“You’re here,” she says, voice wobbly. It’s a big night for her. Huge.
I slip my arms around her waist and pull her into a hug. “You look amazing.”
“I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“If you need to puke, I’ll hold back your hair, but I think it’s going to be fine.”
She looks at me, and just being close to her like this makes me crazy. “Thank you.”
I brush my lips across hers, not caring about PDA, but a hand clamps down on my shoulder and I’m dragged away. I look up into Tillman’s face. “We’re being cool about this relationship, Edge, but don’t push it, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
A bell rings and Collins grins nervously. “Okay, it’s time to go in.”
The art school never does things the easy way, like hanging artwork on the walls. All of their shows are over-the-top presentations—experiences—and this one is no different. We’re met with a gust of cold air, and the first thing we see is a glittery, snow-flaked banner with the words, “After Christmas.” The light is pink and silver—a little reminiscent of my mother’s antique ornaments--and we part, looking at the various pieces of work. There are photographs, sculptures, paintings, and drawings, each centralized around a theme. One photograph is an image of a store in post-holiday disarray. In the middle of the room is an antique pink foil tree, sagging to one side, with giftwrap and old-fashioned toys strewn underneath.
I’m in awe, half caught in nostalgia but also a little sad, the images of Christmas being over evoking melancholy. Fingers slip into mine and I look up, seeing Collins’ bright face. She leads me across the room to a large collage panel hanging from the wall. Up close it’s a mash up of items, the background is the antique wrapping paper we’d made the bet over. It’s imprinted with the design from my mother’s china. Little pieces of my family history are tucked inside the artwork—the tin Santa ornament, felt stockings, and even a few old photos. It’s large and overwhelming, thick with texture and gradient color. I sense a pattern but can’t quite grasp it.
“It’s an impression,” she says, tugging me backwards. The farther away we get, the more I can see the bigger scene. The image slowly falls into place, the collage pieces built together. I see two figures, faces close, above their heads is a sprig of mistletoe.
Emotion overwhelms me. Not just because it’s pieces of my mother’s collection, or because it’s the two of us, but the sheer enormity of the project and Collins’ skills.
“It’s amazing,” I finally say, clutching her hand in mine. “I don’t even know how you put this together—how you had the vision.”
“Your mother’s belongings inspired me—well, you inspired me. For the first time, sorting through someone’s house was more than a job. It was exhausting, tedious, and it brought us together.” She nods at the collage. “It seemed fitting to commemorate that by artistically bringing us together by using the little pieces of her collection that inspired me the most.”
“So,” I say with a grin, “what you’re saying is that working that last estate sale wasn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.”
She laughs. “Not even close.”
“Happy New Year, Collins Fleetwood.”
“Happy New Year, Julian Edge.”
I kiss her again, not caring about her brothers or anyone else, because this is one Christmas I plan on holding onto forever, knowing that from now on, we’ll spend them all together.
Also by Anna Catherine Field
The Complete Love in Ocean Grove Series
Finley and the Foster Brother
Lucy and the Love Pact
Bea and the Bad Boy
Norah and the Nerd
Olivia and the Older Boy
Sabrina and the Secret Santa
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After Christmas
After Christmas Page 10
