The Plight Before Christmas(24)

I turn to Brenden. “None at all. Maybe a long overdue apology if she’ll hear one, which is doubtful, but I’m not here to cause any problems.”

“That’s all I need to know.”

I turn to him. “Why did she give up?”

“Give up on what, exactly?”

“All of it. When I knew her, she was full of scary ambitions. Wanted to be the female equivalent of Phil Spector, to a less murderous point.”

“She had student loans to pay off, so she took a desk job. She’s done well. She’s just not where she wants to be.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

“Look, I won’t hold your omission against you, but if you do hurt my sister again, I’m going to have to pull some big brother shit.”

“Noted.”

“I know you don’t drink much, but you’re going to have to veto that stance if you want to make it through this alive. Be a pal and help me go sniff out my mother’s Eggnog. The shit is off the chain.”

I take one last look at Whitney as she walks over to the railing and peers into the thick woods.

“Yeah, maybe one.”





Serena pokes her head into my attic bedroom as I read an old Shel Silverstein classic Grams used to read to me. Peyton is already fast asleep, cradled in my arms on the ancient twin mattress.

“He’s out,” she says, taking a seat on the bed next to me, weighing my expression as I close the book.

“Talk to me.”

“About what? Eli?” I harrumph. “Just proves that my run of shitty luck isn’t over. Rest assured, big sis, it was a shock, but I’m over it.”

“Can I just say—”

“No.”

“That he’s fucking gorgeous—”

“No.”

“And that I almost died tonight feeling all that delicious tension—”

“No.”

“And that my toes curled with the way he looked at you—”

“No.”

“And that I think he came back to see you—”

“No.”

“I mean, you guys were hot and heavy. Is it so bad, what he did—”

My look cuts her off mid-sentence.

“So, we hate him, then?”

“No. I can’t hate him because it’s bad for me. But I’m not thrilled he’s here.”

“I get that. But—”

“Serena,” I warn, lifting from the headboard. Peyton stirs on my chest, and I gently rock back and forth to keep him asleep. I stroke his face and hug him tighter. “He’s getting so big.”

“He is,” she sighs. “Last one.”

I push out my lip. “If that’s the case, I need to come over more.”

“You do, but Whit, I’m not dropping it.”

I groan.

“This is me, Whitney. You can bullshit everyone else, but not me. What happened across that table tonight was pure static, the good kind.”

“That’s just because you’re jonesing for some za za zu.”

“Some what?”

“Sex and the City, that’s what Carrie called it, za za zu. The friction, the spark, the butterflies.”

“You’ve really memorized that show, haven’t you?”

“Line by line, I’m afraid. It’s the bible for the single woman, hell, for every woman. I used to think of myself as two parts Carrie, one-part Charlotte, and a dwindling quarter of Samantha, but at this point, Miranda is threatening a takeover.”

“She’s the bitchy, red-headed cynic, right?”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t she get married and have a baby?”

“Shut up. And that’s what you’re missing with Thatch, by the way, the za za zu.”

“Will you stop about Thatch and me? We’re okay this side of the hour. Stop deflecting.”

I sigh and run my hand along Peyton’s back.

“Just tell me you didn’t feel it tonight at the table.”

“It’s just nostalgia. And you should know more than anyone at this point nostalgia is a trap.”

She scrunches her nose. “Gotta say, I don’t like Miranda on you.”

“You were judging my uninhibited Samantha earlier, so I’m afraid Miranda’s here to stay. Anyway, I’ve seen enough by now to have figured out the cycle.”

“Which episode is this?”

“This theory is all mine.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“It’s a cycle embedded in our DNA, our psyche, no matter how independent we claim to be. It happens for different women at different times, but almost always when we’re younger, less stressed, more free-spirited, sexual, and can easily mistake sexual chemistry with forever.” I run my hand across Peyton’s wayward hair.

“At the beginning of the cycle, a girl searches for the perfect mate. But the kicker is because it’s her time, she might not find the perfect man. Maybe she’ll just find a man willing to settle down and help her create the DNA-induced image in her head. And then one day, five, ten, fifteen years down the road, she wakes up and realizes that she married the wrong man. And the man wakes up next to her, realizing the woman he married is completely different from the one he proposed to. And that right there is the reason for the ever-present adolescent man because they want a 2.0 version of the woman they proposed to, the sexually creative, vivacious, zest for life fuck buddy they thought they were investing in. And so it goes, the woman sets off to find herself, while the husband—ex or not—begins dipping lower and lower into the pool until they’re practically dating an infant so that they can have that girl back. But the jokes on them because eventually, the 2.0 version is going to hit the same part of the cycle, too. It’s a hamster wheel.”