Page 4 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

She refrained from a juvenile eye roll. But honestly, did he really expect her to have a nice afternoon with that chaotic, noisy mob next door? She closed and locked the door behind him and let out an involuntary shudder. Turning to the hall, she stared at her image in the oval mirror. The old beveled looking glass was somewhat fogged with age, and the overcast skies outside made the foyer seem dimmer, but her image seemed extra dark. Was it her imagination? Or did she really look that dark and gloomy?

She’d always been considered an attractive person. Even though her hair had turned prematurely white in her early forties, it had remained thick, and she kept it cut in a youthful bob. Although it did seem limp and dull today. Probably time to put the special blue rinse on it to give it the sparkle and shine that always gained her compliments. And Rob used to say her eyes were as blue as the ocean on a clear day, but they looked pale and rather grayish today. And were those new wrinkles? She leaned closer to see. Was it just her imagination? Or was she turning into an ugly old woman with a truly bad disposition? And if so, how did it happen?

Jane kept staring at the grumpy woman in the mirror, scowling and making ugly faces, wondering if this was how she appeared to others. She didn’t want to be like this. Besides being unbecoming, her grisly expression seemed to accentuate the wrinkles that had shown up uninvited lately. Was it already time for Botox again? She attempted a smile, hoping to appear more youthful, but it simply looked phony. Like her. She knew she was a phony, always trying to appear to have it together, wearing the perfect clothes, living in the perfect home, saying the perfect things . . . when she was really crumbling on the inside. And yet she felt helpless, trapped in the prison she’d built for herself. Besides being a killjoy and wet blanket to people like the McEntires, she was also turning into a cranky old fishwife. Amazing that Rob could even stand her.

She turned away from the mirror and looked around her house. As usual, it was all perfection, and, in its perfection, it was soothing. She walked through the living room, straightening a pale blue pillow on the sofa, picking a fading leaf from her philodendron, refolding a cream-colored chenille afghan, laying it perfectly over the cream-colored ottoman that matched the sofa. This room, all in pale blues and shades of white, was relatively easy to keep perfect since Rob rarely came in here. His domain was his man cave–like den, which probably needed her touch right now.

She headed in that direction. It always got away from her a bit on the weekends since Rob used it more, but to her surprise, it was fairly neat. She straightened his stack of golf and fitness magazines before picking up his slippers and carrying them to their bedroom, where she put them in his closet. As usual, his walk-in closet was a bit chaotic, but after too many arguments over her “infringing on his territory,” she had learned to kick a path on the cluttered floor, hang up his clean, pressed shirts, close the door, and look the other way. She was halfway tempted to straighten it all up now—just out of spite. But she didn’t think it would be worth the fight.

You’d think a man with his own accounting firm would want to keep things at home as neat and tidy as he kept the books for the biggest businesses in town. But left to his own ways, Rob would be a total mess. Would he be happier in his filth? Perhaps. But she couldn’t go there. She didn’t even know the way.

three

There was only a cold drizzle when Olivia walked to the coffeehouse just a few blocks down from her apartment, but she felt like a soggy sponge halfway there. By the time she stepped inside, welcomed by the scent of freshly ground coffee beans, she was dripping. Malcolm waved from a table right next to the woodstove, and, relieved for some warmth and dry heat, she peeled off her damp jacket and joined him.

“I’m really starting to hate city living,” she admitted as she sat down.

“Well, I heard it’s raining at home too,” he consoled her.

“Yeah, but temps are supposed to go down next week, and it sounds like they might start getting snow there.” She sighed and unpeeled a damp woolen scarf. “I’d take that over this any day.” She smiled as a barista set down a latte with a pretty heart cut into the foam. Malcolm obviously knew the way to her heart. “Thanks.” She carefully picked up the mug, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers. “So, why were you checking the weather at home?”

“I wasn’t. Jocelyn called and reminded me it’s Mom’s birthday.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, her sixtieth. And they’re having a big blowout birthday bash today. An all-day and overnight get together. Mom’s over the moon.”

Olivia nodded. “She loves celebrations like that.”

“Mostly having her family gathered around.” His cheerful countenance faded some.

“And you should be there too?” She sipped her latte, savoring the mellow sweetness of the vanilla and sprinkle of sugar that had been added.

“Yeah. I totally forgot.”

“Are you on call at the clinic?”

“Not this weekend.”

“Then you should go home, Malcolm.” She checked the oversized clock on the wall. “Just think, you could be there by dinnertime if you left now.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking that too.” He pressed his lips tightly together, as if making a decision. “It’s a two-hour drive . . . think you’d want to come along? I’m sure your parents would love a surprise visit from you.”

She considered this. Maybe it’d be a good way to introduce her mom to the news that she was dating Malcolm McEntire and they were maybe getting serious.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “My parents would probably love that.”

He looked intently into her eyes. “I’d like my parents to know that we’ve been seeing each other. But I know how you wanted to wait.”

She bit her lip. “Maybe that’s a good idea, to sort of clue them in. Better than springing it on them at Christmas. Might give them a little time to adjust to the idea.”

“I know you’re nervous, Livvie, but if it’s any consolation, my family already loves you. It’s like you’ve been part of our family for ages.”

She looked at him. This was the most they’d talked about their relationship and how it might impact their families. Did this mean he felt as serious as she did? Not that she wanted to push him on it, but she could hint.

“I guess I’ve been putting it off, Malcolm . . . well, you know . . . in case we stopped seeing each other.”

His brow creased. “Meaning you’re thinking about that? Because if you are, I hope you’ll let me in on it. I got ghosted once before a few years ago and it was pretty miserable.”