Page 87 of The Christmas Yes List

“Ah!” he cries out, and it’s the first time I genuinely laugh at him since the discovery.

“Meet Nanny,” I say, popping out of the passenger’s door and walking around. The orange beak on the tan goose goes about a mile a minute yapping at him.

“She friendly?” he says.

“Not at all. Keep your fingers close.”

Nanny waddles after us all the way to the door, yapping at James, who looks for the first time like he’s trying to keep himself together, exhibiting a mix of masculinity while carrying the suitcases and terror at the possibility of Nanny nipping at his backside. Again.

When we get to the door, it’s Genie who flings it open. Her face is like one shiny, bright, gigantic ornament of joy, and she reaches instantly for the double pack of casseroles wrapped in aluminum stacked carefully in my hands. “About time!” Her face freezes ever so slightly as she locks eyes with James.

Genie has been coming with me to Nana’s Christmas gatherings for as long as I can remember. She’s one of those people who goes into a dentist’s office and leaves with an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner from the hygienist. She’s family—not just to me, but to everybody. And by extension, I’m sure Peter is around here somewhere too.

“Hello,” she says, her voice openly stilted. Her eyes narrow into little slits. “John, was it?” she says.

James’s brows rise in surprise. Which makes sense, considering we camped together and she already said his name a hundred times. “James.”

“Oh, riiiight,” she says, her face frozen in that smile of hers. “One of those names everybody has. Of course. So good to see you again.”

“You as well,” he says uncertainly.

“Don’t trip on the way in,” she says, swiveling around and sounding like that is precisely what would make her day.

She’s a loyal friend. Maybe loyal to a fault.

We step in.

For as cold and windswept as the yard and surrounding hills are, the house is warm, loud, and crammed with people. The rooms smell deeply of pine, thanks in large part to the multiple small, potted trees chopped down from the farm and put in several rooms of the house. The kids have come through and decorated them in pine cones and string stars and family heirlooms of photo memories in silver frames, and it is not uncommon to find random bits of messy string made into loopy little bows by a toddler’s pudgy fingers.

All the guest rooms among the quirky upstairs options are taken, except for mine—the double twin bed attic space I’ll share with Genie. And a last-minute converted broom closet. For James.

I assured a hesitant Mom last night that would be just fine.

“Can you take the suitcases up the stairs to the rooms?” Genie says to James.

“Oh, sure.”

“Make sure to skip the second through fifth steps. They can be a little tricky.”

James frowns. “Tricky?”

“Only if you like your ankles.”

“I do very much like my ankles.”

“Well then, I’d definitely do the long stretch up them. Escalator-scene style. Elf style.”

He looks at her dubiously. “With the suitcases?”

“Naturally with the suitcases.” She gives him a hearty pat on the back. A hearty pat. A too-hearty pat. “You’ll figure it out.”

And after Genie makes a point to go stand beside the piano at a good viewing distance, encouraging him on, she finally turns to me, a light in her eyes.

She was in the loop on everything that had happened before I could even get my key in the door last night. She was quite literally waiting for me on the doorstep when I got back from the date. Fully anticipating I’d need a strong hug and consolation after breaking everything off with him given the revelation of it all. So imagine how she about keeled over when he kissed me on the cheek a little awkwardly in her presence and said he was looking forward to picking me up tomorrow.

She was as angry as a hornet’s nest when I told her the story.

At James, naturally. And at Čedomir and his butting in (which was her job, she reminded me).