A Toast to the Good Times

Chapter 15



“So, you add the whole bottle of ginger ale?” Mom peers over her glasses and asks Mila.

Mila smiles, tightens the apron around her waist, and walks over to assist. She and Mom have been trading recipes all morning, and it’s equal parts creepy and everything I’ve ever wanted out of a holiday.

“Absolutely.” Mila nods and gathers her dark hair in a loose bun, securing it with two holiday pencils from a jar on the counter. “And don’t forget the strawberries.”

“Right, strawberries,” Mom repeats. She smacks her forehead dramatically and then grabs them from the bowl in the sink where they’d been rinsed earlier.

“Are you schooling a Murphy on how to make drinks?” I ask with a chuckle.

I wrap my arms around Mila’s waist from behind and bury my face into her neck, letting her hair nearly suffocate me. Mom looks over and gives me a wink. She’s playing along for Mila’s sake.

You can’t teach my mom anything that she doesn’t already know about drinks. And sickeningly sweet alcoholic punches are like the Horcrux of our family, but Mom is acting interested for Mila, and I couldn’t love her more for it.

“It’s called ho-ho-ho punch.” Mila crosses the room, uncorks a bottle of champagne like a champ, and empties it into the huge punch bowl, already full of sherbet and gingerale and whatever other hellacious ingredients Mila insisted on.

Because even though, as a bartender, this punch is everything that I’m totally against, this is Mila and that makes it cute as hell. So, I’m going to drink a big ass glass of that ridiculous ho-ho-ho punch and be goddamn jolly about it.

“It’s a tradition in my family,” Mila says, her voice low and tight.

She gives a slight, embarrassed shrug of one shoulder, and my oversized sweatshirt that she borrowed slips down a bit, exposing a sliver of soft, bare Mila skin. I swallow the growl that I feel bubble up in my throat, remembering the taste of that little spot of skin from last night.

Mom pulls the oven open and peeks inside. “Ham is just about ready. Landry, go help Paisley set the table.”

I do as I’m told and leave the room with a little skip in my step, pausing to smack the doorframe and smirk to myself.

Jesus, this feels good.

Being happy, I mean.

“You get the plates and napkins, I’ll get the silver and crap,” Paisley says around humming her favorite holy roller Christmas carol.

I cluck my tongue at her. “Jesus wouldn’t like you saying ‘crap’ on his big birthday, Squirrelly.” I ruffle her hair and she grunts and shakes me off. “Alright, what’s wrong with you?”

Her eyes cut toward the kitchen.

“Mila?” I ask.

I feel a pang of annoyance at my sister. Is she pissed that Mila and Mom are getting along and cooking Christmas dinner together? I admit, it was weird at first, but what does Paisley care? She’s got Calvin sitting under the tree, looking oh-so-dapper in a Christmas sweater, and he got her that fantastic bible with her name engraved on the cover.

What more could my weirdo sister ask for?

“Not Mila.” Paisley rolls her eyes at my denseness. “Mila is great. It’s Mom.”

“What about Mom?” I ask. I thumb through the stack of burgundy cloth napkins, counting off the number that we need for the place settings.

“I heard her talking to Dad earlier. She said that she didn’t care if I went on the mission trip. That I was free to do whatever I wanted.” Paisley drops the pile of forks onto the long, rustic table with a clamor.

“And…?” I’ve got nothing.

“I think they’re, like, trying to use reverse psychology on me or something. I mean, there’s no way they’re giving up that easy.” She whips a piece of hair up to her mouth and nibbles for a second before she snaps out of it and tosses it back over her shoulder.

I ponder her theory for a minute while I set a napkin at each place at the table.

“Paisley, maybe they just want you to be happy?”

“No way. They’re up to something.” Her eyes are wide; she’s totally convinced.

But I can’t shake the feeling that they’ve probably had this same talk before.

About me.

And maybe that’s why they didn’t fight me more over the money. Maybe that’s why they never chased me down in Boston or begged me to come home. Maybe they just wanted me to find my way on my own, whether it meant making a new life there, or finding my way back home.

“Listen, Paisley, I think, and you don’t have to take my word for it, but I really do think that they want you to do what you feel like you need to do. And I think they’re just giving you the room to do it.” I put an arm around her shoulder and give her a quick squeeze. “Screw up. Love Chad. Marry Calvin. No, wait, seriously, don’t marry Calvin.”

Paisley snorts and smacks my arm.

“Just do what you’re little squirrelly-heart tells you to do, and Mom and Pop will be happy. Or, at least learn to deal.”

Paisley looks around me and into the kitchen at Mom showing Mila how to put the lattice on top of the apple pie.

“You think?”

I nod.

Paisley locks her eyes with me. “Landry?”

“Yep?” I break her intense stare and grab a stack of the good plates off the sideboard and start arranging them on the table.

“Don’t break that girl’s heart.”

I can’t get mad at Paisley for saying it, but I also can’t look at her, because there’s no way for me to guarantee that I won’t do exactly that, and it scares the shit out of me.



***************



“Rusty, we can’t thank you enough for coming,” Mom says.

She stacks his plate on top of the tower she’s already carrying and makes her way to the kitchen. Rusty made it over just in time for dinner, and surprised the heck out of Mom and Dad. I probably should have let them know beforehand that he was coming by, but it slipped my mind.

Apparently, Rusty has, understandably, been lying low since Karen passed. Not only because he’s been neck-deep in grief, but because his pride wouldn’t allow him to visit with my parents, knowing all they’ve sacrificed for him.

The smiles and hugs from Mom and Dad when he walked through the door made my little Grinch-heart grow to near-bursting.

“My pleasure. Thanks for the invite,” Rusty says before he gives me a quick, knowing nod.

“Dessert?” Mom calls over her shoulder. The entire table chimes in in agreement.

“Ma, let me help you with all of that.” I push myself away from the table. Mila starts to follow suit, but I brush my hand over hers to stop her. “No worries. You just sit and relax. I got it.”

I follow Mom into the kitchen where she’s already cutting into the array of pies she and Mila worked so hard on all day. There’s a row of them across the island counter top.

“Sugar Cream?” she asks, like she actually needs to.

“Two slices, please.” I smile at this whole homey holiday scene, my mom, my favorite pie, my girl at the table with my family and friends, who seem to be on their best behavior. .

“She’s good for you, you know?” Mom says as she slices into a lemon meringue.

I nod, because I know she is, but I don’t add anything to keep the conversation going. I’m on edge about things with Mila even since Paisley’s comment.

Don’t break that girls heart.

No pressure, right?

“We have a good time.” I shrug, trying to keep the tone of the whole conversation casual.

“I’d say it’s more than that,” Mom suggests smugly.

“Ma, really? You just worry about cutting your pie there,” I joke, shaking my head. “I’ll wash these dishes.”

By the time Mom and I get the mess in the kitchen under control everyone has cleared out of the dining room and moved into the den. I follow behind her and her tray of pies with as many glasses of Mila’s punch as I can hold, and when you carry glasses for a living, that’s a lot. Mila was excited to contribute this punch, and these people are going to enjoy it or else. Mom passes out the plates of pie, while I do the same with the frothy glasses of punch.

“Henry, banana cream or pumpkin?” Mom offers my brother his choice of the last two pieces on the tray, just as the doorbell rings.

“Both, Ma,” he says, jumping up enthusiastically. “One for me, and one for my guest. Hope you don’t mind, I figured since Paisley has Cal over, and Landry has sweet, sweet Mila, I might as well invite someone for dessert.”

“‘Course,” Mom says absently, but Henry is already out of the room.

I plop down in the overstuffed chair next to Mila, cramping her space, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Sorry Santa Claus didn’t bring you anything today.” Mila tips her head to meet mine. My parents didn’t expect me, so, no, there wasn’t a gift under the tree for me.

“Oh, I beg to differ. Santa brought me a pretty freaking awesome gift.” I press my lips to her temple and breathe her in. “Maybe he’ll let me have another after everyone goes to bed.” I pull back and wink at her just to watch the blush fill her cheeks.

“You’re not drinking your punch,” Mila says.

“We didn’t have a toast yet.”

“I thought you hated toasts?”

“Meh,” I scoff. “That was before I had anything worthwhile to toast.”

“Okay, so, what are we toasting to tonight?”

“To remembering the moments worth never forgetting,” I say, raising my glass.

I glance around the room taking in my sister and her assbasket of a boyfriend, canoodling on the edge of the sofa like a couple of seventh-graders. Mom and Dad apparently have the same idea as Mila and I, and are clinking glasses over by the brightly lit tree.

And then Henry is back.

With his guest.

With Heather.

Mila follows my eyes over to them, and then looks back at my face, silently questioning my shocked expression, waiting for me to continue. I pull my lips into a tight line and snarl out the rest of the toast. “And forgetting those not worth remembering.”

“Um, that was…poignant?” Mila forces a small smile and presses her glass toward me.

I touch my glass to hers, then tip the faux-alcoholic drink back, swallowing it quickly and wishing I’d spiked it with some extra booze like Dad had suggested earlier.

“Excuse me.” I pat Mila on the knee and she frowns back at me. “I’ll just be one minute.”

I’m trying to reassure her, but I’m pissed as hell that my brother invited my ex here.

On Christmas.

With Mila here.

What am I saying? That’s exactly why Henry pulled this shit.

“You. Outside. Now,” I say, clipping each angry word and gripping my baby brother by the collar of his starched shirt.

“Landry, calm the f*ck down,” Henry says through gritted teeth and a plastic smile.

“You little shit, what are you trying to pull?” I yank him out through the open sliding glass door. “Are you trying to screw up what I have going in there? Because, why? You have a little crush on her?”

Henry pulls back and brushes himself off. “Dude, you need to chill the hell out. I ran into Heather doing some last minute shopping yesterday. She mentioned that her family was all out of town because her brother and his wife are having a baby. She sort of wrangled an invite out of me. It wasn’t intentional on my part, bro, and I sure as shit didn’t expect you to get this bent about it. Your girl in there is crazy about you, so who gives a rat’s ass if Heather is here or not?” He waits a few beats, checking to make sure I calmed down. “So, can I go inside and enjoy my delicious pie that our mother and your woman slaved away making especially for me?” Henry laughs.

“Get out of my sight,” I joke back at him.

I know he’s right. It doesn’t matter. Heather and I are long over.

Henry makes his way back into the house. I shove my hands in my pockets and stare up at the dark sky.

“Landry?” Her voice is a little husky. A little sexy. Just like it always was. And I spin toward her, knowing exactly why I was so worried when I saw that Henry had brought Heather over.

Because I’m Landry.

I’m a f*ck up.

It’s what and who I am.

I pinch the space between my eyes and try to ignore the short-as-shit black dress Heather is wearing, and her long ass legs that always begged me to run my hands over them.

“Heather, what are you doing out here? My mom has a shit ton of pie in there, go eat some.”

I take a few steps in her direction, but not to her. I want to make my way past her and back into that ridiculously comfortable chair next to Mila.

I want to forget the things not worth remembering.

“I heard you were in town.” This doesn’t surprise me. I want to call her out on the fact that I’ve seen her pass in front of the bar every so often, never coming in, but just watching me. But before the words leave my mouth, she flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder and I can’t help staring too long at her exposed neck.

The neck I once knew the smell of, the taste of when I kissed her there before I got her into bed.

I shake those thoughts out of my head, pissed at my mind for dredging them up.

“Yep, here I am. It’s cold out here, let’s get back inside.”

“Why don’t you just give me your coat. Then we can stay out here. And…talk.” She smiles coyly.

“Right. I’m not sure what Henry told you, but I’m here with someone.”

Heather smirks. “He told me before I came in. I just wanted to see you again, Landry.”

“Why?” I sigh.

“Tyler and I broke up, you know.” She’s shivering.

“What the hell does that have to do with me?”

“Well...” Her teeth chatter and she hugs herself closer.

The slinky black dress was not appropriate winter-in-New-Jersey-attire, and she knew that good and well, but still, the miniscule inner gentleman I have hidden somewhere in me just won’t let her stand out here and freeze.

“Take this.” I pull my arms out of my wool coat and wrap it around her shoulders, paying special attention not to touch her any more than is absolutely necessary.

“Thanks,” she coos.

“Right, so, can we go in now?” I gesture back to the house, warm and comfortable, and the place where the girl who single-handedly changed my world is waiting for me to come back.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. Heather hangs her head down , her hair grazing over her face and chest. “I’m so sorry I screwed things up with us Landry. I don’t even have a good reason why, I mean, I loved you. I still love you! I just...I got scared and Tyler was there and it was easy and fun—”

And suddenly, it all clicks into place.

And I get it.

I understand why Heather treated herself to a little holiday delight with my best friend. Her friends were all running off and getting married. I left my family behind. I asked her to move in with me. And she was scared as hell that she was going to mess it all up.

“You don’t love me, Heather.”

“I really do. You were the first guy that ever treated me well.” She sighs and smooths her slinky dress hidden under the wool folds of my coat. “The only guy, really, who’s ever had any respect for me.”

I think back to when Heather and I were in the thick of our relationship, and, while I was never mean to her, I don’t really remember treating her all that well. I don’t remember treating any girl especially well.

Heather steps closer to me, pressing her hands onto my chest, tracing the outline of my pecs, just like she used to. I try not to react to her touch, but it’s really f*cking hard not to. It’s familiar, and it feels damn good, even if I don’t want it to go any further. She leans in and her mouth is right next to my ear.

“I promise I could make things right. If you give me chance Landry, I’ll make them better than they ever were.”

And for a split second I think how much easier it would be to be back with her. There was zero expectation from Heather. From my parents. From Paisley. No one gave a shit whether I was with her or not, not even me.

It was easy. And boring. And easy.

And Mila….

F*ck.

Heather’s nails scratch through my shirt as I pull away from her.

Mila is standing ten feet away, her arms shoved way up inside the sweatshirt that is three sizes too big for her. Her mouth tugs downward in a look of mixed shock and disgust. And it’s because of me.

Because Heather is here, in my arms, wearing my coat, lips on my ear.

I count to ten silently, hoping the entire situation just evaporates, but mostly waiting for Mila to launch into me and demand an explanation as to how I could have been inside her last night, and have Heather nibbling on my ear now.

But she doesn’t yell at me. She doesn’t beg me to explain.

Instead, Mila is silent.

And that’s when I know I’ve really f*cked things up. She nods like she’s seen everything she needs to know, spins on her heels, and walks away.

“Mila!”

She stops briefly and looks at me over her shoulder. Her eyes tell me everything; I’ve just proven to her that I’m exactly the person she came here hoping to prove to herself.

She shakes her head and keeps walking away.

From me.

My palms sweat, my heart races, and panic glues me to my frigid spot in my parents’ driveway

I don’t have any experience to pull from. Any idea what to do in this situation. Any clue what to say to make her stay.

So, like the idiot that I am, I just let her go.