie posters and monogrammed bedding that must have been designed for his teenage self. The bed is as rumpled as the man lying in it. The winter sun is streaming in through the French doors. The room smells like coffee.

  “Come on now—don’t romanticize this.” His voice is playful, but there’s a tension in his posture that wasn’t there a moment ago. “It’s just a little something.”

  I pick up the box and keep the smile on my face, though inside I feel like I just got reprimanded like a child. Can’t I even have a small moment for me? Does everything—even my own reaction to the situation—have to be mandated by what makes him feel most comfortable?

  He sits up and taps the box, playful once again. “Come on. Open it.”

  I slowly pull the end of the white ribbon and untie it. I’ve never had anything from Tiffany’s before, and I wouldn’t ever really think of them as having something that would suit my style; they’re pretty conservative. But I’m dying to know what he picked out for me. I lift the lid carefully and find a small pouch the exact same color as the box. Liam watches me, and I can feel how excited he is to gauge my reaction, even if he says this isn’t a big deal.

  “There were so many things to choose from.” He launches in as I untie the strings of the bag. “Tons of hearts and charm bracelets, and none of that really felt like you.” I pull open the cinch of the bag but still can’t see inside of it. “And then I saw this, and I thought that it was weird.” My breath catches as a gold chain slides out of the bag into my palm. “So wonderfully weird,” he whispers as we both stare down into my hand.

  It’s a gold pendant—actually, it’s a rose-gold pendant, which is so much prettier. At the center of a dainty chain is a perfect golden bean. Like, an actual bean—as in lima, as in kidney, as in coffee—a bean, made of gold. He’s right; it is weird. And so pretty, and so me, and so very, very expensive.

  “It’s perfect, thank you,” I tell him sincerely through a dozen kisses. “I feel badly I only got you a scantily clad Santa costume.”

  He brushes my hair back from my face. “Hey now, don’t hate on the Santa costume. That’s my new favorite Christmas memory.”

  I giggle while fighting to open the tiny clasp on the necklace. When I have it on, I look to him for some reaction. I’m wearing an oversize T-shirt, a necklace, and a smile—all of which he gave me.

  “You are beautiful.” He’s said it to me too many times to count over the last month, but I never get used to it. It makes my heart stutter and my stomach flip over every time.

  “So are you,” I whisper back.

  He runs a hand down my hair, to my arm, and then down to my fingertips.

  “All right, nymph, I don’t know what we have here for breakfast, but I think we better go figure it out. I have all sorts of plans for you today, and all of them require that you keep your energy up.”

  He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I let him pull me from the bed and downstairs to the kitchen. Once we’re there I make him stop removing things from the cabinets long enough to show me how to work the sound system. It isn’t long before the sound of Christmas music fills the whole house.

  “Really?” he asks when I come back into the kitchen accompanied by Dean Martin singing “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

  “Yes, really.” I ignore his imperious tone. “If you can’t listen to members of the Rat Pack sing about cartoon reindeer, then it doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

  He smirks. “All right then, any other traditions I should know about?”

  I consider making up something along the lines of If you can’t watch a hot blond guy make your breakfast without wearing his shirt, it doesn’t feel like Christmas either. But then, Liam doesn’t need any extra excuses to try to get either one of us out of our clothes.

  “I’ll keep you posted,” I tell him with a wink.

  I jump up on the counter to watch him work. Yes, sitting on a granite countertop wearing only his T-shirt is a tad chilly. But the way his eyes keep darting to my legs and my shoulder, which is bare where the T-shirt is hanging off it, makes the chance of catching a cold totally worth it. I watch between sips of coffee as he pulls out the ingredients for pancakes.

  He turns on the griddle on the massive Viking stove. “Luckily for us both, the just-add-water mix doesn’t require any fresh ingredients. I didn’t get a chance to go to the grocery store.”

  The Ashton family uses this house pretty regularly but not enough to keep perishable food on hand. Each time I’ve spent the weekend with them here, a trip to the grocery store has always been one of the first things on the agenda. Every single one of them is obsessed with food, so each meal ends up being a production. Me, on the other hand? I’m always just happy to eat. I hope whatever someone puts in front of me will be delicious, but I also think a breakfast sandwich or a Twinkie can be just as tasty as a five-course meal.

  “I actually won’t know the difference,” I tell him. “Just-add-water pancakes are the only kind of homemade pancake I’ve ever known.”

  He glances down at my legs dangling off the edge of the counter and stares at my toes swinging back and forth. “How upsetting for you,” he says absentmindedly.

  I throw a kitchen towel in his direction, effectively drawing his attention away from whatever dirty thought is flitting through his head. I’m starving, and I need some kind of snack if he expects to lock me in a room all day.

  “Food first, pal!”

  “What?” He looks back at the heated griddle and the bowl of pancake batter all but forgotten in his hands. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  He pours the batter out into large pancakes and then sets the rest of it on the counter. He turns back around and leans against the counter opposite me; his eyes are back on my legs again.

  “I put them on the griddle.” He jerks his head towards the stove. “What in the world are we going to do to occupy ourselves while they cook?”

  I know that look in his eyes; this is going to go downhill in a hurry. The song switches over to Bing Crosby, and the sounds of a ukulele fill the house as Liam closes the distance between us.

  “I always thought this was such a random song.” Maybe if I keep him talking I can at least eat, like, half a pancake or something before he attacks me. “I mean, Bing Crosby isn’t even—” I gasp when his lips touch my collarbone. “He isn’t even Hawaiian,” I finish breathlessly.

  Liam makes some sort of noise in his throat, an attempt to pretend to be listening to whatever I’m saying. But based on the direction his hands are headed and the kisses he’s raining down on the expanse of exposed shoulder, I think we both know Bing’s allegiance to the Islands isn’t even registering right now.

  I let my head fall to the side to give him better access to my neck. My fingers slide through his wavy hair, holding him closer to me.

  “Well”—the sardonic voice breaks through the fog of lust with the tenderness of an ice pick—“I’m pretty sure your pancakes are burned.”

  Liam rips his hands out from underneath my T-shirt, and we both turn to stare in horror at Max standing in the entryway.

  Craaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.

  But worse—so much worse than my best friend, who is clearly super pissed—is the entire Ashton family standing in the entryway behind her.

  Charlie and Viv are staring in openmouthed shock. Landon is holding a casserole dish, and her face is almost as red as her sweater. Beside her Brody has his arms filled with grocery ba
gs and his head down. Even from here I can tell he’s trying to cover up laughter. Cas and Malin look like they’re fighting laughter too.

  “Mele Kalikimaka” continues to trumpet through the house while I want to shrivel up and die. Liam’s parents just caught us going at it on their kitchen counter, and his hands were up my shirt. Liam’s eyes dart quickly to mine, and I can’t make out a single emotion in them. Everything is locked behind a totally unflappable façade.

  Just then Taylor bustles down the hallway, bogged down with presents, and nearly slams into everyone gathered there.

  “Wait, what did I miss?” he asks everyone’s back. Then he looks beyond them to me half naked on the countertop next to Liam in his pajamas, and he draws his own conclusion. He sets his packages down slowly, his eyes darting repeatedly to Max, who looks like she’s about thirty seconds from going full-on Chernobyl and taking me and her brother down with her.

  “Well, Jennings,” he drawls. “I’d say I told you so, but that doesn’t seem very charitable on Christmas morning.”

  Max’s head turns sharply in his direction like a shark smelling blood in the water. If I had the advantage of clothing right now, I’d actually walk across the room and hug him. I’m not sure if he’s doing it to try to dispel the tension around us or to draw her anger on himself, but either way it’s more than I expected or deserved. Maybe it was Taylor’s joke or Max’s change of focus, but it’s like someone pressed “Play” on the scene again, and everyone hops into motion once more. Vivian steps forward a bit awkwardly.

  “We’re sorry to uh . . . disturb you both. We just all felt so badly about spending another holiday without Liam. We thought if we came here, then you could more easily split up the day between us and your mother. Bring the mountain to Muhammad and all that.”

  I can tell by the way she stumbles over the words that even if Taylor had a clue that something was going on, Vivian definitely did not. And now she not only knows but has seen what we’ve been up to. How perfectly mortifying. I feel like such an absolute trollop. I slide myself slowly down off the countertop, hoping that Liam will say something. He could explain everything or even make a joke, but some explanation from him would go a long way towards easing the tension in the room. When he only stands there biting down on his molars, I try to think of something appropriate. What do you say when your family friends discover you half naked on the countertop?

  “I’ll just . . . go get dressed.”

  As far as epic responses go, this has got to be one of my best. I cross my arms in front of my chest and hightail it out of the kitchen as fast as I can without breaking into a full sprint.

  When I get back upstairs, I consider going to the guest room I’ve used every other time I’ve stayed here. But if someone caught me switching rooms, that would seem more awkward than just staying in Liam’s. I close the door behind me and lean up against it while willing my heart rate to slow down.

  Good gods! That has got to be one of the most mortifying things that has ever happened to me in my life. The look of shock on Vivian’s face, the embarrassment on Landon’s, even Brody fighting the urge to laugh. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. It’s horrible, and . . . and . . . the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.

  Laughter bubbles up out of my throat, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand to keep from making loud guffaws that would lower their opinion of me even more. I laugh and snort until my eyes water, and when the giggling subsides, I take a deep breath. OK, that was embarrassing. But if the worst thing that happens in your life is that you walk in on your son getting to second base, you’re pretty flipping lucky. I’ll apologize to Charlie and Viv. I’ll apologize to everyone, but someday we’ll all look back on this and laugh. I’m just starting that party early. I nod at this sound wisdom and hurry to take a quick shower. I don’t bother washing my hair, because I’ve got no time to style it and I don’t want to face them downstairs looking like a drowned rat. I pull on a pair of skinny jeans with some boots and a cozy sweater that’s almost exactly the color of Liam’s eyes. I swipe on a little mascara and some lip balm before cleaning up the mess I made in the bathroom. Suddenly it occurs to me. They know.

  His family knows.

  All of our friends know.

  After all of this time sneaking around, we just became official. We’re together on a holiday and buying each other gifts, and now we can just be together out in the real world. I grin at my reflection happily. I never really go about things the normal way, but I do get there eventually.

  There’s a light knock at the door, and I take a deep breath before turning to go answer it. Time to face the music.

  Landon is standing in the hallway holding a doughnut in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She starts to smile demurely, but her lips barely curl halfway before she breaks into full cackling laughter. I take the doughnut and coffee before she spills them all over the carpet. She runs her fingers under her watering eyes to make sure no mascara has run.

  “Lord, girl, I haven’t had such a shock on Christmas since Mama’s cousin Jimmy Paul announced that he was leaving his wife, Carol, because he was actually in love with a teller named Michael down at the First National Bank.”

  I lean against the doorjamb and take a bite of the doughnut. “I’m so glad my mortification amuses you. Jerk.”

  She shrugs, still giggling a little.

  “How is everyone reacting to this . . . uh, Christmas surprise?”

  “They may have busted into the eggnog a bit earlier than usual, but I think that’s more for embarrassment than from any real anger.”

  I nod, finishing up the last bite of doughnut. “Good to know.”

  “I did come to get you, though,” she says, straightening herself upright.

  “I’m invited to the eggnog party?” I ask cheekily.

  Her smile drops a little. “You are, but I actually came to get you so you can talk to Max.”

  I wince. “How mad is she?”

  Landon winces too. “She’s sitting out on the back patio staring at the water. Even Taylor has stopped trying to get her to talk. I think you need to go out there.”

  It was only a matter of time before I was going to have to have this conversation with Max. I just sort of hoped one or both of us would be drunk when it happened to make it a little easier. I grab a scarf out of my bag and wrap it around my neck as I follow Landon downstairs. Luckily I don’t see anyone on the way there.

  When we get to the French doors that look out over the patio, I can see Max sitting on a chair, staring silently out over the Pacific. I swear the tension in her spine is visible even from here.

  “You want me to come with?” Landon asks.

  “Yes.” My sigh is resigned. “But I should probably do it by myself.”

  She nods sagely. “May the odds be ever in your favor.”

  “Oh man, I’m not even sure a Hunger Games reference can give me courage in a time like this.”

  She grins. “Hey, I lived through this with her, and you will too.”

  With that, I head in the direction of the angry girl at the other end of the yard. When I reach her she doesn’t look up at me; she just continues to stare out at the ocean. The day is gray and cold, and also foggy enough that I know she can’t be out here admiring the view. I wonder if she’s playing with her medical bracelet to keep her fingers from reaching out to strangle me. I sit down on a chair next to hers and hug the sweater around me to ward off the chill.

  When she still doesn’t say anything, I decide it may as well be me who does.

  “Are you super pissed?”

  Max from a year ago would have let me have it. In fact, she wouldn’t have come out here to calm down at all. She would have chased me up the stairs hurling accusations and making sure I knew exactly how angry she was. I can tell that this Max is battling with herself, trying hard to calm down enough to speak,
and she still won’t look at me.

  “Of course I’m pissed,” she says finally.

  I shrug my hands up inside the sleeves of my sweater and hold on to the fabric, bracing myself for wherever this is going. I knew she wouldn’t be OK with Liam and me dating. I knew it would be the thing that pushed her over the edge.

  “I know it’s weird for you,” I start carefully. “Because I’m dating your brother.”

  She turns her head to look at me finally. Incredulity and something else I can’t name are written all over her face. I try to speak faster.

  “But I, um . . . I promise I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t serious. I—” Probably better not to announce the whole love thing when she’s already so pissed. “I really, really like him, Max. I have for a long time. And he’s wonderful.” I reach up under the scarf to touch the necklace at my throat with a small smile. “But I don’t need to tell you that, you—”

  “Stop.” The word is wrenched from her throat, like it’s actually painful for her to say it. The look on her face morphs again, and my stomach drops when I recognize what it is. Pity. “Miko, I am pissed at you. So mad I want to shake you or punch you or anything that might knock some sense into you.”

  My voice is barely a whisper.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “How could you put yourself in this situation?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’re sleeping with him,” she says emphatically.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “You’re sleeping with him when I know that’s not normal for you. You’ve been sleeping with each other long enough that you’re slipping away on vacation together.”

  “That’s not how it—”

  She stands up in one angry burst.

  “How many times since you got together have we all hung out? How many times have we all met up for drinks? How many dinners? How many movie nights?”

  “I know it maybe feels like we were dishonest by not mentioning—”