Smart Girl (19 page)

OK, I can understand on some level, since I’ve been a little bit of a slacker lately. But not enough to warrant this kind of freak-out. Not enough for everyone to be so upset with me. When I think of the way my brother was looking at me, it makes me cry harder. And then I think of Landon and how sick it makes me feel to have her upset with me. Her more than anyone, because even when we have disagreements, Landon isn’t the kind of person who walks away. She’s the kind of person who makes you talk about your feelings and work through your issues. But she never came back into the conference room after she left, and she didn’t seek me out before she went home. It makes me feel sick and so sad, and I can’t believe I’m fighting with my best friend, especially when I know in my heart this is entirely my fault.

I need to talk to someone about this. I need to discuss it with someone with a clear head so that I can find a way to make Landon forgive me. And there’s only one person I can think of to discuss Landon with. I check my mirror before flipping an illegal U-turn and driving back in the other direction.

I knock hesitantly on the front door, not really sure how this is going to go. I see the peephole go dark and then hear the sound of several different locks sliding back. I can tell she’s upset when she opens the door, because she’s in the biggest pajamas she owns. We both turn to flannel in times of extreme stress.

“I got in a fight with my best friend,” I tell her sadly. “I wasn’t sure who else to talk to about it.”

“Girl,” she says with a smile.

We reach to hug each other at the same time. I’m sure if any of her neighbors walk by right now, they’ll think we’re ending a lovers’ quarrel. Landon opens the door wider, and I follow her into the living room of the apartment she shares with Max.

“Where’s your roomie?”

She sits down on the sofa and tucks her feet up underneath her. “Out with Taylor.”

I slide out of my shoes and do the same. The TV is paused on a chaotic frame. “What are you watching?”

“Hoarders,”
she tells me with way too much enthusiasm. “I only meant to watch a single episode, but I don’t think I’ve moved in three hours.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

She looks at me kindly. “I know you are. I really do know that, Miko. You would never in a million years intentionally try to hurt someone or do a bad job at something. It’s not in your nature.”

The TV screen goes blurry as my eyes fill with tears. I really needed to hear her say that.

“I’m just so worried about you.”

“I know,” I tell her. “But I’m not really sure how to make you feel better about what’s going on. I know what you think I should do. I know what Tosh and my mom think I should do. I just . . . I can’t make decisions based on what you guys would prefer.”

She stares at the frozen TV screen for a long moment, in thought.

“Girl, I don’t want to tell you how to live your life. If you want to take up extreme sports or run around in hot pants whistling Dixie, I’m still gonna love you. I just think you have to be a little more conscious of the people around you. I know you care about him—but you care about a lot of other people too. Just don’t get so wrapped up that you forget that.”

“OK.”

“OK.” She smiles happily. “Now hand me that remote. This woman has seventeen years’ worth of the Sunday paper stacked in her guest room, and they’re about to start bagging it up.”

Chapter
THIRTEEN

I end up flying home on Christmas Eve.

Landon is right. I have other relationships besides the one with Liam, and I can’t forget about them. Besides, Christmas is a really big deal in my family, and my parents would be devastated if I missed it.

As worried as I was about things being weird with my family, it isn’t that way at all. The second I walk through the front door, I am attacked with love and kisses from my parents and both of their small breed-ambiguous shelter dogs. Tosh doesn’t even wait for them to clear out all of the way before he grabs me and hugs me too.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he whispers into my hair.

I nod. He’s not sorry for the things he said; he’s only sorry that he made me sad. It’s such a Tosh thing to say.

“You’re such an idiot,” I whisper back and then hug him harder.

Every year we celebrate Christmas Eve the same way. We go to mass with my grandparents and then come home to have “Fancy Dinner.” Fancy Dinner is something my mom started when we were little. We all get into our fancy clothes (when we were children, that meant things like feather boas or cardboard top hats) and eat dinner with her best china. Each person is responsible for one course of the meal. This year Granddad is doing the amuse-bouche. Gran is making a soup. Tosh is creating a salad. And Mom and Dad are covering the main course and side dishes.

It’s always so fun, because there are no rules or regulations about what you can choose for your section. This means there were years when my peanut butter on graham crackers would serve as the appetizer for my grandmother’s vichyssoise. Or my mother’s roast turkey would be served alongside Tosh’s Top Ramen. This year, despite everything that has been going on, or maybe because of it, I’ve brought my A-game. I packed my favorite vintage dress, and I volunteered for dessert. I spent all morning prepping and baking one of Max’s best recipes. It was the banana pudding from Thanksgiving, the one everyone loved so much but I barely ate, because I was anxious about Liam. I made every part of it from scratch. That meant I spent the time to make pudding—and I don’t just mean the add-milk kind either. It also meant that I nearly burned down my mother’s kitchen when I tried to flambé the fruit with a chef’s torch. The results of my brush with culinary greatness are perfectly formed in the trifle dish and waiting only for us to devour them after dinner; while the results of my last-minute online shopping spree (since I’ve been too preoccupied to do real Christmas shopping) are already wrapped and lying in wait under the tree, courtesy of rush shipping.

Today has been a great day, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed it. I was able to lounge around with my mom and watch movies. I was able to visit with my grandparents while eating too many cookies. And as much as it’s a holiday and I shouldn’t be working, I was able to sneak up to my room for an hour and catch up on a lot of work.

Getting a little distance makes me realize that I can’t keep ditching my family and then wonder why they get upset about it. It’s unsurprising that I got a talking-to from Tosh. I’m actually surprised only that it took him as long as it did. I’m going to do better. I’m going to be present. This Christmas is going to mend some of the hurt I’ve caused. I head upstairs to get ready for church, feeling much better about everything.

I don’t see Liam’s text message until I’m curling my hair.

Headed to Santa Barbara now. Hope the pudding turned out OK.

I feel a pang of sadness for him that he’s going to spend yet another holiday alone. At the same time I feel happy that he’s at least talking to me about it again, even if only in small bits and pieces. I know that he’ll be staying at his parents’ vacation home like he always does when he goes to visit her. He’s supposed to go to her facility to meet her for dinner tomorrow night, and then he’ll drive back home. The rest of his family was sad that he’d be missing another holiday, but he’s the only one who understands that without his presence, his mother would spend it completely alone. I keep my response light since I know he’ll likely listen to jazz and brood all the way up the 101.

Don’t you doubt my culinary skills! That pudding is going to be epic. Will you text me when you get there so I know you survived?

Yes, dear.

I smile at his cheeky response and then switch my phone back over to Pandora while I finish doing my hair. We leave for church and make it all the way through Mass before I realize he never texted me to say he’d arrived.

By the time we’re gathered around the table eating my granddad’s caprese skewer, I’m nervous because he hasn’t responded to either of my follow-up texts. I excuse myself and go into the other room to call him. Relief floods my system when he answers his phone.

“Hey, you forgot to tell me you survived the drive. It’s been hours. I was worried.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounds exhausted. I can hear the jazz music in the background.

“What happened?”

The ice tinkles in his glass as he takes a drink. “Same old, same old.”

The problem is I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what the same old thing is, because he never tells me. Pushing him now won’t make anything better, though.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask quietly.

He takes another drink, and when he speaks again he’s pulled on his charm, as if I could forget the desolation in his voice from just a moment ago. “Oh, there are all kinds of things that you could do,” he says suggestively. “But you’re so very far away.” He sighs. “I’ll be fine. I have big plans. I’m all signed up for a whiskey-drinking contest with myself. I plan on winning.”

“Liam—”

His voice changes again, becomes sincere. “Hey, I’ll be all right. It’s just been a crappy day. You go back to your family. I’m sure you’ve already missed the next course.”

He’s right, of course. I can hear them in the other room, proclaiming the wonders of Gran’s butternut-squash puree. I do need to go back in there and be with my family. I’ve barely repaired the damage of my absence over the last month, and they won’t realize why I’m here talking on the phone. They’ll just see it as another sign that I’m too focused on him.

Saying good-bye feels gut-wrenching, though, like I’m just another person who’s failing to take care of him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, OK?”

“OK,” he whispers. “Sweet dreams, beautiful.”

I head back to the dining room just as Dad is opening another bottle of wine. Tosh and Granddad are arguing over politics while everyone else ignores them. My soup is the only one still untouched, and I hurry to eat it so that I’m not slowing down the progression of courses. I don’t taste anything, though.

All throughout the rest of the meal, I take bites and answer questions and do my best to stay in the conversation, but my thoughts are miles away. Literally, three hundred miles away in a big gorgeous mansion on the side of a hill overlooking the water. Everything about that home is a celebration of the Ashton family. Having spent time there, I know that the game room and the pool out back are made for parties and cookouts. The kitchen is massive, made to welcome big groups of people for family get-togethers and holidays. It’s eight thousand square feet dedicated to spending time together with your family, and yet again Liam is sitting there alone without his. I can’t stand it.

I volunteer to help Tosh clean up the dinner so I can talk to him alone in the kitchen. Our parents and grandparents settle down in the living room, and the second I hear the sounds of
A Christmas Story
blaring from the TV, I launch into my plan.

“I have to go.”

Tosh turns to me with a look of total disbelief.

“No. No way. They’re going to freak out, Miko. It’s Christmas Eve.”

I shush him quickly before everyone in the front room clues into what I’m talking about. I pull him to the far side of the kitchen.

“I have to go, Tosh. He’s all by himself and it’s Christmas.”

His anger is growing more palpable by the second. “If he’s alone on Christmas, isn’t that his choice? He has a family, so why isn’t he with them?”

I know if I could explain it all to Tosh, he’d totally understand. He knows as much as I do what it’s like to worry about your mother’s health. He’d totally sympathize with Liam. But I can’t betray Liam’s trust. He’s protecting his promise to his mother by not saying anything, and I won’t be the one who makes him break it.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whisper sadly.

The shake of his head tells me it’s too late for that.

“OK, be mad at me then. But help cover for me with them.” I jerk my head in the direction of the living room. “Tell Mom I promise to explain to them later, but I have to go now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I can tell by the look on his face that he’s losing respect for me; it’s breaking both of our hearts. But everyone in this scenario has someone. My family will be sad without me, but they’ll still have each other, just like the Ashtons are celebrating with a big group of people. Liam, once again, is the only one on his own. Whether or not he admits it, I’m his person, and I’m not going to sit here playing board games while he drinks his way through another holiday. I turn my back on my brother and the look in his eye before running up the back stairs and grabbing my overnight suitcase and my purse. I’m waiting at the gate to board my flight when the first call comes in from my mother. I send her to voice mail before typing a quick text apologizing and promising to call the next day. She doesn’t write me back.

Getting a flight back to LA wasn’t actually hard, since more than one airline has one running every hour on Christmas Eve. The only crappy part is that I have to take an Uber to my house from the airport to get my car. It does give me time to run inside and grab the present I got for Liam before I drive the hour to Santa Barbara. When I arrive in the city, I stop by a gas station to change before putting my coat back on and hurrying back to my car. It’s nearly eleven thirty by the time I creep up his parents’ long driveway and pull up in front of a house that’s straight out of a Nancy Meyers movie.

Most of the lights are off, save the ones in the front room. I hope that means he’s still awake. It would be sort of awkward if he’s passed out somewhere and unable to appreciate my plan. I don’t even make it halfway up the walk before the front door swings open. The sheepish smile on his face makes the last few hours totally worth it. I know I’ve upset my family, but I would probably do much more than that to keep that look in his eyes.

I want to rush at him headlong. I want to jump into his arms and say things he doesn’t want to hear. I have to keep it light, though. When I get a few feet away from him, I slide the jacket off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground at my feet. At first he laughs, a sound of pure joy that makes my heart dance around along with it. I knew it was totally worth the rush shipping to have this sexy Santa costume sent priority overnight when I thought of the idea the other day. His smile starts to die away, replaced by that look.

“This is easily the best idea you’ve ever had.”

I take a step closer and walk right into his arms. “Better than the organic tequila?”

I slide my hands up under his sweatshirt.

“Way better.”

“Good.” I giggle self-consciously. “I was going to do a whole bit here about my list and whether you’d been naughty or nice, but—”

He pulls the Santa hat off my head, sliding a hand into my hair.

“But?”

“But it feels weird now. I’m hoping the costume is enough.”

He’s nodding, pressing kisses across my forehead and down my jaw to my neck. “You are more than enough.” He stops kissing me long enough to look into my eyes. Something desperate swims around in his, all the things he feels, all the words he won’t say. For an instant—a single instant—I think it will all come tumbling out. Either I’ll say things or he’ll say things, but one way or another the barrier is going to crumble and fall, and we’ll come out of the rubble stronger than before. But he doesn’t say anything, so neither do I. I watch that lazy grin slide into place, and it’s like seeing a door slam shut. I fight the urge to wince.

“Now then, Santa,” he says between kisses. “I think you need to sit on my lap and tell me all the things you want for Christmas.”

I laugh at his absurdity. “I think you’ve got this backwards.”

He nods gravely. “I’m sure I do. Why don’t we head on back to my workshop and you can explain exactly how this all works.”

I let him lead me down the hallway and force myself to enjoy this moment with him. I won’t wish for something more; we’re together on Christmas—it’s more than enough.

The next morning the smell of coffee hits me before I completely open my eyes. When I do, Liam is grinning at me like a maniac, holding a mug in one hand and a little blue box in the other. I fully awake and sit up in bed with a shocked smile.

“Merry Christmas,” he says happily.

I take the coffee from him and stare at the little blue box like it might come alive at any moment. Nobody has ever bought me jewelry before, and I never anticipated that we’d get each other any kind of real gift. That’s why I went with the gag gift of sorts; it didn’t feel too heavy or real. But Tiffany’s? That seems super legit. That seems like the kind of thing you get your girlfriend for Christmas. Or I don’t know—do wealthy men buy Tiffany’s the way the rest of us buy extra ChapStick when we see it at the checkout line at Target? I always see those packs and think,
Well, it’s so cheap it’d almost be silly not to get it, right?

He places it on the sheets in front of me, and I must be grinning like a crazy person when I stare back into his eyes.

“I just want to—” I stop myself abruptly and hold up a finger to pause the conversation. I jump out of his bed and hurry across the room to the restroom, because I refuse to open luxury jewelry without brushing my teeth first. In the bathroom mirror I look mussed and happy. My skin is flushed and my eyes are bright.

“I woke up on Christmas morning in bed with Liam Ashton,” I whisper to the girl in the mirror.