You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology(146)

He shrugged nonchalantly with one shoulder, as if that was all the effort that was required. “You could have seen me anytime,” he said.

“I know.”

“I’m going to check on my mom.” He grabbed his hat and headed back toward Marion’s room. She got in his way. Frowning, he stepped to the right to get around her and she stepped with him. He stepped left and she was still in his way.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling you I’m sorry.”

“I’m done with apologies from you, Trina.” Again he tried to step past her, again she stuck to him, refusing to let him by until she had her say. “What? Are you ten?”

“I wanted to call you back a thousand times,” she said. “Once I was done being mad, I felt stupid because you were right. Your father had good intentions hiring me. He did. But your brother just wanted to use me as a tool to gather up land, including my father’s.”

“And you thought what? I was going to rub your face in it? Look, I’m really sorry about the situation with Josh. You deserve better. You’ve always deserved better. But it’s been two years, Trina.”

“I’ve been spending a lot of time with my dad,” she said. “This year. Since I quit, really.”

“Trust me, I know. It’s all he talks about.”

“You got him to stop drinking.”

“I just poured out the rye. He did the hard part.”

She still fought the instinct not to give her father any credit. But he’d been sober for the better part of a year, and sometimes she had to remember that. She had to work hard to see the man he was trying to be and not just the man he had been.

“We go to church together,” she said. “Have coffee after. It’s not great, but it’s good. Frankly, I’m still mad a lot of the time, but we’re trying.”

“That’s nice. I’m glad.”

“Thank you.” She wished her voice was stronger. “Thank you for giving us that chance. You were right. Last year, what you said at the gas station, that I don’t forgive or forget. You were right. And I’m working on it,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been doing this year. Working on that. On me, I guess. Trying to be the kind of person who deserves a guy like you. I wanted to call you—see you again, when I was the best version of myself.”

His eyes went wide. His mouth fell open a little bit.

“I had this big plan tonight. I made sure your mom put the instruments down in the foyer—”

“We haven’t played together in years.”

“Right. That was pointed out to me. That’s why the harpist was hired. But I was going to ask you to play with me. I was going to tell you how much that meant to me when I was a kid. How I never felt as close to anyone as I did while playing those songs with you. Except for that morning…three Christmas Eves ago. When you made me look at you while—”

She cut off her rambling mouth, blushing. Really, Trina. You’re in a hospital.

“I remember,” he said quietly. Warmth kindling in his eyes. He took a step closer, and then another, and her knees nearly buckled with relief. Was this working? Was this actually working?

“What I want, more than anything, is to feel that close to you again. So I went to that party. Hoping you would be there. Hoping you would see me in this stupid dress—”

“Hey now, I like that dress.”

“I wanted you to see me in it and I wanted you to want me.”

“Mission accomplished.”

She sucked in a breath, blood pounding in her cheeks.

“But then, when everything happened with your mom, all I could think about was how hard this would be for you and I couldn’t stand the idea of you being here all alone.”

“You didn’t want my mother to be alone.”

“I didn’t want you to be alone.” A tear slipped from her eyes and she didn’t brush it away. She was done hiding from him. “I’m here for you. For my friend. Because you’ve always been there for me.”

He grabbed her hands in his, squeezing them so hard they nearly hurt. Her breath shuddered. The look on his face…she’d never seen him so intense.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” he said.

“What?” she breathed, pain rippling through her.

“It’s not enough. Not anymore.”

She swallowed. The strap of her dress slipped down her shoulder. “That was what I was scared of. Because it’s not enough for me either. It’s not nearly enough.”

With shaking hands, they stroked back each other’s hair. And she felt impossibly open to him. Like she’d been unzipped somehow and was standing in front of him with everything showing. And it was the same for her with him.

She’d always seen him so clearly. The vulnerability he guarded with jokes. That physical ease that hid an emotional want that never got answered. Never got fulfilled.

And she’d been a part of that. She’d hurt him. With her own fear. Her own vulnerability. Probably in ways she didn’t even know about.

I’m sorry, she thought again.

But instead of saying it, she slipped her hands across his cheeks. Holding him still. Looking him right in the eyes, she didn’t hide. Or look away.