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TAYLOR

Christmas is rapidly approaching.

JP and I have been spending a lot of time together, but we won’t be having Christmas together. My mom and Shirley are going to spend the holiday with Shirley’s family—her mother and brothers and their families—so Dad invited me to go with him to San Diego to visit Amy and Jeff. We’re going to drive down Christmas Eve and come back the day after Christmas. I’m excited to see my sister, and super excited to see my two little nieces.

But this makes me think that if I’m not going to see my mom at Christmas, I should at least talk to her. We’ve texted a bunch of times, but I haven’t seen her since Thanksgiving. JP’s brought it up a few times, and it’s true that she and I need to talk things out. So I text her and ask if I can come over and bring her a Christmas gift.

Her reply comes immediately.

I would love that. I have a gift for you too.

Her quick and heartfelt response chokes me up a bit.

So Saturday afternoon, I’m going to her place. JP is away on the last road trip of the year before the Christmas break. I wish he were here so he could come with me, but this is something I have to do myself. It’s my family, and my issues that I have to deal with.

Mom greets me with a huge, emotional hug. I can tell she’s nearly crying. She holds me tight for a long moment, and I hug her back. She’s my mom and I’ve missed her. I love her.

Taking my jacket, Mom says, “Shirley’s gone out shopping.”

I nod, appreciative of her effort to give Mom and me time alone. We settle into comfy chairs near a cute Christmas tree, with mugs of hot chocolate and a plate of cookies on the coffee table.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Mom says. “I’ve missed you. I hate thinking that you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” I look down at my mug. “Why didn’t you ever say anything about . . . this?”

She pauses. “It’s not that easy. First of all, I was happily married. You’re my daughters. There was no reason to tell you. Also . . . I’ve had bad experiences telling people I’m bisexual. I’ve only ever had one relationship with a woman before Shirley, back when I was in college. My friends were weird about it. They made me feel like I was just experimenting and dismissed it. At eighteen years old, I even wondered if that’s what it was. After that, I only had relationships with men. But whenever I’d tell a man I was seeing that I was bisexual, or that I’d had a relationship with a woman, they turned it into something . . . sleazy. So I stopped telling people.”

“Did Dad know?”

“Yes. That was part of the reason I loved him so much—he accepted that part of me, and listened to me when I explained it. With him, I felt like I could be honest. He never felt threatened by it.” She meets my eyes and holds my gaze steadily. She knows I’ve worried about how Dad feels through all this. “I want you to know that I was absolutely, one hundred percent in love with your father.”

I nod. “That’s good.” My throat thickens and I swallow. “Is Shirley . . . bi?”

“No.” Mom shakes her head. “She’s gay.”

“Does she understand your bisexuality?”

Mom hesitates, and I look up sharply to study her face.

“We’ve had a few conversations about it,” Mom says carefully. “She worries that because I was in a heterosexual relationship for so long, and I have children, that I’ll want to be with a man again. I’ve tried to reassure her it’s not like that. Just because I’ve been in relationships with men doesn’t make me any less bisexual. It’s who I am.”

I nod slowly. Okay, great. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Mom being happily involved with someone else; now I’ll worry about her and Shirley.

“I don’t know if things will work out with Shirley long term. I love her, but we have some things to work through.” She pauses. “I want you to know that she’s not just the only woman I’ve met who I’m attracted to and want to have a relationship with . . . she’s the only person. I truly never anticipated that my feelings for your father would change.” She pauses. “What bothers you more? My bisexuality? Or the fact that I fell out of love with your father?”

“It’s not your bisexuality. That was a . . . surprise, for sure. But . . . I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter who you’re with; it’s still heartbreaking that y-you and Dad . . .” I can’t go on.

“I know.” She reaches out a hand and covers mine, squeezing it gently. “I know. This isn’t something I ever thought would happen.”

“It makes me question everything . . . our family, the whole foundation of our lives.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. But I’ll say it again: we were a happy family. I wasn’t lying or hiding anything from you. That foundation is solid, sweetie. And I’ll always be your mom. I’ll always love you.”

“Like that book you read us when we were kids.”

“Love you forever.” She smiles.

“Yes. And I love you too.”

“When do I get to meet this man you’re seeing?”

“You did meet him.” I pull back and swipe my fingertips beneath my eyes. “The day I was moving out.”

“Phhht. That wasn’t really meeting him. I do remember he’s very handsome.”

“He is.” My insides warm and soften. “And . . . I like him.”

“Bring him for dinner sometime.” Her eyes shadow. “Unless . . .”

“No, that would be fine. I just . . . things aren’t serious with us.”

“Hmm. Okay. Does he have teeth?”

I choke on a laugh. “Yes, Mom, he has teeth.”

She grins. “Just asking.”

“Should we open our presents?”

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

I bought Mom some expensive bubble bath and bath salts in her favorite jasmine scent, knowing how much she loves to soak in the tub and read a book. I unwrap her present to me, a heavy box, and find a beautiful set of bright yellow Fiesta dishes—plates, bowls, and mugs. “Oh! I love them!”

“I thought they’d look nice in your kitchen, with your sunflowers.”

“Thank you, Mom.”

I set the box on the floor and lean over to hug her again.

I spent most of the weekend at JP’s condo, with Byron, so I went home Sunday evening to watch the game there. The Eagles were in Vegas, and flew home right after the game, meaning they got back in the middle of the night, and I have to work Monday morning.

Monday is busy, packed with appointments. Kids are out of school, so we’re booked up, meaning no time for notes or progress reports or calling doctors to discuss care plans, but that’s okay—we’ll catch up after the holidays. The kids I see are all wound up about Christmas, but it’s so much fun. Right now I’m saying goodbye to Sophia, a four-year-old girl who was born with profound hearing loss. When she was eighteen months old she received a cochlear implant, and after years of working with her, her speech and language skills are almost within normal limits. She’s going to start kindergarten next year and we’re all so happy with her progress. I haven’t personally been involved with her that long, but she’s such a sweet little girl that I may have fallen a bit in love with her.

“We don’t need to see her back for six months,” I tell Sophia’s mom. “We’ll assess for school readiness at that point, and we’ll have the summer to work on things if need be.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Estevez says.

I pick up Sophia. “Did you go see Santa the other day?” I already know she did from her mom, who nearly cried telling me about Sophia sitting on Santa’s lap and being able to talk to him and hear him, such a typical kid thing to do that so many take for granted. I got a little choked up about that too. Things like this are why I love my job.

“Yes! I asked him for a princess tent play castle.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful. Next time you come, you can tell me about it.”

“If he brings it,” Mrs. Estevez adds.

“I have to be good,” Sophia agrees.

“I won’t see you for a while. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Taylor,” Sophia says, giving my cheek a smacking kiss.

My heart swells and I give her a squeeze before setting her down. Warmth spreads through my chest, a feeling of satisfaction and affection. We don’t always have positive outcomes, so I take the ones I do have and enjoy the hell out of them.

I leave the office a bit late but with a sense of satisfaction.

I text JP to tell him I’m on my way home. He probably slept all day after the road trip, but hopefully he’s up for going out for dinner or something. Or we could just stay in and make something together. I haven’t seen him since they left on Thursday, and I miss him.

I’ve missed him so much.

The last few weeks have been amazing. When I’m with JP, I’m plunging into a chasm of emotions. I like so many things about him. He makes me feel so many things. I want to be there for him when he’s hurting and laugh with him when something’s funny. When I’m not with him, I’m thinking about him, reliving sexy times with him, worrying about him . . . missing him.

Gah! I can’t fall into this trap. It’s all a big hoax—love. I’ve learned that. I want nothing to do with that.

Sure, things are great now. At least, I think they are. But I thought things were great for my parents, for thirty-two years. Still, these feelings inside me keep getting bigger and stronger, and I don’t seem to be able to stop them. I’m trying. But, damn, I’m so happy with him.

I miss him when he’s away, but I’m trying not to. I have a full life—friends, career, family (although it’s messed up), and Byron. I have yoga and my book club and walks on the beach. I’m not sitting around crying because he’s on a road trip.

I get JP’s reply to my text when I’m home, saying that he’ll come over in a while.

I tap my response.

Okay.

Then I move over to my little Christmas tree in the corner, the one JP helped me pick out and decorate, to turn on the lights. It’s small, but I love how it sparkles. Then I change into leggings and a sweater. I still have gifts to wrap, for Amy and Jeff and the kids, for Dad, and for JP.

I picked up gift bags and wrapping paper at the dollar store on the weekend, so I start some Christmas music on Spotify. Sitting in the middle of my living room floor, I set about wrapping, starting with JP’s gifts so they’re done before he gets here. Contentment settles inside me, here in my own place, wrapping gifts, with sparkling lights in front of me, Christmas melodies and the scent of the little pine tree filling the air. It will be a different Christmas this year, but that’s okay.

Maybe I should bake cookies. Then I laugh out loud. That’s getting carried away. I probably don’t even have the ingredients I’d need to make cookies.

I arrange the gifts under the tree, then head to the kitchen to inspect the cupboards. Eep. Pretty empty. Since I was at JP’s all weekend, I didn’t shop for my own groceries. But I’ve got a box of penne pasta and a can of tomatoes, so along with a few other ingredients I put together an easy pasta sauce.

I sit down and watch the news, waiting for JP. A volcano is erupting in Hawaii. There was a shooting in Encino. The California Highway Patrol is doing a bang-up job of arresting drunk drivers over the holiday season.

JP and I talked about that the other night. Drunk driving, I mean. When we were out at a Christmas party one of his teammates had, he would only have a couple of drinks even though others were pushing him to have more. I love that he’s responsible that way. I told him the next time we go to a party, I’ll be the designated driver.

Finally the buzzer sounds. It’s JP and I let him in the front door of the building, then open my apartment door for him. My belly flutters with excitement. When I see him, my heart leaps and my whole body hungers for his touch. A smile breaks across my face. “Hi.” I step into him and throw my arms over his shoulders. He smells so good. I press my nose to the side of his neck and breathe him in. I love the feel of his big body against mine.

He pulls me up against him, squeezing the air out of me.

“Hey! Need to breathe, here.”

“Sorry.” He loosens his grip and gives me a wry smile before swooping down to kiss me.

“You must have missed me.” I lay my palm on his cheek and smile back at him, my body buzzing with joy and lust.

“So damn much.”

“Come in.” I slide my hand into his big one and swing the door closed behind us. “Are you hungry? Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I could eat something.”

“I don’t have much in the house, but I’m making penne all’arrabbiata.”

“Sounds good.”

Now he’s here, that feeling of contentment settles even deeper inside me, even as I recognize how dangerous it is to feel this way.

JP

She’s so beautiful, her golden-brown eyes, long eyelashes, smooth skin . . . and that mouth . . . Fuck, I missed her.

I crush her to me again, desperate for her.

A growl rises in my throat and I pull her closer, tilt my head, and deepen the kiss, devouring her. God, I want her. I need her.

“Mmm.”

I lick into her mouth and she opens for me, melting into me. My blood fizzes in my veins, my groin throbbing. Moments later we finally separate, staring into each other’s eyes.

She smiles. “I’d better cook that pasta.”

After we eat, we move into the living room to exchange gifts.

“You go first,” he says.

“No, you.”

I growl, then sigh. “Okay.” I first open the smaller gift in a bright red gift bag. I pull out the black T-shirt and hold it up in front of me to read drop and give me zen on the front. I shout out a laugh. “Perfect.”

She beams at me. “Open the other one.”

I unwrap the large, flat package. It’s a customized, framed black-and-white image of a hockey player composed of different hockey terms, with wynn and 13 on the front of the jersey. I hold it in both hands and stare at it, my heart expanding hard against my sternum.

I lift my gaze to meet hers. She’s biting adorably on her bottom lip. “This is . . .” I stop and clear my throat. “This is fantastic. Thank you.”

Her eyes light up. “Do you really like it?”

“I fucking love it.”

She lets out a breath. “Oh, good.”

I set it down carefully, hold out my arms, and say gruffly, “Come here.”

She flies over to me and I crush her in my embrace, pressing my face to her hair, breathing in her scent. “Fuck, Taylor. What am I gonna do?”

“Hmm?” She pulls back, still smiling, but her eyebrows tug together. “Do about what?”

I close my eyes. “Nothing.” I kiss her, thoroughly and hotly, until she’s breathless and squirming. “Okay, your turn.”

“I like opening presents,” she says happily, picking up a box wrapped in gold paper. “Almost as much as I like giving them. You didn’t wrap this, did you?” She eyes the perfectly folded corners, neat tape, and pretty ribbon that were done at the shop.

“Uh, no.”

She laughs. “That’s okay.” She carefully opens the paper, then the box inside. She stares at the gift, then lifts it up. A delicate yellow-gold sunflower with a diamond center hangs on a shiny gold chain. Her fingertips fly to her lips and press there. “Oh my God.”

I wait, rubbing my jaw, swallowing. I had it custom made for her because I couldn’t find exactly what I wanted.

She swipes at her eyes. Jesus. I hope that means she’s happy.

“Th-thank you. This is so beautiful.”

“Oh good. I thought it was pretty. Not as pretty as you.”

She reaches for me to hug me, wetting the shoulder of my shirt with tears. “Thank you. I love it.” She opens the clasp, hands the necklace to me, and gives me her back so I can fasten it around her neck.

“There’s one more gift. We were, uh, kind of on the same wavelength.”

She turns back to me, wiping moisture from her cheeks with her palms. “Oh.”

I hand her another gift, a small flat package, and she pulls the paper from it.

“It’s uh, maybe overkill.” I rub my hands on my jeans.

She smiles. But then she starts crying again when she sees the square piece of dark wood with sunflowers painted on it and the words you are my sunshine .

“Too much?” I ask. Jesus, I didn’t mean to make her cry this much.

“No,” she sobs, setting it carefully on the coffee table. “It’s perfect. And you’re about to get very lucky.”

I catch her as she launches herself at me again and plants a huge kiss on my lips.

I already am lucky.

Later, in her bed, both of us drowsy and sated, Taylor’s cheek on my chest and our legs twined together, she murmurs, “I went to see my mom on Saturday.”

“Ah, shit, I forgot about that. I’m such an asshole. How did it go?”

She smiles. “Good. Shirley wasn’t there, which I was grateful for. Just me and Mom.” Then she sighs. “It’s hard when your parent has a new relationship with someone else.”

“Especially when it happened so fast. If you’d had time to adjust to your parents’ separation and their relationship ending, it probably would have been easier to accept someone else. A woman your father’s dating, or a new partner for your mom.”

“Yes . . . that’s true. Anyway, we talked about a bunch of things. I think I feel . . . better.”

“Good.”

“Thank you for pushing me to do it.”

“I didn’t push you. Just . . . nudged.”

She snuggles into me. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I pass a hand over her hair.

“Just for being here. For listening. You’re a good listener.”

She’s thanking me ? I haven’t done anything. Listening is about all I can do, and it doesn’t seem like much. “Thanks.”