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“I’m not going to answer on the grounds that I’ll incriminate myself and you might not give Evie the sea monkeys I really want. I mean, she really wants.”
“Thirty-five,” I tell her. “So maybe your youngest uncle.”
“I don’t have any uncles,” she says. “Maybe that’s why it was a bad guess. But you’re almost ten years older than me.”
“You’re twenty-six?”
“Fifty-two if we’re counting life experience.”
Her mind is so quick. It frustrated me the first few times we clashed because I came out feeling foolish on the other side. “You’re almost funny, you know, kid.”
She pokes my chest. “Evie is the kid.” She pokes it again. “And Iamfunny. Go do the lights.”
I climb up the ladder and pause at the top. “You’re not my type, anyway.”
“You don’t like girls? That tracks.”
I stare down at her and spot a mischievous grin. “Not that it matters, but no, I don’t like girls. I like grownwomen.”
It’s her turn to scowl. For once after a match, Scrooge is tied with the girl next door.
I could get used to this.
Chapter Sixteen
Paige
Being friends with Henry Hill is much nicer than not.
There’s no way I’m toning down the Christmas craziness. What Evie wants this Christmas, Evie will get. Next year is soon enough to start teaching her principles of design. This year is about the celebration in all its gaudy green and red glory. Country Christmas? Sure. Three different versions of Santa? Why not? LEDsandincandescent lights? In jewel tones and primary colors? Oh, and white ones wherever Evie likes them? Bring it on.
To his credit, Henry doesn’t say another word about it. Instead, he waves each time he sees us. Tuesday, he knocks on the door while I’m heating Hot Pockets.
“Is Evie here?” he asks, holding up a bag.
“Hey, Henry. She is.” I glance behind me. We’re not fit for visitors yet, but I don’t want to break our fragile peace by not inviting him in. I step back and gesture for him to enter. He’ll either have the grace to recognize we’re a work in progress or he won’t. I can’t worry about it either way. “Let me get her.”
She’s sprawled on the floor coloring in her rainbow room, a truly happy space and the only one that is mostly finished. It’s stunning to see the before and after pictures. “Evie, honey, Mr. Henry is here. He brought you something.” Her forehead wrinkles, and I reassure her. “He mentioned you’d been leaving him gifts. I think he wants to say thank you.”
That’s enough for her. She scrambles to her feet, her crayons abandoned as she runs out to see Henry, skidding to a stop a few feet away.
“Hi,” she says, eyeing the bag in his hand. It’s possible she’s learned that crinkly plastic bags produce delicious high-fat, high-carb treats from me in my role as Mother of the Year.
“Hi,” he says, still awkward. It’s kind of cute now that I’ve learned to ignore his bark. “I brought you this.” He pulls out her seahorse and hands it to her.
Her eyes brighten and she reaches for it before changing her mind and trying not to let her face fall. “I gave it to you as a sorry gift for ruining your house.”
“It’s not ruined. It’s good as new,” he says. “And I really like this ornament. But it seems kind of sad at my house, and I think it’ll be happier here.”
“You do?” She looks at the seahorse with poorly disguised longing, and my heart squeezes the tiniest bit that she’d give it to him as an apology when she loves it so much. Maybe we do eat Hot Pockets and too many treats from plastic bags, but maybe I’m getting the big stuff right.
“I do. In fact, I was so worried it was lonely, I thought it would like some friends.”
“Go get your ornament,” I say, and she rushes over to scoop it up, then stays, curious about what’s coming next.
Henry reaches into the bag and pulls out a brightly colored box about the size of a kid’s shoebox. “It’s a sea monkey kit,” he explains. “You can grow them and . . . stuff?”
He looks toward me for help. I don’t know why he’s worried because Evie is squealing. I give him points for not wincing.
