Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
How many disasters can one country have? Lots if you ask my mother.
“Anyway, if you do have to take the subway, I wouldn’t think less of you for packing heat,” she says.
“Mom. Don’t say ‘packing heat.’ And why do you say it like Robert De Niro?” I step into the street to avoid an oncoming family of eight wearing matching sweaters on the sidewalk. A bicyclist swerves dramatically and digs his bell at me, even though we avoided any sort of collision by at least six feet.
“What was that?” she asks, having to raise her voice over the sound of a passing ambulance’s siren. “Tom? Were you knifed?”
“No, Mom. I wasn’t knifed because I’m not in the chorus of West Side Story.” I take a deep breath. “Look. The ring is safe. I’m safe. Please, for the love of God, don’t put Mace in my stocking again.”
“Oh, don’t worry, honey! I already tucked it into your underwear drawer so as not to embarrass you on Christmas morning. I know this particular Christmas is special.”
Finally. A normal topic.
“Yes. Very special. Is Lo there yet?” I ask.
In a perfect world, my soon-to-be fiancée and I would be flying from New York to Chicago together. Especially since it’s her first time meeting my family.
But Lolo’s best friend from college had a baby shower in Minneapolis last night, so we’ll be arriving in Chicago from different cities, a couple hours apart.
“Not yet,” Mom replies. “Lucas just went to pick her up. I’m just so excited that all four of you will be here for the holidays, and that two out of the four of you have a special someone. The highlight of Brent’s Christmas will be having another non-Walsh at the table.”
“Definitely.” I know my brother-in-law as well as I do my actual brother, and I’m betting the real highlight of Brent’s Christmas is the new grill Meredith bought him that he already spotted in the garage.
“It’s a mother’s dream come true, Tommy. Hearing you so happy. You are happy?”
“Yes. Mom,” I say automatically. “I’m very happy.”
“I can’t wait to meet her. Your dad too. Everyone! I know we’ve talked on the phone and FaceTime, but I really want her to feel like part of the family. Now, I know you said she’s a vegetarian. So I added some mushrooms to the Bolognese this year. She eats those, right?”
“Well.” I blink. “Yeah, she can have mushrooms, sure. But isn’t there still . . . meat in the Bolognese?”
There’s a puzzled pause. “Well, of course, Tom. It’s Bolognese.”
I rub my forehead. “A” for effort? Sort of?
“Okay, Mom, I’ve gotta run. I’ve got to find a cab in the middle of rush hour. So I don’t risk it with the subway pirates.”
“I knew it!” she says, a little smugly. “I just knew those were a thing.”
I roll my eyes, but only because she can’t see me.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Tom.”
I smile. “I can’t wait to see you in a few hours.”
SEVEN
KATHERINE
December 23, 11:48 a.m.
I do a double take when Irene comes back into my office a short while later. “What are— Get out of here! You should be on your way home. Better yet, you should be on your way to the airport!”
“I’m going, I’m going.” Irene needlessly adjusts her glasses, the way she does when she’s nervous. “I just keep wondering. What if this isn’t the year, sweetheart?”
My stomach clenches a little at the words, but faking calm and confidence, I set my phone aside. “It’s the year.”
Irene’s worried expression doesn’t waver. “But if he doesn’t . . . You’re going to be heartbroken. I can’t watch that again.”
“I’ll stop you right there,” I say with a smile. “Haven’t you heard the rumors? I don’t have a heart to break. Or if I do, it’s three times too small.”
Irene doesn’t smile back. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t have to pretend like nothing matters to you.”
I look away, uncomfortable as ever with overt references to emotions. Specifically my emotions. I know Irene believes otherwise, but it’s genuinely never bothered me when people call me cold. Or a robot. Or the Grinch. In fact, I prefer it. When people believe you don’t care about much of anything, they don’t try to talk to you about the sticky stuff.
They don’t bring up things that make your eyes start to tingle if you think on it too long. Or the topics that trigger that strange lump in your throat when you try to swallow.
“I just wonder if you haven’t placed a little too much importance on this one single moment,” Irene adds in a rush. “There are other things in life. Important things. Especially this time of year . . .”
I stifle a sigh. This topic again?
“This time of the year isn’t created equal for everyone,” I say gently but firmly. “I love that it’s such a happy time for you and Manny and the kids. And I respect that, for most people, this time of year is about family and connection, and blah blah blah. But for me, December has meant something else, a lot of it painful. So, please. Please don’t disparage me for wanting this one thing very badly. It’s something to look forward to. It’s important to me.”