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“Yes.”
“My mother would never allow that,” she spewed. “She threw away anything we ever made.”
Ouch. “I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”
She shrugged and bit off a piece of cookie.
“Is that why you aren’t celebrating Christmas?” I hesitated to ask, seeing as Patrick wouldn’t say.
She chewed, swallowed, and sighed. “Part of the reason.”
I took a bite of cookie, not wanting to push it too much, though I longed for answers.
We both kept eating, in what I would consider mostly comfortable silence. I wanted to ask her about those girls at school. I had this desire to track them down and teach them a thing or two, starting with how the world didn’t need any more mean girls. But Bridgette once again surprised me.
“Every year, my mother ...”
I found it telling that she never called NinaMom.
“... she made us pick out our own gifts online because she was too busy. And it’s not like she really cared about us,” she spat. “Then she would buy them and have them professionally wrapped to perfection. No one would dare touch the precious themed trees that she had in almost every room of the house. Everything had to look perfect for all the photos. We were in all the papers and magazines,” she seethed. “But after all the pictures were taken and we smiled until our faces hurt, we woke up to nothing on Christmas morning,” her voice wavered.
I dropped my cookie. “Why?”
“Because it looked better when she gave everything away to charity. We had to be her selfless children who only cared about the poor and needy. Not that we didn’t, but it was all an act to make her look good. I remember when I was seven, sitting by the empty tree after watching all my presents being hauled away, wishing Santa wouldn’t forget me.”
My eyes started to water, imagining her so little and heartbroken. Nina sounded like a psycho.
“I fell asleep under the tree that night. My dad found me the next morning. He picked me up and carried me to my room. The doll I’d asked for but thought my mother had given away was on my bed. I thought it was Santa, but when I got older, I learned it was Dad. It was the same every year. Dad would always make sure we had something. My mother hated it. She said it made her a liar. She was the biggest liar ever.” She squeezed the cookie in her hand until it crumbled.
“I’m so sorry, Bridgette.” I was flabbergasted to say the least. I could scarcely imagine how anyone could treat their children in such a manner. I was relieved to find that Patrick had tried to lessen the blow. But why hadn’t he taken the children and run far away?
She brushed away some crumbs. “Christmas just feels like a lie now, but since she’s not here, we don’t have to live it.” Part of her sounded relieved, but the child in her was still aching.
I took her hand. Oh, wow. It felt so familiar, like the homey feeling I felt when I touched her dad. “Honey, Christmas isn’t a lie. It’s magical and wonderful.”
“YouareChristmas crazy.”
“No,” I laughed. “I just know the true meaning of it.”
“What is it?” she desperately wanted to know.
“I’m going to show you.” I was determined to make this the merriest of all the Christmases for Patrick and his kids. Well, you know, since the one where Mary laid Jesus in a manger. I was even going to see if I could get some angels to hark the herald. Heaven and nature were going to sing. You know, on top of throwing the wedding of the decade. What did George say about miracles? Miracles are just magic brought to life. I could perform some magic, right?
Bridgette bit her lip. “I don’t know if my dad would like it. He says Christmas holds his best and worst memories—and he doesn’t want to remember any of them.”
I think I knew what his best one was. I hoped now he would be amenable to remembering it, considering we shared the same memory. It all led to the hot tub. I was pretty certain I could top that now. Sure, I didn’t have the same bikini body, but I knew some things I didn’t know back then. But mostly, I knew about the wonders of Christmas seen through a child’s eyes. Jameson had taught me more about the magic of this season than anyone. Bridgette and Rory deserved that. They needed to know so they could perpetuate it. The world needed more cheer and goodwill toward men. Mostly, they needed it to help mend their hearts.
I could mend some hearts and still put on a killer wedding, right? Who needed sleep anyway?
“SEE YOU LATER, STEPMOMMY DEAREST,”Rory called out before I shut the door to the suite.
I laughed. For some reason the term didn’t bother me. It was even kind of endearing.
As I walked back toward the ballroom, I felt like I was in school again and had just passed a big test. It was exhausting and exhilarating. On top of that, I was bewildered and disgusted by Nina’s behavior. I needed to talk to Patrick and find out what happened over the last twenty years that changed Nina into a truemommie dearest. From the sound of it, she and Joan Crawford could have been best friends. Perhaps she had become an alcoholic like her apparent mentor. That would explain her cold and vile behavior. Not that I was excusing it, but I wanted to understand what had changed. Why she’d changed. I had considered Nina a close friend.
Just as I walked into the ballroom, my phone rang. I was hoping it was Patrick. I wanted to tell him about our plans for the evening, which involved taking his kids to the iconic and beloved roller-skating rink in town. It was all about the eighties, including an arcade with classic games. Jameson’s school had a monthly skate night we routinely enjoyed. Tonight was that night. When I told Bridgette about it, she wanted to come; Rory too.
I reached into the pocket of my wide-legged black pants and pulled out my phone. The number had me doing a double take. I hadn’t seen it in over two years. Honestly, I’d never thought I would see it again. I had deleted it from my contacts, yet I would recognize it anywhere. It was a number that used to give me butterflies in my stomach. Now it made it feel like a lead brick had been dropped on it. I had no idea why he would be calling. I almost didn’t answer it, as I was dealing with enough of my past as it was. But then I thought maybe something had happened to his parents, who I still loved. Although my relationship with them was mostly reduced to the exchange of birthday and Christmas cards. The thought reminded me: I needed to order Christmas cards. Not sure when I would have time to address and send them, but I would figure it out.
