But it’s Margaret’s voice that transforms the space into something sacred. She reminds me of Marmee fromLittle Women,the mother I used to lie in bed dreaming was downstairs waiting for me.
Before I can stop them, memories slip past the careful walls I’ve spent years constructing. Dinners alone while my parents attended galas. Being trotted out: “Recite this poem in French. Curtsy prettily.” Ice skating competitions where Madame Rousseau sat in the stands.
And the ache of their deaths. Those I don’t touch.
Standing in this kitchen, steeped in decades of family love, I feel like an imposter, trespassing in someone else’s story.
“Excuse me,” I mumble, rushing away and hoping I can escape before any tears spill.
A hand catches my arm before I reach the stairs.
“Syd, why’d you rush out?” Mason’s blue eyes search mine, but rather than concern, I see them narrow. His sharp tone can’t hide his annoyance at my sudden departure from the conversation with his mom.
“I just... something got in my eye,” I lie.
Mason doesn’t know about my childhood. Some instinct says he wouldn’t know what to do with the mess. He doesn’t ask, so I don’t share.
He accepts my answer, doesn’t read into the hesitation, and nuzzles his mouth into the curve of my neck. “You know where you’re standing?”
Mistletoe.
He kisses me, soft and sweet. “It means a lot to me that you came. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I’m used to doing my own thing when I’m here.”
Truth is, I hadn’t even noticed his absence. Instead of admitting that, I say, “Your family is incredible.”
“Yeah, they are. I was hoping this week might give us space to think about the future,” he murmurs, and kisses me again. “I hope this is the first of many Christmases you spend with us.”
It’s pleasant, this slow kiss. Usually, kissing him is a means to an end, but this one lingers, like he can kiss me into believing what he’s asking. Last week, even yesterday, hearing him talk aboutourfuture would have made me run for the mountains. Marriage and kids have never been on my radar. Something my childhood taught me only led to disappointment. But after spending a day surrounded by his family, a future with them included doesn’t sound so bad.
“I might hold you to that,” I say, even surprising myself.
He smiles, studying my face as he might red-line a contract.
“You should fix your makeup. Your mascara’s smudged.” His thumb brushes beneath my eye, the gesture affectionate. Until he adds, “First impressions matter, after all. You don’t want to look like a mess in front of my mom.”
The urge to bite back hits quickly, but I swallow it down as I was trained to do and trudge up the stairs. I should feel hurt, but it’s nothing new to me. I’m used to remarks wrapped in concern, disguised as help. My parents specialized in that kind of affection.
Twisted as it sounds, part of me used to welcome it because in those moments, at least I knew they saw me.
This relationship with Mason isn’t perfect, nor is it some grand romance. But I’m not searching for someone to sweep me into a fairytale or put stars in my eyes. My parents cured me of wanting such love. The kind that can crush you when it’s gone.
Mason is a safe bet. Any lawyer would call him a solid deal. He’s convenient, and honestly, someone I can live without. But this family? This family… changes everything.
2019
She tasted freedom on her tongue,
felt her heart remember its own song,
then the familiar gilded cage locked
and silenced her at the edge.
Two
“UncleMason,AuntSydis under the mistletoe!” Leo and Beck, Jules’s six-year-old twins, come crashing by, all limbs and energy.
Mason either doesn’t hear them over the roar of the football game or chooses not to.
