A Cliché Christmas(23)
“I haven’t heard anything about it yet. It takes awhile sometimes.”
“Well, I’m sure it will at least be picked up for another Hallmark movie. Just remember, this is when you pay your dues. You’ve got to stick with it. You have a good thing going. It usually takes a long time for people to find a niche like you’ve created for yourself.”
I knew I shouldn’t have told her I’d been thinking about pursuing something different.
“I’m grateful for what’s happened so far, really.” Even if I’m bored to tears with it.
“Good. Just don’t go changing things up now. Stay the course, and work hard. It will pay off.”
What she really meant was, “Don’t try and write other genres. Don’t get too creative or impulsive. Don’t mess this up.”
“How are the kids?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Great. Brad and I are going to take them to Disney World for New Year’s. Just bought the hotel package.”
“Aren’t they a little young for that?”
“What? No. It will be a good family memory for all of us.”
Family. Hearing her say the word stung, like pouring Tabasco sauce on an open wound.
“Good. I’m glad you’re happy.”
She paused for a few seconds. I could hear a small voice calling her in the background. “You’ll find one someday, too, Georgia.”
“Find what?”
“A family of your own.”
You were supposed to be my family, Mom.
I stood in the shower for a long time—so long that Nan finally rapped on the door to check on me. When the scorching-hot water turned lukewarm and eventually cold, I got out, wrapped myself in a fuzzy towel, and padded down the hallway.
“Um . . . I’ll just . . .”
I whirled around to see the source of the voice behind me. “Oh my gosh! Weston!”
Running to my room, I slammed the door, which banged open and closed four times before actually latching shut. I rested my head against the door, and my heart raced as I tried to recall exactly how my towel had been positioned when I left the bathroom.
“I didn’t see anything! Promise!” he yelled down the hall. “Nan said she told you I was here before she left. Sorry!”
Was that what she had said?
I bit my lip, shaking my head. And then . . . I laughed. Hard. For whatever reason, God had decided that Weston James was my personal humility meter.
By the time I dressed in skinny jeans, a sweater, and boots, my earlier dour mood had lightened considerably. Though Weston and I were still firmly in the “It’s complicated” phase, last night had radically changed something in me. I wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but I was willing to find out.
“Hey, you.” He smiled and held my jacket out to me.
“Hey.” I was still blushing from the hallway scene.
“Thought we might grab a quick cup of coffee before rehearsal. Is that okay?”
My smile seemed to pull from all directions. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
We took his truck to Brew It & Company and found a table by the window after we ordered.
“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his leather jacket.
“You do?”
“Although I think I might be shooting myself in the foot by giving it to you. I kind of like my remedy for keeping you warm.”
I eyed him curiously as he placed a small paper bag from Gigi’s Grocery on the table. I picked it up, intrigued.
Gloves.
Weston James bought me a pair of gloves?
I looked up at him, words escaping me. Something in the back of my throat burned.
“Hey, you okay? I only got black because I didn’t know what other color you’d want.”
“Thank you.” My words were thin, shaky. “Really, thank you for these.”
He touched my arm. “I know we can’t go back in time, Georgia, but I don’t want to waste any time now.”
I nodded. “Me, either.”
His eyes crinkled. “You know . . . you’re pretty adorable when you’re not hating my guts.”
Leaning in closely, I whispered, “Don’t get used to it.”
He laughed.
And so did I.
Misty couldn’t make it to practice that day because her youngest was home sick with the stomach flu. In that moment, I was extremely grateful for Weston’s help.
It was the first day of blocking. As usual, I directed from the floor while Weston assisted the cast onstage.
“No, a little more to the left. And the shepherds need to be a lot farther back on stage right. Yep . . . right there is good.”
Weston taped and marked as the kids rehearsed their places over and over.
“What about the angel? You gonna try to lower him down?” Weston asked.
I tilted my head and squinted, imagining how it all might play out. This was the most important scene because it was Savannah’s favorite.
“I’d like to. Do you think we can rig it?”
Weston beamed with confidence. “Absolutely.”
The hours ticked by. Everyone ate sack lunches during a fifteen-minute break, and then we were back at it. No rest for the weary—or the holidayed out. That was my own personal motto, anyway.