So yeah, the last thing I need. I pull onto the road that leads to the farm. “How about I letyouoff the hook? You don’t have to go to the party with me.”
“O… Okay,” Mac says with no confidence or relief inher voice, which I guess saves my ego a little bit. “I mean, I guess… thanks. No hard feelings or anything?”
“No. Never,” I reply and force out a smile. The barn is in view on the crest of the hill just to the right. I can see the lights on in the farmhouse just to the left of it. And two vehicles out front. Tenley’s and Tate’s trucks are there now too.
“How was your day? With your situation?”
I glance at her and she seems genuinely interested. She's a psychiatrist. Of course, she's interested. I'm one hell of a case, I guess. But I don't want to be her case study so I just shrug. "Sucked, but in an unsurprising way. No need to talk about it."
"Well," she begins as I roll to a stop in front of the barn. Someone has shoveled out a nice, straight path to the door for her. I'm guessing Tenley with a snow blower. Or maybe Tate. "Thank you again for coming to my rescue. I'll… see you around."
“Yeah. Sure.”
I have so many things I want to say instead, but I don’t. I just let Mac Larue get out of my car and walk into her apartment without another word.
Chapter 11
Conner
Isaid the family lake hockey match was my favorite part of Christmas, and it is, but this is my second favorite part. Even tonight, when I’ve endured a lot of sympathetic pats on the back and words of encouragement so sugary and peppy that I swear some of my relatives should start a motivational poster company. Or print that shit on T-shirts and make millions on Etsy. But still, everyone gathered together Christmas Eve, getting tipsy on spiked egg nog and mulled wine, grazing over a dining room table full of charcuterie and appetizers, tucking away in little groups to share stories and laughs and memories of prior Christmases, while a cycle of classic holiday specials older than me and even my parents plays on the TV, that’s my second favorite part of our family holiday.
So why am I not relaxed?
We always do Christmas Eve at Grammy and Gramps’ house, which is the same modest three-bedroom seventies bungalow that my dad and uncles grew up in. Every single adult person in the family has offered to buy them something else and they refuse every time.
They have let Callie and Devin renovate the kitchen, Jessieand Jordan put on a new roof, and Luc and Rose renovate the bathrooms, but they will not actually move. You could fit this entire house inside the garage of my family home, but I actually love it. I will admit though, I don't know how they raised my dad, Uncle Jordan, Uncle Cole, and Uncle Luc in such a confined space without someone being murdered.
Now, after stuffing our faces and getting tipsy, it’s almost midnight. Gramps is asleep in his recliner, same as every year. Grams went to bed and told us all to lock up when we were done and she’d see us in the morning. Right before my dad wakes Gramps we do our usual family tradition. Tate, Grady, Theo, and I pose with an unaware, snoring gramps, making ridiculous faces, making rabbit ears up behind his head, and being idiots. We’ve done it every year since I was like ten and he first started dozing off.
Jordan and Dad chuckle as they snap the pic on their phones. “Definitely one for the Gram.”
“Uncle J don’t say stuff like that.” Theo rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t make you cool. It makes you weird.”
Uncle Jordan flips his nephew the bird and we all laugh so loud that Gramps snuffles and his eyelashes flutter. Dad leans over and gives his shoulder a shake. “Time for bed, Dad.”
"Right. Sure. Where's everyone?" His age-spotted hands grip the armrests as he starts to get to his feet.
“The girls are all on their way home already, with Luc. Jordy and I are gonna clean the kitchen before heading out,” Dad explains. “The boys are probably going to end up passed out in your extra bedrooms.”
“That’s the plan!” Theo says and throws himself down on one of the sofas.
Gramps smiles down at him sleepily. “Love you idiots.”
He turns and wanders down the hall, Uncle Jordy and Dad following him a little bit to make sure he doesn’t sway too much.Gramps had four spiked egg nogs, which is two more than his limit. When he’s closed the door to his room, both my uncle and dad head into the kitchen.
Grady scoops up the last of the mulled wine and hands me a glass before keeping the other for himself. Theo has a Bailey's over ice in his hand and Tate is drinking a spiked egg nog. He's consumed much more of it than Gramps and his aqua-green eyes are glassy. He's sitting on an ottoman near the fire watching the flames dance.
I stretch out on the couch Theo isn’t on, which leaves Gramps’ recliner for Grady. He drops into it and the springs squeak in protest. “Don’t break that thing you redheaded yeti.”
He smirks at me. “Fuck you very much.”
"I think he means Merry Christmas and may the spirit of the season fill your cup," Theo replies and lifts his glass in the air like he's cheers-ing the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.
“You’re cut off,” I mumble.
“Someonepleaseconfirm that Tenley didn’t pull my name in the family gift exchange again this year,” Tate groans, pulling his eyes from the fire. “I really can’t handle another one of her ceramic monstrosities.”
“I think she got Theo this year,” Grady tells him. “I overheard her and Harlow talking about it.”