Page 124 of Make You Mine This Christmas

Ambrose:that bad?

Haf:That bad

Haf:Christopher is going to kill me

Ambrose:no, he won’t because he’s a nice sweet person

Ambrose:i might though, for the good of the universe

Ambrose:the sheer chaos you’ve released over the last five days can’t be good for, like, the karmic balance or whatever

Ambrose:a black hole opens every time you make a bad decision

Ambrose:anyway, isn’t this what you wanted

Ambrose:maybe this is a good thing, even if it’s a mess

Haf:You’d think.

Haf:Apparently it was more ‘Merry Christmas, decision pending’.

Ambrose:noooo wtf

Haf:Yup

Haf:Uuuggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh

Haf:I’ve got to go pretend that didn’t happen

Ambrose:good luck

Ambrose:don’t fuck anyone else in that house

Ambrose:it might make things somehow more awkward

Chapter Nineteen

@ambroseliewgays and theys, is having sex in a closet ...

hot?:37%

a little too on the nose?:44%

uncomfortable?:19%

619 votes

To her relief, the rest of the day goes by quickly in a blur of activities. Enough that she doesn’t have to think about Kit.

Instead, she can fool herself into thinking everything is fine, playing pretend just as well as Kit does.

Everything Laurel had said about the Calloway competitiveness turns out to be an understatement, and doesn’t stop at karaoke. The board games are brought out, and all four of them take it very, very seriously. While the evening’s dinner cooks, the Calloways shuffle through a couple of games of Catan, followed by a furious game of Cheat, which sends a twinge of panic through Haf every time someone enthusiastically yells it. She’s not even a cheater, not really. Christopher pretty much gave them his blessing after all, even though that probably didn’t extend to shagging on the premises. But that old shitty lie about bisexuals being more likely to cheat, being untrustworthy, rattles around in her head in the quiet moments between turns.

The house is soon filled with the delicious smell of food, and Otto nips off a few times to check on his venison, which has been roasting slowly all afternoon.

Time flies past them, and soon they’re all sitting at the dinner table. The roll of meat is carved up into slices, revealing a stuffed core of wild berries and spices. There are mounds of roast potatoes, Parmesan-topped parsnips, bright little sprouts charred and garnished with dashes of red chilli. She’s suddenly ravenous, realising the endless nibbling of Christmas hasn’t really filled her up.

Everyone raises a glass – this time she opts for a fancy soft drink, just to be safe – and digs in.