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Bear’s thick arm motions Rockwell to take a seat by him. I’m relieved since Bear, who was lucky or unlucky enough to be named after the town, is the oldest and a little more mature. He almost lives up to his name these days with his grizzly mop of hair and beard, but maybe it’s the power of suggestion.
My shoulders relax as the game starts. I don’t know how it’s happened, but it’s like the initiation is over and Rockwell’s passed some sort of test. I’m still trying to figure it out when Barb and my sister Bianca come up beside me.
Bianca is the only blonde in the family—and it’s because of bleach, not natural color. “Come help us in the kitchen.”
I’ve seen way too many Hallmarks and know exactly what the phrase means. They want me to spill the beans about Rockwell. But I’m onto them. “Actually, I was hoping to play Mario Kart.”
“But the controllers are all in use,” Bianca says. “Kitchen. Now.” Her big sister eyes are big scary eyes at the moment. They want information and they aren’t wavering. I glance at Rockwell and am surprised to see him looking at me. He gives me a smile. It’s a wordless confirmation. He’s fine and I should be fine. But can we not celebrate: a. He’s checking on me, and b. His smile still makes me weak behind the knees? After the celebration, I promise to bottle the enthusiasm and keep it to myself. Forever. Because I’m still planning on getting over him. I think . . .
Bianca doesn’t have to hear a thing. She can probably read it all over my face. I am so not over Rockwell.
Chapter 12
Rockwell
Puttingonagoodface for Brie’s family isn’t hard. I never had any brothers, just Morgan. I don’t really have her anymore either. She uses my parents as the reason she can’t keep a job or a husband. I do my share of blaming, so I don’t judge her too harshly. She’s twenty-seven and young enough to create a future for herself, but she and I will always bear the weight of the dysfunctional home we left behind. Knowing this doesn’t stop me from wishing my family isn’t so distant. Brie’s home is the stuff of dreams in comparison.
There’s a lot of good-natured razzing in the tournament, and my competitive side is eating it up. Brie comes and tucks herself by my legs. Every time she brushes against me, I get distracted. Until she starts cheering for me. Then I swear, my game improves. I’m not trying to show off or anything, this is Mario Kart, but I’ll take it. She hits my leg and whoops when I take an unintentional shortcut.
The brothers start complaining to their wives about not being supportive now that they’re married. Brie’s middle brother, Braxton, says something about dating being so much better and gets hit in the face with a pillow by his wife.
Barb was right, they all assume Brie and I are dating. I did this to myself with my stupid wrestling bet. It’s fine. Brie and I know we’re friends. Our families will catch up eventually. But when Brie leans back against my legs, I wonder if I’ll have to catch up too. As much as I have sworn off Bearwood and any attachments here, Brie confuses me. Our history is like a slippery slope, and being with her night after night has me voluntarily buckling up for the ride. I’ve told myself this is one more night and then I’ll close the door forever. I don’t want to ruin Brie’s party by being too uptight.
It isn’t until after the game ends and we crowd toward the buffet line that I start to feel uneasy. Everyone knows the drill, and families cluster together. The conversation turns to potty training and what deals they’ve found on toys. If I had stayed, I probably would’ve been talking about the same things. The idea rattles me a little. Brie hands me a plate when we get closer to the food, and her genuine smile settles me. She doesn’t seem to judge me, and I can’t figure out why. Her explanation in the car was too simple.
I fill up on all the homemade dishes. I don’t remember the last time I had sweet potato casserole or broccoli-bacon salad. Brie has shorter arms than me, so I insist on dishing her when I can.
Mrs. Holland is an excellent cook, and I want to try everything. I don’t expect her to come over and fuss over me. She gives me a few bigger portions. There isn’t room on my plate, but she makes room. I don’t let my mom do this for me, even though she tries. It’s nice to allow it for a moment and feel spoiled. I snag a second roll for Brie and set it on her plate. She is the one Mrs. Holland should be fussing over.
We sit down at the end of a long table, our chairs scooted close together to make room for everyone. Brie takes a bite of a fruit salad and gets whipped cream on her face. Without thinking, I quickly wipe it away with my finger.
She stills the same time her sister Bianca starts cooing. “I feel like I’m sitting next to newlyweds, the way you two keep staring and smiling at each other.”
I don’t blush easily, but I feel some heat creep up my neck. I was staring at Brie, wasn’t I? Or I wouldn’t have noticed the whipped cream.
“Bianca,” Brie warns.
“What? I didn’t get any good secrets out of you earlier. You can’t blame me for being curious when you’ve never brought a guy to a Holland Christmas party before. In fact, we all know you haven’t had a boyfriend in a long time. So, what’s the deal between you guys? When did this start?” She motions between us and leans her elbows on the table like we’re to announce our engagement or something.
The lower half of the table tunes in to us. Brie is squirming and embarrassed. My jaw clenches. I can’t imagine Brie not having a date every weekend, but it’s a small-town problem not a Brie problem. I’ve met Bianca once or twice before, but I always liked Barb better of the two.
“We’re catching up while I’m in town.” I put my arm around Brie in a protective move. I don’t care if it causes more whispers. I want to send the signal to back off. I know some family teasing is routine, but Brie deserves to have a good Christmas with her family.
Bianca gives me a pointed brow, unsatisfied with my short answer. Let curiosity drive her crazy. My stern look seems to make her pull back and return to her dinner.
“Thank you,” Brie whispers. “She never would have dropped it if I had answered.”
“What are friends for?” But friends don’t keep their arm around the girl next to them. They also don’t relish a closer view of nearly obscure freckles. I slide my arm across her back and focus on my food.
After dinner, the adults are directed downstairs for the next game, while Mrs. Holland decorates cookies with the kids upstairs. I remember the large open basement from high school. There is a sectional and TV on one end and a ping-pong table on the other. We played Spoons down here once and our friend dove and put a hole in the wall with his head. The walls seem to have been painted since then. They are a subtle greige now, and there is no sign of the patch job I had helped my friend do as our way of apologizing.
Today, the table is folded against the wall and the sectional pushed back to keep the floor clear. Mr. Holland takes his place on the last step of the stairs to make himself seen better. “We are going to be playing a Holland Family mash-up of relay games andSurvivor.For this round, we’ll divide into two teams, and from there, everyone partners up with their spouse—er, date. But in the end, it’ll be couple against couple. Points will be rewarded for each round.”
It seemed no matter how we looked at it, Brie and I were on a date. I think I was over pretending it wasn’t. At least, this way, I don’t have to bite down every flirtation bouncing into my mind—in the spirit of being on a date, of course.
Brie and I are matched up with Barb and her husband, a guy named Devon, and Bear and his wife, Rachelle. The first game is team building. “Each couple must keep a hand-sized rubber ball balanced between their shoulders while crawling to one end of the room.”
It doesn’t sound too hard until he adds, “On the way back, the couple must keep the ball squished between their heads. If you drop the ball, the couple starts over.”
