She rests her head on my shoulder, her hair tickling my nose. “Sure.”
“You’re a space invader, you know that?” There’s no unkindness when I say it. Kat might not be the person I imagined having as my best friend, but now I can’t imagine anyone else.
“Does it bother you?” she asks.
“Not at all.”
We lie quietly for a minute or two, the afternoon sun sending a shaft of gold across the comforter, making it sparkle. I find my thoughts drifting to Alex. Wondering what he’s doing right now.
“Stop thinking about him.” Kat breaks the silence.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” She props herself up on her elbows. “It’s classic breakup behavior to think about him, but Callie, he’s an idiot. I mean, he’s pissed off because you made him do something he didn’t want to do? So what?”
“Isn’t he an idiot for not liking you back?”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve always known it was just a stupid crush, but you—you mean something to him. And if he can’t get over this, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“I’ve never thought of myself like that.”
“What? Someone to be deserved? Of course you are,” Kat says. “And any guy who can’t see that is an idiot.”
“Hey, Kat?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you hate me if I quit the shop to go work at the bookstore downtown?”
“Can I still come over and invade your space?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
A devious smile dimples her face. “Do I get a discount on books?”
I laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Good enough.”
There’s a knock on the door. “Callie, may I come in?”
It’s Phoebe.
“Sure.”
Kat stands and hauls me into a hug. “I’m going to take off, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.” She laughs as she passes Phoebe in the doorway. “You’re stuck with me now.”
My stepmother and I share an awkward pause until she clears her throat. “So, um—I stopped by my parents’ house this evening to check in on Mom and found her sitting at the kitchen table with my brother.”
I look at the floor. I want Alex to make peace with his family, but hearing about it feels like salt in the wound.
“She was—” Phoebe’s voice cracks. “He’d been there most of the day, and she was just so happy.” She wipes a tear away with the back of her hand. “Thank you.”
“I really didn’t do anything,” I say. “I just had a stupid idea. Yiayoúla did all the work and I chickened out at the last minute.”
“For the first time in years, our family feels whole again,” she says. “Georgia didn’t make it happen, Callie. You did. I’d call that a miracle.”
A miracle?
Saint Michael Taxiarchis must have misunderstood.
This was not the miracle I wanted.
Chapter 22
On Christmas Eve, the house looks as if it was torn from the pages of a decorating magazine, with fresh wreaths on every window and a Christmas tree that stretches toward the high living-room ceiling. There’s no indication of the sweat we put into getting everything moved. Everything decorated. There’s no evidence that the only words that Greg and I have had time to say to each other were things like: Grab an end? Or, have you seen the screwdriver? We haven’t said anything meaningful. We haven’t apologized.
The house fills quickly as Greg’s brothers arrive with their wives, then Yiayoúla with a towel-wrapped casserole dish of cranberry-apple stuffing, and finally the Kosta family.
Kat declared my cream-colored Christmas dress to be “smoking hot” when she helped me pick it out, but there’s little consolation in that when Alex comes in the front door with his tanned face shaved clean and his tattoo peeking out from the pale-blue cuff of his shirt. He is beautiful and there’s nothing Kat could have done to prepare me for it. He hands Phoebe a bottle of wine and Greg takes a shopping bag filled with gifts, nestling it among the mounds of brightly wrapped presents surrounding the Christmas tree.
“Merry Christmas.” Alex’s voice is low as he greets me, but there’s no trace of his usual warmth. We are strangers, even though my body wants to lean into him. By the time I say “Merry Christmas” back, he’s walking away.
I retreat to the kitchen to pour a glass of sparkling cider, but the kitchen is part of the great room, so there’s nowhere to hide. My grandma comes up alongside me and ruffles one of the tiers on the hem of my dress. “You look like the Christmas angel,” she says.
I hand her my glass and pour a second. “Maybe they should build me a shrine.”
“Save feeling sorry for yourself for some other day,” Yiayoúla scolds. “He’s been living at home ever since we took Evgenia on the tour. Look at them, Callista. Really look. She is finally at peace.”
I watch Alex laughing as his mother writes something on her whiteboard and I can almost see the love between them, gold and shimmering, and I know she needs him more than I do.
Greg taps his glass with the edge of a knife, calling for everyone to take their places at the table. There are cards lettered with all our names. My seat is beside Alex. The soft fabric of his shirt brushes my bare arm, and a shiver runs down my spine. We don’t speak to each other at all during dinner, and afterward he goes outside to the deck with the men, while the women clear the table and do the dishes. Tucker is underfoot, asking over and over when we’re going to open presents, and in the post-dinner chaos, we almost miss the doorbell.
“Callie, will you get that, please?” Phoebe asks.
I open the front door, and Kat barges through with two shopping bags like the ones Alex brought in earlier.
“I come bearing gifts,” she announces. “Phoebe, this bag is from our family to yours. It’s cookies and all kinds of other Christmas treats. And, Callie hid all her presents at my house so none of you would peek, and then forgot to bring them home.”
She hands me the second bag, then pulls me up the steps to my bedroom, our heels tapping on the wooden risers.
“Oh my God, Callie, this dress looks even more amazing tonight than it did at the store,” she says. “Alex is probably outside right now plotting a way to get you under the mistletoe.”
“Why did you do all this?”
“I told you,” she says. “I love Christmas. And I hated the idea of you sitting here feeling bad that you didn’t have any presents to give. Besides, someday I’m going to need you and you’re going to come through for me in a big way. Because that’s what friends do, right?” But before I can answer, Kat just keeps talking. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She rummages through the shopping bag and produces a tiny Christmas-colored envelope. “This is for you.”
Inside is an evil eye bead knotted on a black cord, just like the one she’s wearing.
“I can’t guarantee it will keep away evil,” she says, as she loops it around my wrist and tightens the knots until it’s a perfect fit. “But maybe it will remind you that you’re not alone. You have me. You have Greg. You have this whole big, crazy, annoying Greek family and we all love you.”
This time it’s me who hugs her. “You’re the best.”
“And I will never let you forget it.” She looks at her watch. “But now, I gotta jet. My mom’s waiting and she’ll kill me if I linger too long.”
“Merry Christmas, Kat.”
She kisses my cheek, then wipes the gloss off my face with her thumb. “You, too, Callie. Love you.”
Her heels clomp on the stairs and she calls out “Merry Christmas!” as she dashes out the door. From the office dormer I watch as she runs down the walk to her mom’s car. After they’ve driven off, I find my phone and send her a text.
Love you, too.