Page 54 of Terms and Traditions

“I’m sorry,” Stephanie whispered, squeezing my hand and leaning into me. “I know how hard it is to lose a grandparent. I can’t even imagine losing both.”

I nodded. “My mom’s a drug addict. She’s tried on and off for years to get clean, but it never sticks. That was the call I got at the coffee shop in Missoula. The rehab center was letting me know she’d checked herself out—again—even though she only had two weeks left.”

“Oh, Nash.” Stephanie wrapped her free hand around my arm, hugging it close. Whether for my comfort or because I could feel her shivering, I wasn’t sure, but I appreciated the gesture. “And here I was, going on about my family problems—”

I touched a finger to her lips, stopping the words. “Don’t. Don’t compare our family pain and decide you have it better, Steph. That’s not how it works. We both had pretty rotten things thrown at us. What matters is how we grow from it. How we let God use those trials to shape us. I haven't always done the best job with that.” Alexis’s face flashed across my mind. Yeah, letting her rejection rule my dating life for the last ten years wasn’t my strongest point. But maybe that was what brought me to Stephanie.

“Neither have I,” she confessed, lips brushing my gloved finger. “Thank you. For letting me in.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

She shook her head, her glossy curls bouncing. “Don’t be. I get it.”

Letting my finger fall from her lips, I cupped her face in my hands. “Steph, you need to know that—”

An ugly swear cut through our cozy cocoon, shattering the bubble. Seriously, would this family ever let me kiss this woman?

Startling, Stephanie inched back and eyed Elijah, standing at the balcony door, still in his signature funeral garb, lips curled in a snarl.

“Get in here, shrimp. And bring your boy toy.”

Stephanie glared. “Boyfriend, Eli.”

“Save it for someone who cares.” Elijah slammed the door with a rattle.

She growled in frustration. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Why don’t they like you?” I asked, easing off the hot tub platform and offering a hand to help her down.

Stephanie accepted and her boots thudded softly on the wooden slats underfoot. “I’m the youngest and the most convenient scapegoat. They all despise Hiram for leaving their mothers and moving onto the next woman. Which is why they hate each other. But since Hiram holds the purse strings, they’ve all decided I’m the convenient one to hate if they can’t hate him and have to work together.”

“That’s messed up, Steph.”

“I know. It’s why I hate coming here, especially alone. Don’t get me wrong, Nana, Gabe, Ivy, and Hailey are great. We’re just outnumbered.” She scrunched her nose. “But we should get in there. No sense stirring the pot even more.”

Backtracking to the front door, we shed our winter layers, and the warmth never felt so welcome. The puzzle remains were packed up, replaced by a table with Monopoly (how was that a good idea?), Hiram popped a wine bottle, and the newest cartoon version of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas played on the TV for the kids.

Stephanie made a beeline towards Hailey, who was curled up in the corner on a low beanbag chair, nearly obstructed from view by the Christmas tree and the mounds of blankets she was under, an e-reader in hand.

I followed, but before I caught up to Stephanie, a shadow sailed above my head. “What was that?” I jumped and twisted around, trying to identify the object.

“What?” Stephanie asked, looking back at me confused.

“There was—” My words were cut off by an excited cheer, and several people pointed just above my head.

I tilted my head up, nerves taut and dread pooling in my gut. I wasn’t ready for another Addams torture chamber after just spilling my guts to Stephanie like that. Sure enough, nine-year-old Ollie, Austin’s son, stood on the mezzanine floor above us, with a fishing pole in hand, dangling a sprig of mistletoe over our heads.

“Are you kidding me?” Stephanie grumbled beside me.

Right, her nieces and nephews were pranksters. “I take it this is a new addition to the initiation rites?” I was now more bemused than dread filled. An irritated Steph was an amusing Steph.

“Who brings fishing poles to a ski lodge?” she huffed.

“Found them in storage.” Austin offered a mustached smile. “Get on with it, Polly Pocket.”

Unlike Elijah, Austin didn’t sound hostile but still condescending, and I could tell he was relishing making Stephanie uncomfortable. Nicknames were weaponized rather than endearing with this crowd.

Stephanie’s eyes locked on mine as the chanting grew louder: Kiss her. Kiss her.