“That won’t make it stop hurting. It’ll only make it fester.”
My lips tug down deeply. “What if you’re wrong?”
“Could it possibly hurtworsethan it does now?”
I think about his question. Some days, the pain of missing my mom is so intense, it steals my breath. I can be walking through a grocery store and smell someone wearing her perfume, and the trigger has me running to the grocery store restroom to sob.
Other days are fine. Some are even good. But I always feel a little like I’m betraying her for having a good day without her, like I’m being untrue to her memory by smiling or laughing. I know that’s crazy. All she wanted was for me to be happy. I know that.
Christmas just makes it hard.
Coop is probably right that participating in our rituals and traditions couldn’t make me hurt worse than I already do. Seeing me grieve would hurt my dad and brothers, though. They protect me like a Momma Bear, even if I’m the one who kept the house running all those years and who still organizes our schedules around when we can see each other during baseball season.
Besides, deciding that I’ll be involved at Christmas is like deciding to get the travel vaccines I needed for my internship in Costa Rica. Yeah, not getting diphtheria sounds great, but you’re still scheduling your own pain.
I don’t want to.
“I liked you better when I thought you were a dumb jock,” I say.
“Nah,” Coop says. I can hear the smile in the way he talks. “This is all part of the Cooper Kellogg appeal,” he teases.
“Believe me: opening your mouth ruins the Cooper Kellogg appeal.”
He laughs hard. “In other words, you think I’m hot, but annoying. I’ll take it.”
The van pulls into the resort, and we all file out. Coop offers me his hand, and I’m tired enough to take it.
We walk into the hotel with the rest of the group and say goodbye to them. Coop walks me over to my private elevator. He tugs on one of the strings of his—my—hoodie. “Do you need anything for tomorrow?”
“Like what?” I ask.
“You know,” he says flatly.
I moan. I forgot about our bet. Our stupid bet!
“We counted ‘em up, and a girl like you can’t get mad at math.”
“Watch me.”
“A deal’s a deal, Liese.”
“Liese, huh?” I say as my elevator approaches. “Everyone calls me Lee. Well, except for the old building gossip who thought my name was Lisa. And I guess half my apartment complex still thinks that’s my name?—”
“Are you trying to avoid admitting what we both know is coming?”
“Maybe.”
My elevator opens, and I step on, glaring at him as the doors close.
The last thing I hear him say is, “Sweet dreams, Sugar Plum. You’re going to look hot in my jersey.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
COOPER
When Liesel and I see each other the next morning, I can’t tell which is stronger: my elation or her irritation.
But, then, like our wager last night, it’s probably a tie.
