Mom scoffs.
“Zach,” Greta scolds gently, pegging me with a look. “Don’t tease.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Dad cuts in, ogling the catwalk with interest. “I wouldn’t mind—”
Mom’s eyes bug. “Marcus Anthony Rousseau, don’t eventhinkabout it.”
“Wife—” Dad scowls the signature Rousseau scowl. “Don’t you dare say we’re too old to do this.”
Mom scowls back with far less effect. “Age has nothing to do with it. If you fell—”
“I’d be harnessed, Susanna—”
“I’m aware, Marcus.” She crosses her arms over her chest, challenging him. “But what do you think a fall in that harness would do to your bursitis?”
Dad shifts his gaze back to the catwalk, his scowl turning pensive.
“Good point,” he mutters.
Greta side-eyes me. She’s trying not to laugh. I am too.
These two, I swear.
Greta clears her throat. “When we get the zipline up, that might be something you’d both like to try,” she offers. “It’ll be ready the next time you visit.”
Mom raises her brows at Dad, a question in her eyes. Then he looks to me. “When could we come back?”
It’s October now. I know if I say the word, they’d come back next month. I love them, but I don’t need them here that soon. I turn to Greta, hoping she’ll help me out.
She shrugs like any time is fine. “We’re booked for the weeks of Thanksgiving and Christmas. What about New Year’s? No one’s reserved that far ahead. We could do a bonfire—I could make a brisket—”
“She cooks too?” Dad stage whispers.
“Marco—”
“Dad—”
But Greta just laughs.
“We’d love to come for New Year’s. I know Liz won’t be able to get away, but maybe Kitty and Jacob could come for a couple of nights.” Mom frowns her disapproval. “No one needs to be in New Orleans for New Year’s anyway. They fire guns instead of popping fireworks!”
Mom and Dadandmy sister and her fiancé? I meet Greta’s eyes.
“You sure?”
She blinks at me in surprise. “Of course!” She looks at Mom and Dad in turn. “That sounds like a great time. I’ll block out both cabins for the—”
“We’ll be booking them, of course,” Dad insists.
Greta angles back. “But it’s a holiday—”
He’s undeterred. “You just said you were booked for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Those are holidays too.” Dad frowns and turns his scowl on me. “And since when do you work on Thanksgiving and Christmas?”
Greta and I talked about this when the reservation requests popped up on Airbnb. We hadn’t even thought about blacking out the dates for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Honestly, we’ve been so focused on making progress here that I hadn’t given any thoughts to holiday plans at all.
But when the Christmas booking came in from two brothers, one from Mississippi and the other from Texas, who wanted to meet in the middle with their wives for the first Christmas without their parents, it was easy to say yes.
Besides, even though I usually go to Mom and Dad’s for Christmas—back when I could only get away from the office for a couple of days—I don’t want to this year.
