Page 79 of Santa Baby

“Why doesn’t she have to do anything?” Colin argued, standing in the kitchen, motioning all the way through the dining room and into the living room, where I’d been seeking solace.

“Seven Fishes isn’t the women’s responsibility,” Dad said gruffly, waving his hands in emphasis.

Colin shook his head. “Mom’s making sauce⁠—”

“Your mom is always making sauce! What if someone comes over today, huh? What will they eat if there isn’t sauce on the stove? Think, son.”

I smirked to myself as I cozied deeper into the cushions. Sometimes, after spending so much time in the city away from my family, I would forget our Italian roots. Seeing Colin and Dad gesture wildly to each other, the noise decibels rising every passing second, reminded me that Mason was going to be thrown into the fire tomorrow and there was nothing I could do but cross my fingers and hope that none of my uncles decided they needed to “speak to him about business,” AKA, telling him they know someone who could make him disappear.

I wasn’t sure where Mason was today. We’d spent a slow, lazy morning in my apartment and then he’d left in what felt to me like a hurry. We’d gone from rolling around on my too small couch under the glare of Christmas lights to him excitedly getting ready for a walk of shame in his tux from the night before, promising he’d call me later.

Well, it was later, and the text I had sent to confirm that he would be here in Brooklyn tomorrow around three had so far gone unanswered.

“Fia, honey, can you go upstairs and bring down the Famille Rose serving dishes? They’re in the linen closet!” Mom’s voice rang through the house.

I promptly rolled off the couch and hiked up the steps. At the top, my old room was directly across from Colin’s old room, both untouched from childhood. I grabbed the serving dishes Mom only brought out for this one holiday and balanced them in my arms as I crept back downstairs.

“What do you mean, you’re not spending the night?” Mom barked at Colin.

“I’m getting drinks with some of the guys from work, Mom.”

“Why no Christmas party this year?” Dad asked.

“With the menthol incident?” Colin waved his hand in disgust. “No one was feeling like celebrating.”

I set the serving dishes by the sink and rolled up my sleeves as my family dropped into another spirited argument about the fact that Colin, a thirty-five-year-old bachelor, wasn’t going to be spending the night at his parents’ house tonight.

“It’s tradition,” Mom whined before picking up the phone, which hadn’t stopped ringing since I arrived several hours ago. “You two always stay the night today and tomorrow night.”

“I’m a man now!” Colin threw his hands in the air. “I can get a drink if I want to! I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? With time to spare⁠—”

“Because you’re helping cook this year,” Dad cut in, pointing an accusatory finger toward Colin’s chest. “Like the men⁠—”

“Like the men do every year, yeah, yeah.” Colin shrugged into his coat, waving them off, but he kissed Mom on the cheek and clapped Dad on the shoulder. “I’ll pick up those cookies Uncle Theo likes, okay?”

Mom gave him a loving look as Dad followed him outside onto the porch, where their argument was cut up by laughs as Dad gave him rough kisses on each cheek.

I turned back to the sink, scrubbing the serving dishes clean and setting them on the rack to dry. Mom sidled up beside me at the stovetop, stirring the sauce. The smell of garlic, tomato, and basil were heavy in the air.

“I’m going to the deli,” Dad said from the exterior door off the kitchen and promptly disappeared. A peaceful silence hugged the house.

“We should enjoy this peace,” Mom said wistfully, reaching to grab her phone. She started playing some jazzy, old school Christmas music as we worked in companionable silence. Eventually she moved on from the sauce to make her famous homemade hot chocolate, and soon we were sitting on the couch together, snuggled in blankets while an old Christmas movie played on TV.

I checked my phone again. She noticed my obsessive behavior and cocked a brow. “Is he still coming tomorrow? Colin said he invited him.”

“I invited him,” I corrected. “Seeing as we’re dating.”

“I’m honestly shocked Colin is okay with this.”

I felt myself sinking into the couch cushions in an attempt to disappear. Mason did say he was going to talk to Colin. He even insisted he be the one to tell him, which I understood, at least, at the time. But I figured Colin would have said something to me if the conversation had already taken place, and so far, any conversation I’d had with Colin recently had been the usual teasing, bickering, and gossiping about the family converging on the house tomorrow. “I’m a grown woman. It’s not like I’m still in high school wanting to date one of his friends ten years my senior.”

“The women in this family do love older men,” Mom joked with a glint in her eye, smiling around the rim of her mug. “Your father is fifteen years older than me.”

I returned her arched look. “I’m not dating Mason because he’s older than me.” I shifted my position to face her fully, crossing my legs beneath the blanket. “I like him. We suit each other. Like gloves. I’m his right-brained glove, and he’s my left-brained glove.”

“You’re a special girl, Fia.”

“I hope you mean that in a nice way.” I laughed.