by Daphne Slade
Noah has handled it all perfectly, as cool as a cucumber. Honestly, I think he finds the whole thing amusing, though I swear he was ready to physically fight for me at one point.
I love that guy.
I’m outside taking a breather, while Noah chats with Greg, who is almost as smitten with him as I am, much to Vanessa’s dismay. They’re talking hockey and cars.
In fact, it was Noah’s suggestion that I come out here to get a moment to myself. Once again, it’s a relief to finally have a man I can lean on, who will shoulder some of my burden like this.
I’ll have to make it up to him tonight. Maybe in an especially noisy way just to annoy my family. Hell, they already think the worst of me as it is.
I laugh softly into the night air.
In the front walkway, I allow the chill in the air to invigorate me as I stare at the holiday decorations for all the other homes on our street. The Arlingtons wouldn’t dare be gauche enough to put up the tree before Thanksgiving. Decorating it tomorrow should help cool some of the embers I’ve lit tonight. That’s usually fun, despite Vanessa’s bossiness about ornament placement.
The door opens behind me and I brace myself before turning to see that it’s Eliza. She grins and comes over to stand by me.
“So, how is Harvard?” I ask.
She laughs, ignoring the question as she digs into her jeans pocket. My eyes go wide when she pulls out a joint and a lighter.
“Jeez Eliza, right here in public?”
“Oh come on, Grace. Do you think the cops are going to roll down this street looking for pot smokers to nab? Besides, it’s legal here…mostly.”
I exhale a soft laugh and shake my head as she lights it and takes a drag. “I guess this is how you cope.”
“No, I cope by not giving a damn. Something you’re quickly learning, grasshopper,” she says, laughing out a puff of smoke. “You just let Vanessa get under your skin too much, and you let Mom and Dad run you around like a trained puppy. The key is to stay just a teensy bit feral to keep you sane. Otherwise one Thanksgiving you show up and…go completely nuclear.”
I cough out a laugh, ending it with a broad smile.
Eliza observes me with one eye squinted closed. “Looks like you’re finally over that ridiculous hangup you have about your mouth too.”
“Like you never teased me about it,” I accuse.
“Yeah, when I was like seven! Good grief, Grace, you used to tease me about my pug nose but I don’t constantly swipe at it every time someone mentions the word ‘nose’ or stares at the center of my face.”
I open my mouth to protest, then close it when I realize she has a point.
“Here.” She offers the joint to me by way of a peace offering.
“I think I’m in enough trouble with the parental units as it is.”
She laughs. “Oh please, I bet Mom and Dad toke up every night when we’re not here. Don’t let the aura of elitism fool you.”
I tilt my head in consideration of that, then I accept.
We pass back and forth a few times. It doesn’t take long for it to hit my head, leaving me grinning like a damn fool.
“So…Noah Donahue,” she muses.
“Yarp,” I say, mimicking the character from Hot Fuzz.
Eliza laughs as she takes the joint from me.
“He’s cute.”
“Yarp.”
“And nice.”
“Yarp.”
She laughs. “And he can certainly handle Mom and Dad.”
“Yarp.”
“Definitely nothing like Matt.”
“Narp?” I say, also quoting the character from the movie.
We both laugh for a good minute at that one.
“So you’re going to be a hockey wife, huh?” she asks once the giggles have subsided.
I stare at the lights on the house ahead and take a long slow drag. I breathe it out just as slowly, allowing a broad smile to come to my mouth. “Yarp.”
Noah and I are in my bedroom now that the evening is blessedly over. I’m curled up next to him as we lean against the headboard.
“Sorry about leaving you for so long. Blame Eliza. She’s too philosophical for her own good.”
“No problem. It was entertaining.”
“Entertaining? They weren’t too hard on you, were they?”
“Your dad grilled me on GDP and macroeconomics, I assume to make sure I’ve been paying attention in class. Your mother by now knows my family tree all the way to the roots, though I don’t think she’s all that impressed. Points for being thorough, I’ll give them that much. I think maybe they’ve relented half an inch.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, curling into his side.
He chuckles and hugs me. “No problem. Besides, I think you needed the pot break.”
“What?” I say, pulling away. “How did you know?”
He laughs. “Come on, I can smell it all over you. You giggled every time Vanessa said anything. That was worth it just to watch her go crazy with irritation. Then there was the amount of candied nuts you popped in your mouth like you couldn’t stop.”
I giggle, suddenly finding it all hilarious. Normally, I’d be horrified at the idea that the entire family knew.
“I rest my case, stoner,” he says pulling me back in with a laugh.
“It’s not something I do regularly,” I say, still giggling uncontrollably.
“You don’t say,” he says sarcastically and chuckles.
“Oh and, by the way, I told Eliza I’m going to marry you.”
He turns to me with an even bigger grin, staring at me for just a moment. It’s enough to have my giggling come to a halt.
“You don’t say.”
Epilogue
It’s Christmas Eve, and Grace and I have just been dropped off at my parents' home here in Milwaukee.
“Oh, wow,” Grace says in wonder, looking at the front lawn of the house I grew up in. “This is what your Christmases were like?”
I chuckle and take her hand. “It’s been toned down a bit since I was a kid.”
“This is toned down?” she exclaims, looking at the colorful Christmas lights covering every edge and corner of the house, the reindeer, Santa, and snowmen on the lawn. Brightly lit snowflakes hang from the trees. Other houses on the street are similarly “seasonally vibrant.”
The house itself is modest in an equally modest neighborhood. But the lawns are large and the street is quiet, a far cry from the townhomes and claustrophobic streets I’ve seen in major cities on the East Coast. I spent much of my childhood playing in the yards with neighborhood kids, or all of us shutting down the street for a few games of street hockey.
“Come on, wait ’til you see the inside,” I say, walking her up the path to the front door.
Grace takes a deep breath, bracing herself. I told her she had nothing to worry about with my family. After experiencing the holidays with the Arlingtons, I can understand why she might be skeptical that any holiday get-together could be stress-free and enjoyable. That was…certainly something.
I ring the doorbell and hear the chime set to “Jingle Bells.” Grace bursts out laughing in surprise just as the door is opened. She goes instantly silent, her hand coming up to her mouth in horror that this is her introduction to the family.
It’s Dad who’s answered the door. He looks just like an older version of me, still in decent shape. He notes the way Grace has gone silent, the expression on her face full of self-reproach. His eyes slide to me and we both start laughing.
“You must be Grace,” he says reaching out a hand to shake. “One thing you’ll learn in this house, we never apologize for having a good laugh.”
Grace smiles and takes his hand. He uses it to pull her in for a quick hug then lead her inside where it is indeed even more impressively decorated than the outside. Every surface holds some tribute to the season. The star of the show is a Christmas tree that is at least ten feet tall, so filled with ornaments you can hardly see the green
. Christmas carols playlist fills the air, right now with “Snow Ride.”
The boisterous conversation that was taking place, something about which actress could best play a certain role in some movie, comes to a standstill as Dad plants Grace in the center of the living room. I come up to stand next to her.
Introductions are made, and everyone, even Kate, does their best to make her feel at home. Grace has bought small gifts for everyone, mostly gift cards, and toys for the kids, which certainly helps them warm up to her even more.
Once Grace and I are settled on the couch with egg nog in our hands, the expected inquisition begins. She’s leaning into my side, as usual, fitting right into that perfect spot we’ve created for each other. At this point, it feels empty when she’s not there.
“So, the obvious question, how did you two meet?” Amanda asks.
I grin and twist my head to face Grace and we share a chuckle. She told me about Erin’s suggestion that my finding her tied up in Matt’s bed should be our official “meet-cute.” I’m learning far more than I want to about romance terminology through my girlfriend.
“Uh-oh, I see that look,” Jessica croons. “Spill, spill!”
I roll my tongue around in my cheek. “Well, it’s a funny story. I had stayed late to practice while the team went to a bar, so—“
“And,” Grace interrupts, laughing and resting a hand on my thigh to silence me. She keeps it there. “The real story is, we met the first day of classes. Some boy in the back of the class was being a…” she pauses, wondering how to put it.
“Smartass,” I fill in for her, knowing my family has a high tolerance for colorful language.
She laughs softly along with everyone else.
“His word, not mine. Anyway, I turned to look at him,” just as she does now, that mouth spreading into a dazzling smile, “and thought he was kinda cute if a bit cocky.”
“And I thought the girl at the front of the class was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen,” I finish.
She continues to stare up at me, her smile growing impossibly wider.
I lean in to kiss her, which gets a lot of noisy reaction mostly in the form of teasing or cooing noises.
“Okay, and now the version you obviously didn’t want us to hear,” Kate calls out.
Grace softly groans against my lips as I chuckle against hers.
“Told you she was the troublemaker,” I whisper before pulling away.
“That version stays in the vault,” I say, giving Kate an arched eyebrow.
“Oh, come on, we can handle it.”
“I think that’s a sign it’s time for dinner,” Mom announces, giving me a knowing smile.
She gingerly rises from the chair of honor where she’s been sitting. She looks better than I expected, still a bit thin, but at least she has some of her pep back, and the cancer is still firmly in remission. The wig she’s wearing is stylishly cut in a way that I’m sure makes her laugh at herself whenever she sees her reflection. Mom has a wry sense of humor.
The Donahues’ version of Christmas dinner, all homemade rather than catered, is to leave you feeling like a stuffed pig, and then ply you with more. I know Mom will be sending everyone off with overflowing plates afterward.
Later on, A Christmas Story is on in the background as we continue to talk. I rise from the couch to get myself a bottle of beer from the kitchen, despite Grace’s insistence on getting it for me.
I’ve just pulled one out of the refrigerator when I see Mom walk in, holding her empty cup of nog.
“Here let me get that for you,” I say, setting the beer down and reaching out for it.
She laughs lightly and waves my hand away. “I’m done with people fussing over me. It was bad enough with your father. Keeping that man away from my washing machine is enough of a reason for me to fight this cancer, I tell you.”
I should at least smile at that but all it does is make me worry about it coming back.
“Oh stop, Noah. You’re not going back out there to Grace with that morose look on your face. Especially not at Christmas.”
She sets the mug down and leans against the counter to assess me. While I get my height, build, and dark hair from my father, my blue eyes are all Mom.
“They say you can tell a lot about a person, or rather a couple, from what they do when they know no one is looking. But I say, you can tell a lot about them from what they do without even knowing they’re doing it.”
I cock half a smile, wondering what it is she’s seen Grace and me do.
“She’s the touchy-feely type isn’t she?”
“Well, yeah but—”
“That wasn’t a criticism,” she says with a reassuring laugh. “The way your face lights up every time she puts her hand on you, that tells me everything. And her? Every time you just look at her, that smile of hers could light up an entire city. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like it.”
By now, Grace is secure enough that she’d take this as a compliment without feeling self-conscious.
“I suppose she must be special, being that you’ve never brought a girl home from college before,” she says with a cynical smile.
“Just biding my time, I guess,” I say with a grin.
“I guess some things are worth the wait. We’ll have to really do it up with the decorations next year, show her what the Donahues are capable of at Christmas.”
My grin grows larger, partially at the prospect that Mom fully expects to still be around next year. “You already have my life mapped out for me?”
She winks at me. “I have a good feeling.”
When I get back to join Grace I pull her in closer to whisper in her ear. “Good news, you’ve officially been invited back next year.”
Grace turns to me with a wry smile. “With that much advance notice, I guess I have to accept.”
“That’s good because I have a pretty good feeling next year you might just have a ring to show off.”
I already have the ring picked out, knowing Grace’s taste by now. Something classic, but stunning, just like her. Once I’m signed with a team and have that first paycheck it’s a done deal.
Now she fully twists to face me, that Hope Diamond smile shining brightly.
“You don’t say,” she says.
Bonus Epilogue…
Grace
“You look gorgeous, Grace.”
The old Grace would have immediately demurred. But by now I’ve had enough compliments, flattery, and outright adoration from my husband-to-be that I’m acclimated to accepting them as they come from others.
Besides, Erin’s right, I do look gorgeous in my wedding dress.
I smile at my reflection now that I’m fully put together. My hair is up, the way Noah likes it. The dress is very Grace Kelly, with long sleeves and a high collar of Chantilly lace. It’s a slim fit down to the hemline, with a beaded bodice, covering every inch. “Old fashioned” according to Eliza, her one and only complaint so far. That’s by design, I informed her.
Besides, it does make me feel like a princess.
One who is about to marry her prince.
“And to think, you could have had a destination wedding anywhere in the world, considering how much Noah probably makes,” Vanessa grouses. She sits on the edge of the sofa in the large suite of the luxury hotel where I’ve been preparing with my small bridal party. “Barbados? Tahiti? The French Riviera? No, we’re in Milwaukee of all places. I could have been sipping Mai Tais while waiting for you to get dressed.”
I can see Erin doing a fantastic job of holding her tongue as she eyes me in the mirror.
“I’m fine with this quality champagne, Grace,” Eliza says, already on her second glass as she gives me an overly amused smirk. Since that Thanksgiving during my senior year at Devington, she and I have become closer. We’re a united front at Thanksgiving, though with the growing additions—my Noah, and Vanessa’s equally down-to-earth Greg—harmony at the still-catered dinner table is easier to come
by these days.
“Hmm, Barbados,” Erin muses as she turns to face Vanessa with a questioning look. “Is that where you had your wedding?”
“What? No.”
“Ahh, I just figured you were speaking from experience being that you’re so dead set on dictating how Grace’s wedding should be.”
Point taken.
Vanessa wisely keeps her mouth shut after that.
Honestly, considering how she spent the entire lead-up to my big day comparing her very impressive wedding to Greg in Cambridge (naturally), I’d think she be glad I “settled” (her words) on such a “nothing city” (her words again) as Milwaukee. Once it was clear I didn’t care about her goading, she reverted to complaints.
It’s times like these, I wish I could have added Noah’s sisters as my bridesmaids. But the two of us agreed on something small and intimate. Like the wonderful sisters-in-law they’re going to be—Kate has nothing on Vanessa when it comes to being irksome—his sisters still happily involved themselves in the planning, doing far more than they had any obligation to do. It’s a tribute to how much they love their baby brother and accept me.
“Vanessa does have a point, Grace,” my mother chimes in. “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have at least had the wedding in Chicago, which is a cosmopolitan city. No offense to Milwaukee of course,” she adds, glancing quickly toward Noah’s mother. I was amused to pick up on the fact that she’s somewhat intimidated by the woman. “I mean yes, it was very sweet of Noah to fly us all out and house us in this nice hotel but wouldn’t some middle ground have been preferable?”
I was the one to insist on Milwaukee. It wasn’t a cost or logistics issue. After following Noah to Chicago when he signed with the Blackhawks, I learned he was right about Milwaukee being so close. I’ve traveled with him to visit his family at least a few times a month. I’m sure once we start a family, that will be far more often. This city, his family, everything about it here is like home to me, just as it was for him growing up.
Betsy Donahue has been sitting through all of this with hardly a wrinkle of annoyance marring her brow. Her pragmatic serenity is something that I often find myself tapping into when needed—something that happens less and less as time goes on. Though someone who has kicked cancer in the ass probably isn’t fazed by much in life. I see her sitting up straighter in her chair and I know that a brief storm is about to come in, leaving me safely in the calm center of it.
