I take a step toward her, then force myself to stop. “Hey,” I say carefully. “How was your call with your grandmothers?”
“I thought she didn’t have any family,” Grant mutters under his breath.
“They’re her neighbors, asshole,” Tyler snaps before I can.
But the damage is done. The stricken look on Finley’s face is like an ice pick to my chest. Without thinking, I set the stack of plates on the table and cross the room, pulling her into a tight hug.
“How’d your call go?” I whisper against her ear.
“Good,” she says, then pulls back quickly and plasters on a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“We’ve got it covered,” Mom says, casting a long look at her. “You can help Alex finish setting the table, if you like. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“It smells good,” Finley says as she moves toward the table, leaving me to follow.
“Wait until you see what it is,” Mallory teases with a chuckle.
Finley sets out the rest of the plates while I lay down the silverware. Just as we finish, Mom announces dinner’s ready, and she and Mallory carry over several bowls.
Surprise flashes across Finley’s face when she sees what we’re having—macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs, Jell-O salad, and a garden salad.
Mom laughs. “I know. Not a traditional Christmas Eve dinner.”
“It’s all Alex’s fault,” Mallory says. “He had strep throat one year and could only eat soft food. The boys loved it so much they begged Mom to make the same thing the next year.”
“How would you know?” Grant scoffs, setting the salad on the table. “You weren’t even born yet, Maleficent.”
Mallory glares daggers at him.
“She became part of it,” Mom chides gently. “And the tradition’s evolved over the years, but the principle’s the same.”
“Except for the salad,” Dad adds with a grin. “That one was my demand.”
The table fills with small talk, but tension lingers like smoke. Mom and Mal do their best to keep things light, but Grant’s still brooding, and Finley looks wound tight, like one wrong word will snap her in half. My chest knots tighter every second. If she was wavering on whether to stay or go, this dinner is likely to push her to leave.
After we’ve cleaned up dinner, Dad declares it’s time for the second Christmas Eve tradition—game night. We all head to the living room, and Mom brings out a Pictionary box, announcing, “Boys against girls.”
Finely and I are sitting on the love seat. Last night, she was curled up against me, but tonight, she’s sitting on the edge of the seat, looking anxious.
I lean into her side and whisper into her ear, “We don’t have to do this. We can go upstairs and watch a movie or even take a walk downtown.”
She looks up at me, her face blank. “But this is a family tradition, Alex,” she whispers back.
“So? It doesn’t mean we need to do this.”
“But you would if I weren’t here.” It’s not a question. We both know it’s true. “I’ll be fine.”
Mom sets out the supplies then declares that the boys can go first since they’re obviously at a disadvantage.
Grant’s brow furrows with confusion. “But we have four guys while you girls have three.”
“Exactly,” Mallory says sweetly, then reaches a hand toward Finley. “Come over here with the girls. No fraternizing with the enemy.”
Finley obeys and finds herself sandwiched between Mom and my sister on the sofa. I suspect this isn’t by accident.
Thankfully, with Mallory’s wit and charm and Mom’s hospitality, Finley is more relaxed by the time we finish the game. And of course they beat us by a landslide. Tyler and Grant are bickering over the fact neither could guess each other’s drawings.
Mallory suggests another game, but it’s after ten and Finley looks exhausted. “I think we’re gonna call it a night,” I say as I get to my feet, then walk over to Finley, reaching out a hand to her.
