Accidentally Under Your Tree (Grand Ridge Christmas #1)

3. Lizzy

three

Lizzy

Six nights before Christmas

"Holy shit." Mom cried with a hand to her chest. "I didn't know you were home."

"Sorry," I said. "I got home a couple of hours ago. I was in the basement to get some work done."

When I'd arrived home, chatting with my parents was something I wanted to avoid. Not after the night I'd had.

Moving back into my childhood home felt like the end of my old life. The one where I was an adult. Capable of coming and going as I pleased. I had my privacy. Although my parents weren't meddlers, they were invested. They liked to know… everything .

I just wanted to be left alone.

"How was the trip?" she asked.

"Good."

I sat at the kitchen island. Its quartz top was cold under my forearms. The white surface was clean and shiny. Outside the window over the sink, the trees' shadows lengthened—it was only midafternoon, but already the sun was beginning to set.

Mom flitted from the stand mixer to the fridge, her silver bob bouncing with each step. We made small talk about my past few days. I omitted everything about last night except the storm. She'd gotten the scoop on some of the competitors for the Christmas tree decorating contest.

"They don't stand a chance. Your sister and I have come up with the most incredible design." She turned her back to me opening the oven. The comforting, mouth-watering scent of Shepard's pie wafted into the kitchen. "You'll still help us, right?"

By "help" she meant carry things.

"Planning on it."

"Your sister should be here in a few hours. I'm so excited. Both my girls under the same roof." Her blue eyes were bright with optimism. Leave it to my mom to have faith that this year her daughters would make up. Like every year for the past eight, I was positive she'd be disappointed. I would be too.

My stomach twisted with anxiety. Seeing my twin and only sibling brought complicated emotions.

"Is it intimidating that she's bringing her new boyfriend? It's been years since you've celebrated Christmas without Brian."

"Mom, I'm fine being single. I'm more embarrassed I had to move back home."

"Oh, that's nothing to be embarrassed of."

"You're right…why on earth would I feel like a loser for that?"

"You're not a loser. You're getting back on your feet." With each word, she sounded more patient, meaning she was getting more irritated.

"Thanks, Mom. It's all better now." It was one snark too far.

"Young lady." Mom put a hand on her narrow hip. Speaking with the exact tone she used to scold me when I was nine, she said, "I will not have you talking badly about yourself. You are wonderful, and talented, and we don't mope around."

Back to feeling like a child .

"The way I feel is valid." I'd made this point before—it was not well received then either.

"It's nonsense. Lots of people move back in with their parents."

"And they feel like shit about it."

"What's there to feel like shit about? So, what if people judge you? Who cares?"

I sighed. As if she wasn't just as concerned with what people thought of her. I'd seen the way she changed the subject when anyone mentioned that I was living with them now, she’d redirect the conversation to my business.

"Okay, Mom." Taking a step backward, I moved toward the hallway. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up."

"I'll let you know when your sister's here."

"You don't have to. We'll see each other when we see each other."

Disappointment ebbed off my mom like radiation—I couldn't physically feel it, but I knew it was there. She shook her head. Her lips pinched, as if holding back her thoughts.

I closed my bedroom door behind me. The room was painted the same color as when I was a kid. Mom had been talking about redecorating it about a month before I moved back. Maybe it wouldn't feel so much like regression if she had, but I couldn't justify the cost and energy of painting when my stay here was temporary.

At least my desk looked like a well-organized adult used it. My color-coded stationary, pens, and post-it notes in their place. If there was anything I liked spending my money on the most, it was office supplies.

I was unsure about how long it would take me to get out of here. My business was doing fairly well for its first year. By this time next year, maybe I could have my own place.

I shot a text to Shay asking about her day, then threw my phone on my vanilla-colored knitted blanket. Almost instantly, a return message arrived. I finished deciding on a cozy sweater and joggers from my dresser before reading what she'd said.

Shay: Fine. Work was slow today. I don't know whether to curse your parents for making me work this week or thank them. I've gotten so much reading done.

Me: I wish I could get paid to read.

Shay: It's pretty good. The phone has rung like three times since Monday. Anyway, it's not like my house is peaceful right now, with Lawrence working on my fireplace.

She sent a photo of the progress, including her brother, Lawrence, glaring at the camera. He wasn’t offended by his picture being taken, that was just his face.

The phone buzzed again as I changed from one leisure outfit to a slightly more presentable, possibly even stylish, leisure outfit. Looking casual and unaffected at being face-to-face with my sister while meeting her new boyfriend and looking like I cared too much, was a fine line to walk.

The boyfriend that was, apparently, well loved by her fans. His fans too.

I didn't watch their little YouTube show, so I wouldn't know. Everyone in town watched it, though. And they all liked to talk. I just nodded my head and agreed. Let them assume I knew what they were talking about. The boundaries I drew to avoid the pain of watching my sister's life and not being a part of it were my concern, not theirs.

While pulling the scrunchy out of my hair, I unlocked my phone to read Shay's text.

Shay: Are they there yet?

Me: Mom said they will be in a couple of hours.

Shay: Hopefully, her bringing a man will make this visit less dramatic. I cannot take another holiday of Lawrence, all heartbroken and depressed.

Me: One can only hope.

I finished the French braid that ended at my shoulders, with only a few of my curls escaping around my temples. Stepping into the hallway, I smiled a greeting to my dad sitting behind the desk in the study. Through the study's other entrance, I saw my mom considering three little gold decorative snowmen displayed on the end table. She pinched one of the hats and turned it forty-five degrees.

When she noticed me watching her, she looked up with the tilt of her lips.

"Is it just right now?" Dad asked, still typing in a slow, deliberate cadence.

"I think so."

"Looks good, Mom."

"Thanks, Lizzy."

Just like that, the argument in the kitchen would go unresolved until the next time we repeated the pattern.

I looked down at my phone as a new message came through, only a little disappointed that it was from Shay and not Will. He hadn't said he would text me today, but I hoped he would.

Why hadn't I gotten his number?

Shay: You stopped texting last night. What happened?

Me: …This is not the proper medium for this conversation.

Shay: NO SHIT! Give me something, don't leave me in suspense.

I paused typing out a quick response, when Mom opened the front door, and my sister walked through. Her dark blue wool coat tailored perfectly to her petite frame, and matched her, and mom's, eyes. Her smile was so bright it created its own light source. She looked healthy and happy. For that, I was grateful.

"Rosebud!" Mom cried out.

So much for a couple of hours.

They hugged each other tight.

"Is Rosie home?" Dad stood, his office chair rolling against the bookshelf behind him.

Rose's boyfriend stepped just inside the door. The first thing I noticed about him was his hands. He carried the suitcase with strong, square fingers. His knuckles were almost as wide as the plastic handle. Capable hands.

Blood rushed from my head, and I blinked, suddenly dizzy.

No way.

But I knew the truth even before I took in the scruff on his sharp jaw. Or the lines bracketing his warm smile. Or his dark eyelashes surrounding his moss green eyes.

Rat. Bastard.