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I roll my eyes as I laugh. “I'm meeting the girls for coffee. You wanna come?”
“As much as I would love to meet the rest of the famous trio, I have to pass.” Pen pulls a face, faking a shiver. “My parents are dragging me to lunch.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“They're fighting,” she explains. “There's been a lot of subtle glaring and animosity in the Jacobs household lately.”
“That sucks.” I aim a very loving elbow at her ribs. “I hope it doesn't ruin your Christmas.”
Pen snorts. “My Christmas will consist of me sitting very still and hoping no one notices me so I don't get asked about boyfriends or girlfriends or whether I've considered changing majors yet.”
I fake a wistful sigh. “The perfect holiday.”
* * *
The second I answer my ringing phone, I regret it.
My dear mother, who I only see a handful of times throughout the academic year, begins our first phone call in a whopping two weeks—equally hectic schedules don’t allow much time for chit chat—with a demand. Not even a hello. Just a firm, “Invite him.”
“No,” I reply with as much finality as I can muster.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Hey, I'm the mother here and I'm telling you to invite him.”
“Well, he's my boyfriend and I'm saying no.”
Ma makes a little excited squealing sound, the same one she makes every time I drop the b-word. I thought the poor woman was going to lose her voice the day I revealed the big news. Immediately, she pounced on the prospect of Jackson coming home with me for Christmas, completely oblivious to the fact that he technically came home with me for Thanksgiving. The same as I’m doing now, I turned her down, for more than one reason.
First of all, my mother will no doubt scare him away before he even sets foot in the door. I love her but she's an acquired taste. Like herbal tea.
Secondly, if my mother doesn't succeed in sending him packing, Eva and Bea will. I can picture it now; cornering us unexpectedly and regaling him with tales of my whoring ways. I wouldn’t put it past them to have a slideshow prepared. Maybe even a song.
Thirdly, I really don't want to incur the wrath of the Jackson sisters again. I know they were pissed about the whole Thanksgiving thing, despite his claims that his absence didn't matter because they don't celebrate Thanksgiving. But I know that if I had a sibling, I too would hate the girl who interrupted our short, precious time together.
And finally; if I did ask him and he said no—which he would because that boy loves his sisters—I would have a very hard time hiding my disappointment. And my embarrassment.
Which is why, for the millionth time, I let my mom know that, “I'm not inviting Jackson.”
“You're not inviting me where?”
My surprised yelp echoes around Greenies’ smoking area as I jump and twist awkwardly in my seat to find Jackson lurking in the doorway, stifling a laugh. “What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me!”
“Language, Luna!” Ma shrieks before making that godawful squealing noise again. “Is that Jackson? Can I speak to him? If you won't invite him, I'll do it.”
“I'm hanging up now.” Whatever protest Ma has is cut off by me doing just that, and promptly turning my phone off so she doesn't blow the thing up.
Us Evans women are nothing if not persistent.
The rusty metal chair I'm perched on creaks as Jackson hooks a hand around the back, dragging it until there’s a big enough gap between me and the table for him to squeeze into. His knees knock against mine as he rests his ass on the edge, hands cupping my cheeks as he kisses me briefly. “Where are you inviting me?”
“Nowhere.”
Up goes the corner of his mouth. “Sounds fun.”
I shrug a non-answer, keeping my gaze carefully averted as I lean around him to grab my lunch. Mac ‘n’ cheese, an Amelia special, straight from a blue box but as long as it’s not fried diner food, I couldn't care less. I’m stabbing at a hefty portion of noodles when my fork gets abruptly snatched away from me. “Hey!”
