“Oh, Jack.” More than understanding or realization, her expression held so much damn disappointment.
“It’s the truth,” I countered defensively. “My father—whoever he is—never even tried to be in the picture. And Mom—Mom left. She’d rather be homeless or struggling or wherever she ended up than be saddled with me. I’m not a good bet for someone like Bonnie. She deserves so much more—so muchbetter. Someone reliable. Someone worthy of the life she wants.”
Not someone with a shitty reputation who’d only drag her down. Bonnie had goals and plans. I’d derail all of that. Changing things up just so she could be with me—starting over fromscratch—would only make her resent me more. And once she figured out that I’d inevitably disappoint her, then it really would be over. Or worse, she’d stick it out and be miserable because that was the loyal kind of person she was.
Lia sighed heavily and dropped into the seat across from me, resignation practically radiating from her.
I sat too. Nothing about this conversation felt like having the upper hand, and standing over her made me feel worse somehow.
“Jack, you are my grandson, and I love you. But you are an idiot if you think you’re anything like your parents. You are your own person. Always have been.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to remind her I’d been a hellion, just like my mother.
But Lia raised a hand and kept talking. “Sure, you did some troublemaking in your youth, but luckily, people mature beyond their teenage years, thank God. It’s silly to think that’s the only version of you folks remember. People aren’t assigned value at sixteen, for crying out loud. You grew up to be dependable and trustworthy. You’re a hard worker and a good listener. You’re a good man, Jack. I’m damn proud of you. You take care of me and that bar and your employees. Those girls on your soccer team that you can’t stop talking about. I don’t think you see yourself very clearly at all.”
Something squeezed my chest as a memory assaulted me. I remembered saying that same thing to Bonnie when she’d called herself broken, sitting on the stairs outside my apartment. I swallowed roughly. Basic factory settings and her hand clasped in mine.
“Do you think people really have a limit on their love?” Lia asked, voice as soft as I’d ever heard it. “That your mother’s well ran dry and she didn’t have enough for you or me? Do you truly believe she passed that on to you through blood? Because I don’t think that’s true. You have enough love for me and for the bar and your friends and staff and teammates. Are you worried you won’t have enough left over for Bonnie, too? Is that it?”
“Of course not,” I replied reflexively, throat tight. “I love her. I—” I broke off helplessly before finishing, “I love her.”
“Good.” Lia’s smile was shrewd. “That’s a start. Now what are you going to do about it?”
twenty-one
BONNIE
Christmas music was playing in my aunt Maggie’s kitchen as folks filtered in and out.
We’d always celebrated Christmas Eve a little loosely.
When I was a kid, there’d been a movie on repeat in the den—usuallyA Christmas Story—while we’d taken turns decorating gingerbread houses at the kitchen table with my mom.
As Will, Mac, Larry, and I had grown older, the movie had changed—usuallyElforThe Nightmare Before Christmas.
Now it wasDie Hard,and we still decorated gingerbread houses. There was even a contest, and we voted on whose was the best. The winner got to smash the others, and we all took pieces home with us in giant Ziploc bags at the end of the night.
Extended family in ugly Christmas sweaters mingled in the kitchen, den, living room, and dining room, where everything was decorated to within an inch of its life with pine boughs and holly berries. There were various snacks and punch and a ridiculous amount of sweets scattered throughout.
I’d always loved spending this time with my loved ones. My favorite holiday, like I’d told Jack.
Last Christmas Eve had been difficult, though. Danny and I had been fighting, the news of his cheating fairly recent. But I’d been pretending everything was fine, putting on a show, while he’d hidden on the back porch in the cold, avoiding everyone.
This year, I was missing Jack, wishing he could be here with me. But I wasn’t letting it ruin one of the most special times of the year.
Currently, I was decorating Maggie’s kitchen tree. She had a total of six trees in the house. Earlier in the day, she, Becca, and I had made cinnamon ornaments. They were finally dry and cooled and smelled amazing. Becca and Mac were tying on the ribbon to make hanging loops, and I was placing them on the tree. I admired each festive shape—the bells and angels, reindeer and snowmen.
“I can’t believe I never knew you could mix cinnamon, applesauce, and glue together to make ornaments,” Becca said in wonder, and she cut another length of ribbon. She was wearing a headband with light-up antlers and a maroonStar Warsholiday sweater with Rey and Kylo Ren. Carl, the dog, had his head resting on Becca’s thigh while she worked.
“We’ll teach you all our ways,” Mac said with a grin and a jangle. Her own ugly Christmas sweater had bells sewn on it, and she rang a little each time she moved.
“Except for Maggie’s recipe for peppermint bark,” I amended with a grin. “No one gets that.”
“Oh.” Becca frowned. “I helped her make some yesterday. Was that supposed to be a secret?”
“What?” Mac’s mouth dropped open. “I have been asking Aunt Maggie for that recipe foryears. She said she was taking it with her to heaven with her cast iron and her Aqua Net.”
Becca and I laughed.
