12 Days of Mistletoe

25. Bonnie

TWENTY-FIVE

bonnie

Marlene owns an SUV. A big one. One that can fit herself, her husband, all of her children, and her children’s significant others—including one fake girlfriend and her dog. Not to mention a tree or two can be easily strapped to the top.

It’s a power vehicle. One that says, I am mother, hear me roar .

Or in this case, sing.

We listen to old country Christmas songs the entire way to Love, Wyoming, which feels oh-so appropriate and festive. Marlene has taken no less than three dozen photos and we are still inside the vehicle. It’s a lot—and in a small way, it reminds me of my own family. My mom isn’t over the top with pictures and events like Marlene, but she loves her girls. Meg and I have been her whole life most of her life. And now that we’ve moved out, Dad spends his retired days convincing her to go and do all the fun things. I still can’t believe he talked her into going to Georgia for Christmas, but Dad hasn’t spent a Christmas with his own mother in years.

Somehow, between Marlene’s doting, the pair of sisters, and the twangy country Christmas songs, I’m feeling right at home.

David follows his GPS, and when we turn into the tiny town, he glances back at me.

“This is it,” I tell him. “The farm is just a few miles out of town.”

“I’ve never been here,” he says.

“It’s pretty tiny. I’m guessing you never had a reason to until now.”

Elliot and I sit in the middle row with expecting Evelyn between us and sweet Noel at my feet.

“Thanks for letting me sit here again,” Evelyn says to me.

“Oh, sure,” I tell her. I’m not telling the nauseous pregnant woman where to sit. If looking out the front window stops her from getting carsick, let the girl sit there.

My phone pings and I glance down to see Elliot’s name.

Elliot: You doing okay?

Me: I’m fine, worry wart. Or should I call you grumpy pants?

Elliot: Ha. Ha. That was information that was never supposed to be leaked. You should probably forget it.

Me: I’m not sure I can. Once I hear something, it is ingrained into my brain.

Elliot: That’s a problem. I may have to wipe your memory.

Me: Maybe you should. There are a few things I wouldn’t mind forgetting… like that SUPER photo your mom showed me of you.

I can feel the burn of Elliot’s cheeks—even with an entire human being sitting between us. I have the greatest urge to peek over at him, and then Evelyn gives me an opportunity.

“You’re from Colorado, right, Bonnie?”

I lift my eyes from my phone and turn to look at Elliot’s sister—and Elliot right beside her. His thumbs are typing and his cheeks are blooming a lovely pink.

I smile and chalk it up to my love for the Centennial State. “I am. It was a great place to grow up.”

“What brought you to Montana?”

My phone vibrates in my lap and I know that Elliot has answered me. My fingers twitch with the need to pick it up. “Mostly my dog. Canine Compassion—the nonprofit I work for—was new. But in my research, I found them.” Noel stirs at my feet as if she knows I’m talking about her. “When my grant came through, and it was time to get Noel, I came to pick her up and to learn, but then stayed because of Canine Compassion.”

Jocelyn sets a hand over the top of the middle seat and leans closer, talking to me from her back seat. “Elliot said she’s a service dog.”

For two-point-three seconds Elliot’s eyes find mine, asking if this is okay. He’s told his family about Noel—and, I am assuming, my anxiety in turn. People are usually curious about what the service is for.

“She is,” I say. I’m proud of my girl. And just because I’m not shouting to the world about my anxiety doesn’t mean I’m ashamed either. Not anymore. It’s fact. It’s part of me. But it no longer controls me. And Noel is a big part of the reason why. “She also loves walks in the park, bacon-flavored treats, and tummy rubs.”

Jocelyn laughs at my eHarmony commercial for No-No.

“She is awfully sweet,” Evelyn says, peering down at Noel. “I’m not really a pet person. Jackson’s always wanted a dog. Maybe after the baby comes, we could talk about it. As long as she’s as well-behaved as Noel.”

A fist filters between mine and Evelyn’s heads, waiting for a bump. “Nice. Thanks, Bonnie.” It’s Jackson—thanking me for what exactly? I’m not sure.

“Noel might be one of a kind,” I tell him. Because she is. She absolutely is. There is no other being like Noel. I may be biased, but I’m also certain it’s true.

“Nooo, don’t say that. Keep convincing my wife.”

I chuckle, and when I turn to face forward, Elliot’s eyes are glued to me. Which is when I remember he’s texted.

“Ooo—this is a good one!” David Eaton bellows from the driver’s seat. He turns up the music as an old twangy country band goes into their rendition of “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

I lift my phone and open my texting app once more.

Elliot: I am so grateful my mother has learned how to turn all of her old film photos digital. And for the record, I am not the first boy to turn tighty-whities into a Superman costume.

I smother down a laugh and write:

Me: It was the red pantyhose that disturbed me, not the undies on your head or the lack of clothes on your very ripped seven-year-old chest.

Elliot: The pantyhose… I might have been hoping you didn’t notice those.

A laugh slips through my lips. I can’t help it.

Marlene turns her head; the band is still singing, and I’d wager she’s wondering if I’m finding their choice of Christmas tunes funny. I don’t, just festive, though it doesn’t exactly sound like something Elliot’s mother would normally love.

I swallow. “Sorry—just a funny meme. From Meg. My sister. Who lives in Hawaii.”

She gives me a small smile and faces forward.

Elliot: Liar.

Me: I didn’t know what else to say!

Elliot: Don’t mind her. She likes you. She told me so. But Jess never really accepted my family, so Mom’s a little on edge when it comes to me and women.

Okay… this is interesting.

Me: She seemed so happy at the family picture.

Elliot: She is happy. She wants me moving on. And she was afraid I hadn’t. She and my sisters are afraid I’m still hung up on Jess.

Me: Are you?

Elliot: No.

Elliot: I’m over Jess. I am. I still have hang-ups. I’ve already told you part of that.

Me: More later?

Elliot: It’s not an interesting story. It’s more of a me problem. More than getting over Jess, I’m getting over not being enough for Jess.

Me: Maybe she wasn’t enough for you.

I bite my inner cheek and tell myself to be brave. Elliot and I aren’t really together. So if my words upset him and he’s annoyed with me, what does it matter?

But what if my thoughts were helpful? That might matter very much.

Me: I think you’re making it a problem. Stop worrying about being enough for the wrong person. You’re already enough for the right person.

Me: Whoever she is.

There’s a pause and David belts, “You’ll go down in history!” His daughters join in. But the static in my ears waiting for Elliot to answer feels so much louder.

Elliot: You think it’s that simple?

I let out a breath with his response. I press my lips together and lift my head, peering over to see him watching me. I lift my brows and dip my head, giving my shoulders the smallest of shrugs. Tiny little gestures—ones that say, yes, I do.

He watches me back, the hint of a smile on his lips, and then he switches back to his phone.

Elliot: Well, thanks. You just saved me years of therapy and thousands of dollars. How many more girls need dogs at C.C.? I’m buying.

A small giggle slips through my lips and I lengthen it out into a hum as if I’m singing along with David in front and Evelyn beside me.

Me: That’s a dangerous offer, Mr. Eaton.

Eliot: Mr.? Why so formal?

Me: If you’re buying dogs for all the kids on our list, this just got serious.