Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I chuckled and squeezed her arm. “It is.”
“I mean, you, Dad, and Kola will never meet the man who rented the cabin to me and Jake and wanted to see my ID because he was worried that Jake had kidnapped me.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “So embarrassing. I mean, do I not look seventeen? He thought I was like fourteen or something.”
I shrugged. “I’m crappy at being able to tell age. You know this. I mean, how old did I think Kristen Bell was?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Yeah, see. And I thought George Clooney was in his seventies already.”
She snorted.
“Not good. You should ask your father. He knows how old people are.”
“Maybe it comes with being in law enforcement?”
“It’s possible.”
“But see, it’s crazy to me. We all have our own lives, but I never want us to be so involved with what’s outside that we forget about our family inside.”
“Oh, honey, we won’t.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Why are you worried about this?”
“Because Daddy doesn’t want to do the lights anymore,” she said sadly, sounding so bereft that I stopped walking and turned to look at her. She looked utterly miserable. “I’m trying to make it fun and cool since he passed the torch to me, so I’ve been looking for ornaments all over, but Nana didn’t actually have any that would work, and the vintage stores I looked at, the ornaments all smelled really bad, and I’m starting to worry that it won’t look cool and hip but instead sad, like something out of a horror movie.”
She dissolved into tears then, and I realized that my kid was a mess. Between not-great first-time sex with the man she loved and the pressure of Christmas by herself, she was emotionally spent.
“I know this is lame. Lots of people have real problems at Christmas and I’m whining about decorating without my dad and––”
“Let’s call him,” I told her. “I bet he’d love to help if you asked him.”
“But he said––”
“No, I know. But let’s ask anyway.”
Sam answered on the second ring, and I put him on speaker. “Where the hell are you guys? The boys need supervision, and ask Hannah if she said something about fairies caught in spiderwebs because that does not sound good. All I can think of is that part in The Hobbit, with the spiders, and it’s creepy as hell.”
“Your daughter would like a word with you,” I informed him.
“Yeah?” he growled at her, which was so normal that her eyes filled with tears.
“Daddy,” she sniffled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked sharply, because that fast, she scared him.
“I need help,” she whimpered. “Christmas is hard.”
“Fine. I’ll help you.”
“You will?”
“If you need me, of course I will. You’re just one person. Decorating is a lotta work.”
“And Yule too, since I have solstice to decorate for and bring a little pagan in.”
“Yeah. All that.”
She sniffled some more. “So you’ll do the lights and hang all the wreaths in the windows and make sure regular Santa gets on the roof and not the new one?”
“What new one?”
“Jake said he told you that there’s a new blue sleigh and purple reindeer and shimmery penguins that will change color.”
“What?” Sam sounded like he was going to hyperventilate.
“Were you maybe not listening to him when he was telling you because you tune him out sometimes when he talks too much and reminds you of one of those white-noise machines?”
“What?” Sam’s voice went up that time. Like, way up.
“I do that too, but only when he’s droning on about whatever he just built and I could care less, but all my friends say you have to listen to your man or they get upsety.”
“Upsety?” I repeated. “You can’t just say upset?”
“I did say that.”
I grunted.
“Nothing is going on the roof but regular old Santa,” Sam said gruffly.
“You should maybe tell them,” Hannah suggested. “That way Jake can return the surprise. Also, I think Harper was going to help Jake with the math later tonight because they keep doing it over and over, hoping to get it to work.”
Silence.
“Dad?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Will you get all the ornaments out of the attic so I can start decorating when I get home? I mean, I would miss Mr. Spider with his sparkly Santa hat and all the macaroni ones and the gingerbread stars and the ones made out of popsicle sticks and the butterfly with the iridescent wings made out of painted sunflower seeds.”
It took a second, and he had to clear his throat. “So would I,” he finally said.
“So you’ll decorate with me?”
“Of course,” he barely got out.
“Okay, then. Me and Pa will come home now. Do you want us to stop and get you some of those waffle cookies you like?”
“Stroopwafels,” he corrected her.
“Yeah. That,” she teased him. “You want some? And big soft pretzels too?”
He coughed softly. “Please, and thank you.”
She was suddenly giggling, and I was very pleased with my husband.