“I didn’t,” he says, holding his hands out. “I’m four feet away from you, and you whispered it.”
“Whispered what?”
“‘I hate Christmas Adam.’ What’s Christmas Adam?”
Did I really say that out loud?
“It’s a family tradition on my mom’s side. The day before Christmas Eve, we have a big family party with her siblings and kids. We play games and have a huge spread. And we always eat ribs.”
He nods slowly. “Ribs for Adam, because Adam came before Eve. I get it. That’s funny, and it sounds awesome. Why would you hate it?”
I could answer his question in so many ways. Because it makes me think about my mom, and thinking about my mom causes me agonizing heartache. Because even before she was gone, I started taking on more and more of the mothering of my brothers, and this is another example of how I’ll never get to leave that role. And that’s to say nothing of how tired I am of people telling me how I look exactly like her. I’m weary of Uncle Paul saying how painful it is to look at me, and I’m emotionally exhausted from not measuring up to the ideal she created.
But I won’t admit any of that to Cooper.
“I just don’t like Christmas.”
He studies me for too long, that contemplative look from the elevator returning in the angle of his head and the slight tension around his eyes. My heart rate rises, and I feel like I’m holdingmy breath for what’s next. I cannot control my reactions around him. If he presses, I might spilleverything.
I spin my earring, and Cooper takes notice, so I drop my hand, and his expression shifts just as quickly to that overly-confident look I know and loathe. “You must like the gifts, though. Your best friend’s fiancé hooked you up.”
“I likereasonablegifts as much as anyone,” I say, holding up my new water bottle. “Here’s what my friend gave me. There’s no obligation in something like this. I’m not debilitated trying to think of what the perfect gift for her is after getting a Stanley. But do you know what Nate got me for Christmas last year? HisPrius.”
“His car?”
“I know! In fairness to him, my car was stolen while I was interning in Costa Rica and he felt bad about it, but who gives someone a Prius?”
“That’s weird. Why not let insurance take care of it?”
I don’t disagree. Even if I were stranded in the middle of nowhere, I’d struggle to let someone help me. I had options, though, and I was just desperate enough not to take them.
“You didn’t fight me on that,” Cooper says. I meet his eyes. I spaced out for a second, and during that second, he picked up on what my own best friend has missed. “You don’t like that he did this, do you?”
I clutch my locket. “No, I don’t. I like being able to do things for myself.”
“You like being the helper, not the helped?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I get it. We’re more alike than I thought.”
“Ha! No, we’re not. Having one thing in common doesn’t change that.”
But he shakes his head. “We have more than that in common. We both love baseball, we both have strong opinions aboutwhat’s right for our team.” He pauses, and I crane my head forward, curious to hear what else he’s going to say. “And we both think I’m too attractive for my own good.”
I roll my eyes so hard, I pull something in one of my eyeballs. “How do you always manage to say the dumbest possible thing that comes to mind?” I ask, rubbing my eye as I walk out of the living room.
“It’s a skill.”
“I’m rethinking throwing you from the roof.”
I head into the dining room, with its twelve-seater table. I take the far end of the table and open my laptop, pull out my notebook, folders, and more. When I look up, he’s sitting in the chair nearest me.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to work.” He looks at the table. “Did you want me to sit at the far end of the table so we could yell at each other the whole time?”
Kind of.
