A Toast to the Good Times (13 page)

What I don’t get is why didn’t Dad tell me all of this? Or Mom? How did they let me go on not fully understanding what was important?

I blink hard against the roaring wind that’s picking up, probably preparing to dump a blizzard load of snow on our heads.

             
And then Mila’s in front of me again.
             
Except this time, the red dress is replaced by a thick red jacket and furry boots.
             
And this time, she’s really here.

Chapter 10

“Hi. Um, so you were here after all. Your mom said you’d probably be here
—
”

“You talked to my mom?” I watch the look of horror break over her face.

“Wow. Yes. I mean, I know...what this must sound like. Look like. Like some twisted version of
Single White Female
. Or
Fatal Attraction
. Maybe
Swim Fan.
Or something stalkery and...not good.”

She pushes her dark bangs off of her forehead with her hand and shakes her mittened hands, then bites her lips. “It’s just, um, I watched a lot of romantic comedies on Netflix after you left. Which makes no sense, because once
Firefly
was done, I totally expected to watch
Dr. Who
for umpteen hours, but I accidentally pressed the down arrow on the controller, and, before I knew it, it was just all these adorable women finding men over radio shows or meeting up because their book stores closed or bumping into guys who weren’t Greek even though they are and, bam, fireworks...and the message seemed to be to just go and see the guy you lo
—
care about. The guy you care about. And that message is probably one of those ‘only in the movies’ things. Am I right?”

I have no idea how to respond to this word tirade. She looks tired. She looks sad and embarrassed.

And she looks hot.

I thought it was just the damn red dress, but that isn’t it, apparently, because she looks so good right now in her big coat and furry boots and one of those ridiculous French hats that girls love to wear but are so weird and look kind of like little cupcakes on their heads.

“So you came to see me?”

I smile at her, because she’s goddamn adorable and, in a town of people who pity, hate, or are disappointed in me, she’s that one
sole
person who honestly looks happy and eager to be around my
sad sack
ass.

“I did. I did, and I know it’s weird, so
say the word and
I’m outta here. Gone with the wind. Totally gone. Yep.”

Her cheeks are way too red for wind-chap; she’s blushing like crazy.
Over me.

“No way.”
I feel like a douche-hole for not knowing all of the things to say right now to make this less awkward, and
I think of Toni and how I was too late to make things right with her and how I had to watch her feel all that pent-up anger from her time with me and there was nothing I could do.

But she gave me advice.

She told me what kind of girl to look for.

And I have a feeling I might be looking right at her.

I clear my throat and make my move.

“Hey, listen. I know it’s not high society Boston partying stuff, but my family will be watching
A Christmas Story
and arguing and getting into popcorn fights. It’s so lame. Seriously, my brother and sister may be the two most irritating people in the world. And you’d have to swear not to tell them about us watching it in the apartment, because it’s like this sacred Murphy tradition to only watch
that
movie on
this
holiest of all holy nights and all that. But if you
wanna
come by
—
”

“Yes!” She shuts her eyes and screws her mouth up. “That was probably super way too eager, right? I’m a dork? You can say it. You really can.”

“You are. You really are.” I put one hand under her chin and move my thumb along her jaw, remembering everything about the other night and wanting it all over again. And so much more. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She licks her lips and swallows, her eyes round and so perfectly green, they look like a cat’s eyes in some Halloween decoration.

“I, um, can’t stop thinking about you, either.” She slides her mittened hands up my coat, and I have the feeling things are about to get hotter fast when the screech of tires makes us both look into the street.

“Landry!” Henry leans across the seat of his old Volvo wagon and grins wide and loopy at Mila out the open passenger window.

I notice that she smiles shyly back. My hands fist, and I consider smacking one upside Henry’s thick skull.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“Mom asked me to go find you. She says we need to all be home, pronto and no excuses.” He turns his attention back to Mila. “So, are you a friend of Landry’s? My meathead
brother doesn’t have very good manners, so let me introduce myself. I’m Henry Murphy and you are...?”

“Mila. Mila Eby.” She walks over to the car and pulls off one mitten that has a little puppet face with googly eyes glued on, so she can shake Henry’s hand.

He holds onto her way longer than he needs to for a damn handshake.

“Alright, Henry! Stop being a creeper and let her go,” I snap, putting an arm around Mila’s waist possessively.

She looks back over her shoulder at me and frowns. “We were just saying hello.”

“My brother never knows when to back down,” I growl. I yell to Henry, “Tell Mom I’m coming right home.”

“She’ll go apeshit if you don’t invite Mila,” Henry says, horning in on the invitation I just extended her. I’m starting to feel pretty Cain and Abel with this kid. “Mila, you gotta come back with us. Our mom makes this crazy cocoa with cinnamon and just a tiny bit of peppermint. It’s freaking amazing. You gotta have some.”

“I know I said I would, but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. Um, isn’t this family time for all of you? I’d really be intruding, and it would just be rude, right?” she asks, looking back at me with her eyebrows low over her eyes.

“Nah,” I say at the same time Henry’s yelling, “Not at all!”

I glare at him and he glares right back, then says to Mila, “Trust me, when the
Murphy’s
are all together for too long, things get way too intense. We need some company around to keep us on our best behavior, you know what I mean?”

She giggles.

At my brother.

He makes her
promise
she’ll come by, offers her a ride, and pulls away only after she points out that her car is right there on the street and assures him she’ll be okay driving the couple of blocks back to our house.

And this conversation goes on between them as if I’m not standing in plain damn sight.

“Do you need a ride home, Landry?” Mila asks, opening the driver’s side door of her Civic and waving to Henry.

I half feel like I need to walk off some of my stabbing aggravation, but I don’t want to leave Mila’s side.

“Thanks.” I get into the car next to her and point her in the general direction of the crazy ass house where my family is waiting to show off like a pack of frenzied hyenas.

I can’t wait to join the fun.

“Your brother seems so nice,” Mila says, her eyes on the road, her voice a little hitched.

I feel a low growl vibrate deep in my throat. Henry is an alright-looking kid, I guess. He’s gotten more attractive to the ladies now that he’s put on some muscle mass and stopped dressing like Shaggy from
Scooby Doo
. I realize girls are checking him out, and that he might even be some competition for me. And he can have any other barfly looking for a good time or random pretty girl who wants to cozy up for a night or two. I couldn’t care less.

Mila is off limits.

“My brother is an ass. And he’s kind of a player. Don’t get too involved with him, okay? Left on this next street.”

I lean back in the passenger seat, wishing like all hell I’d been able to drive my car so I didn’t have to be a passenger every single time I wanted to go somewhere in this freezing cold, one-horse town.

“I can totally handle myself,” Mila says flatly, her mouth puckered down in this little frown that looks pretty alien on her usually smiley face.

“I didn’t say that. Although, now that you bring it up, you really can’t. It’s the third house on the right. The one with the freaky Santa in the upstairs window.” She pulls up, and I prepare to get out, but Mila is gripping the steering wheel with intent, liked she’s glued to the interior of the car.

“What is it?” I ask, reaching over to tug on her sparkly silver scarf.

She stops looking straight out the window and turns to look at me. “I’ve been handling myself for years, Landry. Without your help, thank you very much.”

She’s not usually pissy with me at all, and it throws me. “Sorry. It’s just that Henry can be a little bit of a jerkoff, and I don’t want to see you get hurt, okay?”

She lets out a short, hard laugh. “You don’t want to see me get hurt?”

“Why do you say that like it’s some crazy, unbelievable thing?”

The question rips out on a surprisingly defensive note, because I feel pretty defensive.

I’ve always looked after Mila. When she crushed on that asshole with the girlfriend, I was the one who told the guy to back off when he made a dozen too many
drunken
calls to her
cell one long night. I took drinks away from her at the bar before she could accept the probably-laced gift of some random douchebag date rapist. I watched lots of sci-fi with her when her high school boyfriend posted pictures of his shot-gun wedding to some idiot girl they had both hated back when they were dating.

“Landry, the one and only person who has any ability to hurt me is
you.
”

Suddenly her whole cramped-in-the-car tactic switches up, and she leaps out of the door and walks toward my house.

I throw my door open and run after her, slipping on a patch of black ice when I reach out to grab her shoulder. Mila turns around as my feet slide out from under me, and she rushes to grab me and keep me upright, but her panicked movements bring us both down in a heap. My shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, and Mila squashed on top of me, scrambles to face me, pressing my face between her hands and looking me over with insane worry.

“Are you okay? Are you alright?” She takes my shoulders in her tiny hands and shakes me hard, back and forth.

“I’m fine. Jesus, stop shaking me like that.” I move my head from side to side just to make sure my neck is okay, and I sit up on one elbow, Mila’s bony ass digging into my thigh. “The only thing that really got bruised is my ego, I guess.”

Her worried look melts away and she smiles a smile that grows wide just before it breaks into a series of self-satisfied snorts and laughs.

“What’s so damn funny?” I sigh.

“The idea of your ego bruised.” She puts her hands up over her mouth and giggles. “Can you imagine the amount of pressure that must have been exerted to bruise your ego of iron?”

“Are you saying I’m full of myself? Because I’m not.” I feel an instant prickle of douchebaggery once the words are out of my mouth.

And I realize, with a healthy dose of irony, how full of myself it is to even think that way. Which makes me smile. And then laugh.

And then think of Toni and what she told me about finding a girl who can laugh with me. And at me.

We laugh like two lunatics on the driveway until my mother sticks her head out the door and yells, “Quit fooling around out there before you two turn into popsicles! Get your tushes in here!”

I jump to my feet and help Mila up, fix her crooked hat even though it looks equally weird whether it’s on right or all off kilter, and run my fingers over her cheek.

She looks at me with wide, happy eyes, but the light slowly dims because her pupils get big and dark.

She wants me.

And the feeling is mutual.

I’m leaning in because I know exactly how good her lips feel when the door opens again. This time it’s Henry, and he’s out for blood.

“What are you two doing?” He jogs over, and I notice he put on a new shirt, something a little dressed up and tight, like he’s trying to show off his puny muscles.

I’d feel bad for how pathetic he is, except for the fact that Mila seems to be eyeing him appreciatively. He holds an arm out for her, and the cologne he must have taken a bath in practically knocks me back onto the ice.

He gives me a narrow-eyed look and says, “Mila, I apologize for my brother’s rude as hell behavior. Please, come in and get warm.”

I fully expect Mila to smile sweetly and come back to me, but she takes his arm and lets him lead her to the stairs without a backward glance in my direction.

I grit my teeth and try to remember that this is supposed to be about family and loyalty and forgiving and all that. But it’s hard to resist the urge to chop Henry in the back of the knees or put him in a nice, firm chokehold.