“Uh-huh,” I manage. Not a yes, simply an acknowledgment that I heard.
Sam comes down the stairs, and the way he’s looking at her says,Ring by Valentine’s Day. It won’t be the first diamond she’s collected.
I can already see how their story will play out. She’ll treat him like a cash machine, leave him watching the kids while she goes out on Friday nights with her girlfriends and flirts with other men. Eventually she’ll divorce him and take him for all she can.
Maybe my imagination is running away with me. Maybe I’m wrong.
I doubt it.
The lasagna is beckoning us to the kitchen, but suddenly I don’t have any appetite.
Mom has come out now. “Gwendolyn! You look lovely as usual.”
I’m suddenly just a tiny bit jealous.
How pathetic is that? I don’t need my mom to tell me I’m pretty. I’m fine. And I’m successful and...
Single. No ring in my future. No man. Nothing to brag about but a string of mistletoe fails.
Stop it!I scold myself.You are doing fine.And you don’t need a man to be happy.
True. But I don’t need to be wandering around Romancelandia alone all the time either. I mean, where’s the fun in that? And what does that say about me? Those who can’t have it settle for writing about it?
Dad and Grandpa arrive with the eggnog. Grandpa is thick like Dad. They have the same blunt nose and superhero chin, and it’s easy to see they’re related. Even their smiles look alike. They’re both smiling now at the sight of Gwendolyn. Dad gives her a hearty hello. Grandpa compliments her on her outfit. It’s like she’s already a member of the family.
“She’s a winner, isn’t she?” Grandpa says to me as we all go down the hall toward the dining room. Grandpa-speak for she’s awesome.
“She’s something,” I say, staying diplomatic.
At dinner talk turns to the many social obligations Mom has committed me to.
“You’re like a celebrity,” says Gwendolyn, giving me that almost-smile again. “You really do need to let me do your hair for the book party. My Christmas present to you.”
“What a sweet offer,” Mom says. “Gwendolyn is amazing.”
I suddenly wonder if Gwendolyn did Mom’s Christmas-stocking-red hair. If she did, what has she got against my mother?
Mom confirms it. “She did mine earlier this week. It’ll fade, so we went extra strong so it will last through Christmas,” Mom explains. “It will eventually turn pastel.”
“Pastel,” I repeat. So Mom’s head can look like cotton candy.
“Although I already love it just as it is,” Mom adds. Either my mom is lying diplomatically, or she needs to borrow my glasses.
“How about you come in tomorrow?” Gwendolyn suggests. “I can fit you in.”
“I have to help Mom bake for the cookie exchange,” I say.
“That won’t take all day,” Mom says.
Thank you, Mom.
“I can take you at one,” Gwendolyn says.
“That would be great. Then you’ll be all festive for Christmas,” Mom says.
I picture myself at the bookstore event, my hair clown red like Mom’s. “Oh, I don’t think...,” I begin.
“Go for it,” says Sam. “She’ll make you look great.” He really believes it.
