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“It’s been such a hard few months since the stroke, and I know I don’t talk about it much, but this really makes all those hard days worth it.” Mom’s tearing up now. There’s a weight in my chest as heavy as a bag of rocks. Mom hates crying in front of people. I can’t let her believe Brie and I are together though. That’s not fair to anyone.
“I’m sorry Mom—”
I’m cut off again but this time by Jocelyn. “I always thought Rockwell and Brie looked good together.”
“Me too,” Gabby adds, though she seems to add this reluctantly.
I always thought Jocelyn and Gabby decent, but they’re killing me. Do they have to be so encouraging?
“I know, aren’t they perfect for each other?” Mom throws in, dabbing at her eyes with her good arm.
I open my mouth to object.
Brie’s hand lands on mine and my words fall short. I look at her hand and then at her panicked expression.
It’s a simple gesture, but it makes an ambiguous statement to my mother. In fact, she’s practically announcing we’re dating. She’s too nice to disappoint my mom, but the signals she’s sending are confusing—even to me. Has she forgotten there is a literal wall between us at the duplex—a thick one—and it isn’t going anywhere? So why don’t I move my hand out from under hers? She squeezes it in a wordless apology, and my heart simultaneously squeezes too.
It’s nostalgia. Good old Bob’s twinkle lights are working their Christmas magic. If I can’t move my hand, I need to move my mouth and get myself out of this situation fast. But no matter how hard everyone is working to keep my mom happy, it will mean more heartache later. I love her too much to lie to her. “Mom, don’t pull Brie into this. You know I came to see you.”
Brie releases my hand, and suddenly I feel like a jerk. I’m not sure why because we were only dating for thirty whole seconds. Fake dating, for the record.
“I know you did, sweetie, but Brie and I can share. We’re big girls.”
How is she not understanding? “Mom—”
The waiter shows up with our plates and silences my explanation. Once the plates are set in front of us, Jocelyn compliments the waitress’s engagement ring. Women, doing what women do best, erupt into conversation. Between the others at the table and the waitress, they pull from her the story of her complicated courtship andto-die-forproposal. Those were Gabby’s words, not mine. While they’re gushing, I’m stuck on how to explain the truth to my mom about Brie and me. At least my sandwich is good. Everything else about the night feels like a fail.
“Sorry about that,” Brie whispers to me, her eyes like a contrite puppy and pulling all the heartstrings—some I didn’t even know I still had. “I’ve never seen your mom cry before. It freaked me out.”
I can’t be mad at her. This isn’t her fault at all or even her friends’. I’m owning this. I should’ve run as soon as I saw Brie was my neighbor, and I should have gone to see my mom right away. It’s my bad.
“We can talk later at home,” I say. We need to discuss her cat, or not cat, anyway.
She nods and turns back toward her friends. I blink as I hear my words again in my head. I made it sound like we’re a married couple. Why didn’t I say we can talk at theduplex? Now I’m even confusing myself. Good one, Rockwell.
Chapter 7
Brie
IdrovetoBob’sGrill with Gabby and Jocelyn, but Jocelyn suggests I leave with Rockwell. They both suddenly have other plans. I blame Jocelyn for attending too many weddings lately and hanging around scheming moms. She’s starting to act like them. Neither roommate is aware of the specifics on my Christmas list, but they do know I’m seeking closure. I’m not sure how driving home with him will help me. My friends are so annoyingly smooth.
Yes, Rockwell and I are going the same direction, so it makes sense . . . unless his mom thinks we’re dating. No one in their right mind would want to get in said guy’s car after a mess up like that. I send my friends my bestyou’ll regret thisglare.
“Yeah, I’m down with taking Brie home.” Rockwell’s kind but unenthusiastic response sends his mom practically skipping to the door.
“I’ll call you in the morning, Rock!” Sandy says right before the door shuts behind her. My friends wave as they follow after her.
I wonder if the three of them somehow planned this arrangement. I wish I could blame them for my hand-grabbing earlier. I sling my purse over my shoulder, and Rockwell motions me to go first. Neither of us say anything as we weave our way out of Bob’s Grill.
The lighting in the parking lot is decent, and it illuminates the falling snow in a yellow haze. I tug my jacket closer around my shoulders. I really shouldn’t leave my house in the winter without a real coat. Rockwell seems impervious to the cold and lost in his thoughts. He has to be contemplating one hundred and one ways to take revenge. I never should have told him where my spare key was.
When I see Rockwell’s car, I momentarily forget about my stupidity and the bone-chilling cold. It’s a luxury ride I don’t experience often, and I’m embarrassed to admit how excited I am to get in his car. He opens the door for me—receiving all the gentleman points—and I slide into the cold leather seat. The interior screams money, and I notice a button for the seat massage. Ooh la la!
After Rockwell turns on the car, he shows me the seat heater settings. It isn’t the massage, but I desperately require heat far more at the moment. Rockwell flips the radio to some Christmas tunes and turns the volume low. “Did I guess the right station?”
“You did,” I say. He hasn’t forgotten.
He reaches back and hands me a blanket from his back seat. It’s a plain gray fleece, and it’s calling my name. “You need a thicker coat.”
