“Yeah, such a sad deal,” Gina answers for me, shaking her head with pity. “I’m sure your presence this Christmas will mean a lot to her.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yes, I’m sure it will.”
“Your mom is old,” Erika says next to me. “She’s got to be like eighty-something. How old was she when she had you?”
“Um…” I do some quick math in my head based on my age and realize my pretend mom would’ve been fifty-something when she birthed me. Is that even possible? I better not chance it. “I was adopted.”
Erika nods, so I guess my answer satisfies her concern.
Cassi leans forward. “Where are you staying? You can’t stay at the assisted living center with your mom.”
“I haven’t arranged a hotel yet.”
Bruce whistles. “That’s a problem. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a hotel this close to Christmas.”
I hadn’t thought about that. Originally, I wasn’t staying in Leavenworth. I was supposed to get the computer chip out of Lacee’s suitcase while she was in the bathroom on the plane. But now that I have to stay here and wait for the package to come in the mail, all of my plans have changed. What am I on? Plan C now? At least this plan includes me having a merrykissmas with Lacee—I like that joke despite what she says.
“Or you can stay in your mom’s house,” Gina offers. “You haven’t sold it yet, have you?”
Heck, if I know.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out. I should probably get going though, if I’m going to find a room.” I stand, looking at Lacee. “Do you need help carrying your bag to your room?”
This is my passive way of trying to get one more alone moment with her.
“Sure.” She smiles, catching the drift. “It’s just down the hall.”
“Be sure to look at all of Lacee’s childhood pictures hanging on the wall,” Erika calls after us. “She was the most awkward teenager I’ve ever seen.”
“I wasn’t awkward,” Lacee defends. “I was gangly.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” I grab her suitcase and follow her back to her bedroom.
“No, gangly implies I had long legs like a supermodel.”
“So you’re saying you were supermodel caliber in junior high?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She stops in front of her closed door, turning over her shoulder to look at me. Our faces are a few inches apart, and I love how her smile teeters with playfulness. It's better than anything I’ve ever seen.
Lacee twists the knob and pushes open the door, stepping inside her room. She swings her hands out as if she’s in a big production. “Tada!”
Floral wallpaper covers the top half of the walls. In the middle, there's a white chair rail and on the bottom is blue and white striped wallpaper. It’s like her bedroom came straight out of 1996, but I like it.
I can picture Gina and Bruce spending hours dipping the wallpaper into the water and then gluing it on the walls—so much love behind each strip of paper. There was a time in my life when I would have given anything to experience that kind of parental love. But as I’ve matured, so has what I’ve wanted out of life.
I slowly walk around the square space, leaning in to look at the pictures of fourteen-year-old Lacee. That version of her wore a headband over her red hair, an enormous belt, colored leggings, and fringe boots. Like every teenager, she had braces and wore a little too much make-up, but she wasn’t awkward. She was cute.
“See?” She leans over my shoulder. “Totally a supermodel.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” I smile at her as I keep moving around the room. There’s a line of martial arts medals pinned to her wall. “Lots of first-place wins here.” I point to the medallions and the karate belt hanging above them. “And a brown belt?” My eyebrows climb.
“What?” She smiles back at me.
“Nothing. I’m just surprised. With all of your energy, I pictured you to be the cheerleader type.”
“What can I say? I'd rather kick someone in the stomach than kick my leg in the air.”
