Page 21 of The Holiday Makeover

I launched myself off the squeaky bed. George stood at attention and rushed down the stairs by my side as panic threatened to overtake me. How was I supposed to save my show? Myself? A life with the woman I loved?

I hit the landing just in time to hear, “So has this just turned into a friends-with-benefits situation?” Mom tittered. “He is sleeping here, right?”

I gripped the stair railing, needing a second to process my mother asking my ex if we were sleeping together. And not just my ex—Rory was so much more than that. She was the girl I grew up with, the one tied to every good memory I had. She was the woman who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Reducing her to my ex felt insulting.

But that’s exactly what I’d done when I walked away from her two years ago.

“Hey, Mom,” I called down, mortified, hoping she wouldn’t press Rory any further about our sleeping arrangements. Not to say I wouldn’t like to revisit them, but I knew better than to even contemplate it under the circumstances.

“There he is,” Mom sang.

I hurried down the rest of the stairs to find Rory’s cheeks tinged red. She smiled at me, obviously relieved.

I missed that smile.

I missed her more.

For one moment I let myself get lost in her. And in those few seconds, the panic rising in my chest eased. How had I forgotten that Rory made everything better? Even the dark moments.

Mom threw her arms around me. “How’s my superstar?”

And just like that, the reprieve was over.

I knew Mom didn’t realize she was taking anything from me. She probably thought she was being supportive, being a good mom. But just once, I wanted to be her son. Not the state-champion quarterback. Not the kid with the full-ride scholarship. Not the guy with three million YouTube followers.

And I wasn’t a superstar. From the sound of it, I was about to be unemployed.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Rory said, already stepping back.

Mom released me. “Oh, don’t go. I wanted to ask you both to join us for Thanksgiving.”

I should’ve seen that one coming, but I was completely unprepared for it. I hadn’t spent the holidays with my parents in years. Spending Thanksgiving with them meant having my life sliced up like pie and topped with a heaping spoonful of what could only be called emotional evisceration.

Rory bit her lip, her eyes catching mine. She knew better than anyone how hard this would be for me. And even though I’d hurt her and left her, she still showed up for me.

“We have a lot of work to do on the house, not to mention all the party planning. I was honestly going to order takeout from the Moon Café for us,” Rory stuttered out. She was clearly making it up on the fly.

I doubted she had any plans for a cozy little Thanksgiving dinner for the two of us. It sounded perfect to me, though.

I loved Moon Café. I had a lot of good memories of Rory and me there in high school—eating dessert, talking about nothing and everything. Like an idiot, I used to get her advice about the girls I was dating, completely unaware of how she really felt about me.

How she smiled and laughed through it, I had no idea.

And I had no idea how I’d ever let her go.

I really was an idiot.

Mom’s face—tanned no matter the time of year—turned almost as pale as her dyed-blond hair. She always said there were three things she’d never give up in life: self-tanner, hair dye, and her “happy shots.” That’s what she called Botox. Mom’s favorite thing in the world was when someone told her she looked like she was in her forties, when in reality, she’d just turned sixty.

She was beautiful, but I had to admit I didn’t enjoy it when she put on her old Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit every year on her birthday and posted it on social media just to prove she could still squeeze into it. There were just some things a son didn’t need to see. My mom’s, uh . . . cleavage was one of them. Or the way she’d move her hips like she was still performing on the fifty-yard line.

No doubt my dad loved it. I could’ve done without the visual.

“Oh,” Mom said, disappointed. “Well, how about if Dominic and I help? You know I love to throw a good party, and we can lend a hand with sprucing things up. In fact, we would love to. Cosette and Sam were the best neighbors and friends we could ask for,” she choked out. “And we hardly ever see you two anymore.”

She looked between Rory and me, her eyes—the same shade as mine—welling up as she blinked back tears.

Not the mom tears. Anything but the mom tears. Those things could negotiate better than Nelson Mandela.