“Don’t be silly, Juliette,” Gran admonishes as only Gran does—which is in a tone that should never be taken too seriously. “Get in here and make yourself useful.”
I grab a paring knife from the knife block, stand next to Gran, and pick up a potato from the counter in front of her to peel. I’ve just made the first slice when Gran leans closer to me, speaking her next words in a low, hushed voice. “Besides, judging by the way that boy looks at you, you’ll have to start building your own traditions.”
My cheeks burn, and I can only imagine the shade of red they are as I laugh nervously. While I know how I feel about Greyston—and I’m pretty sure he feels the same way—it seems like I’d be tempting fate to think that far into the future so soon. It’s too late, though; Gran’s playful comment has me imagining Greyston and I sitting together on our couch as three smiling children tear open brightly wrapped gifts near the Christmas tree.
“What’s got you grinning like a court jester?” Mom asks, bumping her hip against mine as she sidles up next to me.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Nothing,” I lie, my voice cracking slightly—a sure sign of my guilt. Thankfully, my mother doesn’t press the issue, instead wrapping an arm around me and hugging me close.
“Thank you for suggesting we all celebrate together,” Mom says, resting her head against mine as I continue peeling potatoes. “It’s wonderful to have everyone here.” When her voice quivers, my eyebrows pull together in concern, and I set the knife and potato down so I can focus on her.
“Mom?”
Quickly, she pulls her arm from around me and dabs at the inner corners of her eyes with the pads of her index fingers. “Sorry.” She laughs. “The holidays always make me a little emotional.”
While I know this to be true, I also know that she’s never this emotional. First, she got more than a little choked up when she opened the necklace I got her, and now, she’s crying… I get the feeling that something deeper is going on, and my stomach knots when I begin to fear the worst: that maybe she’s sick.
I need to know, but I know that now is probably not the time to ask, so I try to push it to the back of my mind. It’s completely unsuccessful. When I almost cut my thumb for the fifth time, I throw in the towel and excuse myself. “I’m going to step outside for a minute,” I tell them, heading for the patio doors.
Once outside, I walk toward the pool and stand along the edge, looking out toward the desert. It’s a little chilly, and the cool breeze bites through my light sweater, so I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to warm up a bit. My mind races, trying to find some other explanation for my mother’s odd behavior. I’m unable to think of anything that could be taken in a positive light—especially since her mother died of cancer ten years ago. That alone brings me right back to the absolute worst scenario possible.
My eyes begin to burn, and I blink back my tears, afraid of anyone seeing how upset I am. Logically, I know I shouldn’t be this upset without confirming my fears, but I’m finding it hard to remain rational.
“Here you are.” Greyston’s soft voice rolls over me, granting me a momentary reprieve from my distress. He drapes the jacket he keeps by the patio door over my shoulders and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder and kissing my neck. “What are you doing out here?”
I think about telling him what’s bothering me, but I don’t want to sully his mood as well until I know for sure. So, instead of unloading my thoughts on him, I smile and turn in his arms. “Just…taking it all in,” I tell him breathily, wrapping my arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest. When he doesn’t say anything, I wonder if he suspects I’m keeping something from him. If he does, though, he doesn’t allude to it; instead he presses his lips into the top of my head and runs his hands up and down my back, causing a current of heat to move within my body.
“It’s a little cold out here,” he whispers against the top of my head. “Why don’t we go back inside?” I look up to find him smirking. “I’d hate for you to catch a cold before we go on our vacation.”
Attempting my most genuine smile, I nod. “Yeah, that probably wouldn’t be good.”
Taking me by the hand, Greyston leads me into the kitchen. I hang up his jacket and smile at our mothers and Gran as Greyston continues to lead me through the house. Confused, because I should probably help out with dinner a little more, I look up at Greyston. “Where are you taking me?”