A Cliché Christmas(48)



Several parents expressed their surprise about Sydney’s announcement, but I simply nodded, refusing to comment. I didn’t know what to say. I still didn’t understand it myself.

Nan and Eddy left for the senior center when the show finished, and I was grateful for that. Hugging Nan would be my undoing, and I needed to stay strong and in control.

As I flicked off the last of the lights for what would likely be the last time, I heard his voice.

“It’s not what you think, Georgia. Let me explain.”

My laugh was humorless. “Oh? And what do I think? That you lied to me? That you played me? That you sold me out for Sydney Parker?”

“It’s not like that, Georgia.”

I spun around to face him. “Then tell me what it’s like! I guess it wasn’t enough for Sydney to be the mastermind behind my most humiliating moment seven years ago. This time she went and got herself an accomplice.”

He rubbed his face. “Sydney’s not—”

I held up my hand. “You know what? I don’t want to listen to this. Whatever sick and twisted relationship you have with that woman is none of my concern. You two are made for each other.”

I pushed the door open and stepped outside. He followed me, waiting as I turned the key in the lock.

Even in the darkness, I could see the deep furrow in Weston’s brow. “None of your concern? Don’t say that, Georgia. Sydney and I don’t have a relationship!”

“Excuse me, I guess I should say, business partner.” I paused, using air quotes for emphasis. “Here, you might want to give this to her.” Slapping the key into his palm, I refused to let the threatening surge of emotion fill my chest.

The click of my heels matched the speed of my heart as I raced toward my car, but Weston arrived first.

Urgh.

“Sydney and I are not business partners. She contracted me to draw up some plans for her about six months ago, but the city turned down her permit to build—twice. When she mentioned the theater—”

I shoved him.

He rocked back, his eyes round with surprise.

“You knew she was going to make an offer, and you listened to me go on and on about my plans without telling me? You’re revolting!”

“I was just as surprised as you were tonight! Do you really think I want Sydney to turn that theater into a spa? Really?” He shook his head. “Georgia, I didn’t want to tell you because I was doing everything in my power to change her mind. I didn’t think she would do it.”

I glared at him. “Like what?”

He rubbed his head and took a deep breath. “Like paying her back my fee for drawing up her blueprints. And it was more than just a few pennies, believe me.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“I don’t want to believe you.”

“Well, it’s the truth, Georgia. I never wanted Sydney to buy that theater. I want you here. I want you with me. I want—”

I shook my head. “It was a mistake to think I could stay here. My mom was right.”

“Your mom?”

Weston grabbed me and forced me to look at him.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” The unsettling calm in his voice sliced me deeper than the blade of a knife ever could.

I fought against his hold. “Stop it, don’t try to psychoanalyze me. This is about you.”

“No. This is about her! I’m not trading you in, Georgia. I’m not waiting around for a better deal . . . I’m not giving you up. Not for anything.” With one quick yank of a loose emotional thread, he was unraveling me.

“Stop, please.” I squirmed in his grasp.

“That’s what you meant the other night—about feeling support without condition. But what you really meant to say was that outside of Nan, you haven’t felt love without condition, right? That the only time you felt loved by your mother was when you were on top, succeeding and living the life she didn’t get to live herself. Well, her life is not yours!”

I shook my head, a sob breaking from my chest.

“Georgia,” he whispered.

My chin quivered, my name a lonely, pathetic whisper on his lips. “It’s over, Weston.”

“I’m not losing you, Georgia—not over this.”

“I’ve never been yours to lose.”

His hands fell away, the expression in his eyes punching me hard in the gut.

Do it. Rip the bandage off.

“I don’t belong here. And I don’t belong with you. Go to the bake sale, they’re expecting you, but please don’t come after me. I won’t change my mind.”

His jaw was clenched tight as I got inside my car and pulled the door closed.

And with all the strength I had, I slammed another door closed as well. One I prayed would never be reopened.

Not by the kid who chased me around with a glue stick, not by the man who had stomped on my dreams—and my heart.



Nan offered her condolences over a steaming cup of coffee, after I replayed the realtor’s message on my phone. It confirmed what I already knew—that Sydney’s bid had been chosen over mine. But I was no longer in the mood to shed tears or feel sorry for myself. I had done enough of that last night on my pillow. I had only one mission.

To finish a debate I had started three weeks ago.

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