Page 92 of Not Home Alone

I just stare at her blankly.

She widens her eyes at me, frowning, and mouths Go over to him!

I do. I stand closer to him, hands in my pockets, also wishing I had a glass of scotch right about now and a fireplace to stare into. “Leaving Holly Grove isn’t going to make you miss her less, Dad. I should know. And honestly, I’m glad I still miss her.”

“Eighteen years…” is all he says, shaking his head.

“I know. But I think maybe we’re lucky it still hurts. It doesn’t mean we haven’t kept moving forward. It means we still wish she was here. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I just know she was always trying to get us to see what was great about this town and she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled if you left because of her.”

He exhales a little laugh. “The way she’d pinch my arm and frown at me whenever she wasn’t happy with the way I was handling something with you kids. Used to drive me nuts. Now I sometimes pinch myself without even realizing it. I just get this sense that she doesn’t like the way I’m handling things.” He turns his head toward me the slightest bit. “It’s been happening a lot in the past couple of weeks.”

“Since you had the board vote on New York?”

He nods. “In my defense, I really did think I was helping you out. Mostly.”

Well… I rest my hand on his shoulder. We aren’t huggers. This is as emotional as we’re going to get around here. “I want to stay here and make sure this town stays great, and I want to do it for and with the woman I love.”

“Okay, son.” My dad pats my back. While my hand is on his shoulder. It’s the Moody version of a bro hug. “I’ll back you up with the board.” He steps away from me. “But I need to go home immediately. All this talk about feelings has made me uncomfortable. Merry Christmas to both of you.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Moody!” Merrily calls out.

My dad tells her she can call him Robert as he’s rushing off before he has to talk about any more feelings.

Merrily pulls me in for a real hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she says.

I’m not the kind of guy who cries. Certainly not in public. Not yet anyway. But dammit, this woman knows all the right five-word sentences to say to me. “I love you so much,” I tell her. I know some good five-word sentences too.

Not that it’s a competition.

THIRTY-THREE

MERRILY

There’s a lot of hugging backstage. A lot of congratulations. Grant and I get pulled away from each other, but it’s okay. Everyone knows how the real Grant Moody really feels about me now, and so do I.

Quinn Whitmore, though, who seems impervious to any form of evidence that she’s not going to marry my boyfriend, walks right up to him. I hear her say, “Hey! What a fantastic performance! Congrats!” She leans in to kiss him on the mouth, and Grant turns his cheek. Just like he did to me on stage ten years ago. The thing Quinn and her mean girlfriends delighted in making fun of me for the rest of senior year. But I know it’s not because he’s afraid of what people will think of him. It’s because he doesn’t care what Quinn thinks of him if she’s not going to respect my feelings. From the look on Quinn’s face, she finally gets it now too. “Right.” She pats him on the bicep. “Merry Christmas.” She spots me watching, waves at me, and says, “Good show, Merrily. Congratulations.” And then she leaves.

Was she congratulating me on the show or on Grant? It doesn’t matter. I appreciate it either way.

Joy envelops me in a hug. “That was one for the history books, Merrily. I’m so happy for you!”

Giving her the biggest squeeze, I say, “Thank you for roping me into this. Thank you, thank you.”

“We’ll make more theater magic together next year, yeah?”

“Yeah. As long as your boss will give you enough time off!”

“Enh. If he doesn’t, I’ll quit!” She’s been saying this for years.

Years.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, glancing down at it. “Speak of the devil. Better take this.”

She never quits. He never stops calling her after hours. But that’s another story.

April stands ten feet away, hands clasped, staring at me. I wait for her to approach me, but she doesn’t. So I go to her. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“I just wanted to say that this was kind of amazing. Thanks for letting me be a part of it.”