Page 76 of Something Borrowed

Vic cried a little. It was just so unexpected and nice. And it really felt . . . special. Christmassy.

Then, today, during their brunch, Christmas didn’t beg exactly, but she did keep them entertained by pointedly staring at them the whole time they ate, as if hoping, praying—or casting a benevolent hex—that one of them would drop a scrap of bacon.

When Audra did just that, clearly intentionally, Vic was so surprised that she giggled, which made Audra grumble crossly, “Well, she is a friendly little thing, I’ll give you that. And she looks half-starved.”

It hadn’t even been two days, but Vic was already going to miss the little cuddle machine like crazy. Still, she considered Christmas’s appearance a gift. Even if she wasn’t meant to be theirs permanently, at the very least, Vic now knew that she really did want a cat, and that Audra would benefit from one too.

So yes, the day that Vic had dreaded was more than okay so far. The only disappointment—that she was trying to not let niggle at her too much—was that she’d texted Cal twice that morning and hadn’t heard anything back. Which was fine. Of course. Of course! It was Christmas. He was no doubt busy making holiday phone calls or had gotten a last-minute invite somewhere after telling her he had no plans. And she’d been cheery in her texts, sure—but not so over the top that she’d have scared him off. She didn’t think. Unless, maybe, he was second-guessing their date tomorrow.

A line from a graphic she’d downloaded recently, possibly the best tool she’d found so far for helping calm compulsive urges and anxiety, came to her. Things I can control: How I speak to and treat others. Things I can’t control: What other people think about me.

Vic inhaled deeply. Then exhaled in a gusty sigh.

I was happy and friendly. I did nothing wrong. I don’t need to be ashamed.

Devil, of course, piped up. Yeah, you keep telling yourself that—

I will. Thanks.

Her head went comfortably silent. Another Christmas miracle!

Audra went for a lie down, saying she needed a rest if Vic expected to eat a big fancy dinner and watch a movie’s worth of NCIS again tonight, which made Vic laugh inside her head because that was so clearly Audra’s hope for the evening. When Audra was like this, it could almost make her believe she imagined Audra’s cruel, difficult side. Almost. Why couldn’t she always be like this?

The idea of an afternoon rest was enticing though, so Vic followed Audra’s lead and tucked herself onto the couch. No sooner had she settled in than a little black streak leaped onto her lap and snuggled under her arm, against her side.

Vic’s heart raced with delight, but she tried to play it cool and to avoid any sudden movement or noise that might frighten Christmas off. Slowly, slowly, she reached for Where Women Create, a gorgeous, inspiring magazine she’d gifted herself for Christmas. She’d just flipped to the first page, planning to enjoy it cover to cover, when her phone buzzed.

She expected it to be a spam call. Once you gave any store your cell number, you were doomed, regardless of what day of the year it was. Instead, it was . . . She blinked.

Michael!

“Merry Christmas, Mom. I’m sorry I haven’t emailed you back. It’s been a crazy month, but I will soon.”

Vic clasped her phone in both hands and pressed it to her heart, then bowed her head, as if she was praying. Maybe she was? Tears pricked her eyes.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, she thought.

She sent a string of five hearts back as her reply. Then, unable to resist the cuteness of Christmas or the pull to respond to even this tiny overture from her son, she snapped a photo of the tiny cat’s adorable pointy face with her cute-to-the-point-of-being-cartoonish crescent-shaped closed eyes and little kitty smile and sent that too.

She was rewarded with three exclamation marks. She smiled—then gaped at a follow-up text. “You got a cat! I can’t wait to meet her.”

Whaa—Vic sucked in a breath. Don’t hope too much. Don’t hope too much. Don’t hope too—

But it was too late. Did that mean Michael was coming for a visit after all? She closed her eyes. The excitement she felt, even though she knew she should fight it—at least until she got his email—was almost painful.

Her phone pinged again. Three texts in a row from Michael? Now she wondered if she should be worried about him. Ha, Universe. Just kidding!

But it wasn’t Michael. It was Cal—and he was clearly in overthinking mode exactly the way she had been earlier.

“Hey! Hi! Merry Christmas! I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to your texts right away. My battery was dead, or I would’ve. Anyway, yeah, sorry! MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

Vic smiled at his repeated wish and his use of all caps. She would try to remember his exuberance the next time she was worrying about being too effusive.

His next text read, “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. I’m so glad neither of your texts were to cancel.”

And finally, the third: “That was a joke. Pretend I didn’t send it.”

Vic could hold her phone and read texts with her free hand, but Christmas had shifted to the crook of her arm, which would make texting back difficult. She could auto-dictate . . . or she could do what she really wanted to do and call him.