Page 2 of That Time I Kissed My Brother’s Best Friend
I wipe my Doc Martens on the new doormat that reads KISS ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE.
“Kind of bossy for a welcome mat, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Kasey. I think you’re silly.” She shuts the door and follows me into the front room. I’ll admit, my insides ache. But the good kind. The very best kind. No matter how much time passes, this space still smells like home. Right now, it smells like our home at Christmas. Probably because of the giant Douglas fir in the corner.
There are no ornaments on the tree yet, but somebody’s already strung it up with lights. Around the base is the Graham family’s special Christmas tree skirt. It’s made of forest green felt and trimmed with red satin ribbon. Plastic snowflakes run along the edge, except in the spots where our cat, Sprinkles, chewed them off a few years back.
My mother points at the bin labeled SPECIAL COUSIN ORNAMENTS and clucks again. She’s really got the whole chicken thing down pat. “All four of the McCoy cousins were over here last night. And, of course. Mac brought little Daisy. But we couldn’t trim the tree without you.” She trades in the cluck for atsk tsk tsk.
If you don’t think there’s a difference, you haven’t met Elaine Graham.
“Darby and Olivia weresodisappointed,” she continues. “And Tess flat-out insisted on waiting for you to even open the box.”
“They’re all in their twenties, Mom.”
“Mac is thirty.”
“I stand corrected,” I say, puffing out a laugh. “But I promise I’ll make it up to all of them this week. I really do miss everyone so much.”
My mother shakes her head and her jingle bell earrings. “What about me?”
“Of course I miss you, Mom.”
I roll my suitcase next to the coffee table and set my computer bag beside it so I can drop onto our couch. Ah. Home sweet home.Almostsweet enough to forget the reason I haven’t been back for five straight summers.
(Not a what. Awhom.)
But internships atThe Chronicledon’t grow on trees, even the tall firs our town is named for. Dream jobs don’t just land in your lap either. And I won’t let anyone steal what I’ve been working toward.Not this time.
“Kasey Elizabeth Graham,” my mother says. “Don’t you dare put those boots up on that couch. There’s a reason our upholstery’s lasted this long. No thanks to you and your brother’s feet.”
Seriously? Are we back on Brady’s feet again?
For the record, my parents have had the same oversized sectional since their wedding day. A matching armchair and ottoman sit across from it. All our furniture is thirty years old and also very beige. Mom likes to add pops of color to the decor with blankets she knits. And for extra flavor, she embroiders seasonal throw pillows. Right now, the ones on the armchair are red, white, and blue—I’m sure an homage to the 4thof July. But on the sectional, she’s scattered nine pillows. One for every reindeer.
“Uh oh,” I say, picking up the pillow closest to me. “I think you spelled Rudolph wrong.”
She scoffs. “I most certainly did not.”
“See?” I toss the pillow at her. “His name ends in a PH. Not an f. You can look it up if you want proof, but …” My voice trails off.
“Humph.” She examines the lettering, her nose right up to the fabric. “You might be right,” she quips, peering over the pillow at me. “My daughter, the valedictorian.” She sets down the pillow, and I stifle a smile. I really do love my mom. Sure, she’s blustery and loud, but she also givesinterestinghugs. And yes, she mentions I’m not a doctor—a lot—but I know she’s proud of me, in her own way.
Her ownvery specialElaine Graham way.
“In any case,” she says, “don’t get too comfortable on that couch. Uncle Cubby brought over a pile of potatoes earlier, and they aren’t going to peel themselves.”
“No problem, Mom.” I slip the rubber band from my too-tight ponytail, and my scalp begins to tingle. I kind of like the feeling to be honest. Self-torture must be a thing with me. “Can I shower first?” I ask. “The connecting flight to Albany was packed, and I don’t feel—”
“I’m sorry, but there’s simply no time, Kasey.”Tsk tsk tsk. “And I’m not saying that’s your fault—what with your being late and all—butsomeoneneeds to prep the potato salad for the 4thof July before we can start baking snickerdoodles for Santa. Oh! That reminds me. I really should pop next door to Big Mama’s. With Mac, Daisy, and the triplets all visiting, the house is pretty chaotic. I’m worried your Aunt Remy will forget she’s in charge of getting the carrots to put out for the eight reindeer and …” Mom pauses and lifts one eyebrow. “Rudolph with a PH.”
Ha! Told you I love her.
“You nailed it, Mom.” I grin at her.
“Well, you got your smarts from me.” Cluck. “Anyway, Auntie Mae will be here any minute. She volunteered to prep the ribs and corncobs for dinner since I’ll be too busy hosting. And there’s still so much to do! You know there will be at least sixteen of us for dinner.” Her eyes bulge. “I hope we have enough corn!”
“It’ll be fine, Mom. Take a deep breath. If it helps, I won’t eat any corn myself until we’re sure there’s plenty for everyone.”
