Rm w/a Vu(116)
Without answering, Greyston turns down the hall before the foyer—out of sight from both the kitchen and the living room—and presses me against the wall. His hard body is hot against mine, and his lips find mine, firm and insistent. It doesn’t take long before my troubles are mostly forgotten, and I pull his hips closer by his belt loops, my body softening in his arms. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip once, and just as I’m about to deepen our kiss, he pulls away, smiling.
“There you are,” he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose lightly and pushing a loose strand of hair away from my face, the tips of his fingers ghosting down the side of my cheek. “What’s bothering you?”
I knew it was silly to think he didn’t pick up on my anxiousness; he’s always been so perceptive of any sudden changes in my moods. “It’s probably nothing,” I tell him quietly, and when he doesn’t say anything, I know he’s waiting for me to continue. “It’s just…my mom’s been acting a little…strange.” I take a deep breath, feeling my tears threaten again, but I hold them back. “She was more emotional than I thought she’d be when she saw the necklace, and just now in the kitchen, she thanked me for suggesting we all share Christmas together, and then cried.”
Instead of feeding my fears, Greyston smiles and runs his hands up and down my arms in an attempt to comfort me. “Sweetheart, I’m sure she’s just happy to be here with everyone.”
“I know,” I tell him, letting his voice of reason stand in for mine. Dropping my eyes to his chest, I nod and repeat his words in my head a few times, letting them sink in until I believe them myself. “You’re right. I’m probably being ridiculous… It just seems odd, is all.”
“Well, there’s no sense getting yourself upset until you find out, right?” he reasons, and I give him a little shrug in response. “And if your mother has anything to tell you, she’ll tell you when she’s ready. You can’t force it.”
He’s right, of course, so my head bobs in agreement once more. “Okay.”
Taking me by the hand, Greyston and I head back to the living room. Our fathers are talking about football as Greyston takes his seat in the chair, and instead of letting me sit on the floor, he pulls me down onto his lap. Dad glances up at us, and I expect his gaze to be disapproving, but instead he smiles and returns to his conversation with Daniel, allowing me to relax into Greyston’s embrace. His left hand rests on my thigh, and I glance at his watch again, sitting a little loose around his wrist.
“We should take this in to get properly sized,” I suggest, tugging at the loose links.
“Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow while you’re out doing…whatever it is you’re doing.” His tone is playfully pouty, making me giggle.
“Sure. I actually just have to go to the mall, so maybe we could ride together and split up for a bit before meeting for lunch,” I suggest.
Having just secured our afternoon plans for tomorrow, our mothers and Gran return, taking their seats on the couch. The next few hours are filled with stories from my and Greyston’s childhoods—both adorable and embarrassing—until the timer for the oven can be heard throughout the house.
Mom and Jocelyn jump up, and I turn, kissing Greyston softly. “I’m going to go and lend a hand in the kitchen.”
I’ve barely made it out of the living room when my father speaks, stopping me dead in my tracks. “Greyston, why don’t you go and carve the turkey?” My head snaps toward the couch, and Dad looks up at me like I’m watching him grow two extra heads. “What?”
“But you usually carve the turkey.” I look to Daniel, assuming that he is usually the one to carve the turkey in their home, too, and he only smiles.
“True,” Dad says, pulling my attention back to him. “But this is your house, and maybe Greyston wants to start his own traditions.”
I look to Greyston again, and the corners of his lips are slowly turning upward as he stands from his chair. “Sure.”
Greyston and I make our way to the kitchen, and just as we enter, Mom’s placing the turkey onto the island counter. “Juliette, honey, would you tell your father the turkey is ready to be carved?” she asks without looking up at me.
“Um, actually, Greyston’s going to carve it this year. Dad and Daniel seem cool with it,” I inform her. Now, I’m honestly not sure how I expected her to react, but glistening eyes wasn’t it. Wanting him to understand why I’ve been thinking the way I have, I nudge Greyston, and he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.