Page 49 of Always Almost You

“You were scheduled to fly on the thirtieth,” she said. “When do you absolutely have to be there?”

“I’ve got a construction project starting January second and need to be on site.”

She nodded in the dim light. “I understand.”

“As much as I hate cutting this visit short, I should hit the road tomorrow.” He couldn’t see her expression clearly, but her shoulders had gone still.

“There’s another storm predicted for the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth,” his mother replied. “I was going to suggest you leave tomorrow to stay ahead of it, if you couldn’t extend your visit.”

He reached for her hand. “The older I get, the more I appreciate that what’s best for Gwen and me always comes first for you. I’ll come back in the spring,” he added quickly. “And I’ve got an idea for summer. It’s part of your Christmas present. We’ll talk about it with Gwen’s family.”

The sun crested the horizon, spilling golden light into the room.

She met his eyes. “Since I’m being such a good sport,” she said lightly, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it.”

“Is your best friend from architecture school having his annual New Year’s Eve party?”

Mike nodded.

“And you’re invited?”

“Of course.”

“Then I want you to go.”

He leaned back. “You know those things aren’t my scene.”

“I think it’s been long enough that you wouldn’t know,” she replied with a wry smile. “You complain about dating apps. But you won’t meet anyone sitting at home. There will be people there. You can have conversations and make connections.”

“I’ll bet single women don’t go to New Year’s Eve parties alone.”

“Perhaps not,” she said. “But plenty of people attend, and some of them may know the perfect person for you.”

Mike stared into his cup, considering.

“It’s one evening,” she pressed gently. “The food is bound to be good. It won’t hurt you to try.”

He looked up at her, smiling. “Will it make you happy if I say yes?”

“Ecstatic.”

He exhaled. “All right. I can’t say no to my mom on Christmas. I’ll go.”

Buddy lifted his head and gave a soft woof, as if sealing the agreement.

Mike’s family sat in a happy wreckage of torn wrapping paper, crumpled bows, gift boxes, and instruction manuals scattered across the living room floor. Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, pale gold and bright, competing with the glow of the lights still twinkling on the Christmas tree.

Remy and Ryan sprawled on their stomachs, already deep into the illustrated booklets for their new Lego sets. A half-built spaceship and what appeared to be the beginnings of a medieval castle lay in pieces around them.

Gwen circled the room with her phone, narrating as she snapped photos. “Hold that up, Remy. I want to see your face,” she said. “Ryan, show me the box again.”

Mike hovered nearby, crouching to point at a diagram. “See? That piece locks under here. If you flip it, the whole thing will be crooked.”

“Legos were your uncle’s favorite toys,” Gwen said to the boys. “I’m convinced that’s why he became an architect.”

“That and his erector sets,” their grandmother added from her armchair.