Page 29 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“Emma, right?” She asks.

Blanks finally speaks up, “Brit, this is Emma. Emma, this is Brit, Alex’s sister.” My face naturally wants to highlight and smile and exclaim. But then I remember the heated exchange she and Alex shared yesterday.

I extend my hand politely, maintaining a smaller smile, one that I hope is warm and friendly.

And she takes it, mirroring my expression. After she lowers her hand and I lower mine, she turns to Blanks and says, “We’ll still see you on Christmas, right?”

Blanks gives me the side eye, then, looking back at Brit with a smile, says, “Wouldn’t miss it, Doll.”Everyone gets a pet name. Got it.

Brit nods, then walks past us to stand in line. It isn’t the warm sisterly welcome I may have imagined, but this isn’t exactly the marriage of my dreams, either. No use in feeling burned by my fake sister-in-law.

Arching my eyebrows, Blanks nudges me towards the door, handing me my coffee so he can open it for me.

“Tad icy? No?” I say as we get back in the car. Me first, then Blanks walks around to get his door.

“We’re 6,000 feet above sea level. What’d you expect?”

I laugh, “No, Alex’s sister, you oaf.”

He nods, “Just give it some time.” I don’t even know how long I’m supposed to stick around, so I just shrug and move on. Because as much as I would love a friend, even a sister-in-lawwho’s friendly, I know it’s best to keep expectations low.Real fucking low.

Blanks hands me the stack of stars, probably 10 or so, and I flip through them as we start our commute.

Jacob, 9 yo

Wants a scooter

Come on, Jacob, dream bigger! This is the first Christmas, maybe ever, that I have money in the bank. More money than I’ve dreamed of making in a lifetime. And not a single soul to buy gifts for. Aside from these stars.

Teller, 6 yo

Wants a science set with test tubes

Yesss, Teller.

“What are you smiling at?” Blanks asks, checking me.

I shrug, “Just excited.”

“About your new Range Rover?” He asks, and I laugh.

“You’re so stupid. No. And also, no.”

After 15 minutes, I ask if I can turn on the radio, and he lets me choose. We listen to Christmas music and sip our coffees in quiet, comfortable companionship.

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you and Alex?” I ask, zoning out on the beige hills we’re now driving through.

“You know what they say about stupid questions, Angel?”Stupid because I had to ask?

I couldn’t help the eye roll if I tried.

“I’m either driving to the Range Rover dealership or Mercedes. Decide quickly.”

“I want a Bronco,” I decide fast, even surprising myself. He nods at the compromise.

“Then that’s what the princess gets.” I hate that nickname, though. I sock him in the arm.

“I’m not a princess.” He gives me a look, in turn, that heats my core.