Page 56 of The Christmas Arrangement
And somehow, for a reason I can’t pinpoint, it feels like it was a mistake to bring her here.
Outside, the cold air stings my face but doesn’t ease my anxiety. I stand on the library steps, watching people come and go, trying to shake the uneasy feeling in my gut. After a few minutes, it’s clear that feeling isn’t going anywhere. I pull up my hood and head to the flower shop.
Chapter 22
Not Mom’s Cup of Tea
Dash
* * *
Mom wants to see the town.
It’s a reasonable request. So I walk her through the square, pointing out the Snowflake Cafe, Frost & Fizz, Mountain Organics. She asks questions about everything—genuinely engaged, admiring the window displays, commenting on the charm of it all. I’m glad she’s enjoying herself and happy to be spending this relaxed time with her.
But every time I try to steer us toward the inn, she finds another shop to explore. Another story to tell about when I was little. Another reason to delay.
“We should grab dinner,” she says as the sun starts to set. “Just us. We never get time alone anymore, and I want to hear everything. How you’ve really been.”
I check my phone. Ivy hasn’t texted. “Okay. But I’m supposed to meet Ivy at seven for?—”
“Seven? Perfect. That gives us plenty of time.” She links her arm through mine, and I give in.
After Vlad the vampire became a teen heart throb, our relationship shifted. She became a trusted advisor, a steady hand as I navigated fame. But this part—quiet mother/son time—was edged out, pushed to the side. I want to enjoy it now. So we head to dinner.
But we don’t have plenty of time. By the time we finish “a quick bite” at the Sushi Station, it’s 7:15. Mom shifts into business mode, telling me about a conversation she had with Brody, about the projects coming up, about how proud she is. Then she orders dessert. And coffee. By the time we reach the Tipsy Turnip, it’s nearly eight.
I feel guilty about being late, but Mom seems so happy. So relaxed. I can’t remember the last time I saw her this way.
The Tipsy Turnip is packed wall-to-wall when we finally arrive. Someone’s butchering “Jingle Bell Rock” on the karaoke stage while the crowd cheers them on.
I scan the room for Ivy. She’s at a high-top table near the back with her sisters, Quinn, and Delphina. When our eyes meet, she gives me a small wave. I wave back, hoping she’ll come over, but she’s deep in a conversation with Merry.
I’m about to suggest we head to Ivy’s table when Griselda introduces herself. “Hi, you must be Dash’s mom. I’m Griselda Alexander.” She gestures to the shorter, curvier woman beside her. “And this is my partner, Marley Jacobs.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “Not the Griselda Alexander who appeared in Annie and Matilda on Broadway?”
Griselda smiles, pleased. “The very same.”
“I saw you in Annie! You were incredible.” Mom’s face lights up. “Honey, did you know?—?”
“Actually, Mom, I need to talk to Ivy for a minute.”
“Oh, of course! Go, go.” She waves me off, already turning back to Griselda. “Tell me, are you still performing?”
I make it exactly three steps before Mom calls out, “Dasher! Would you get a drink with me first before you run off? I’m parched. And I want to hear all about Griselda’s career.”
I pause, torn. Ivy’s right there. But Mom’s genuinely excited—talking to Griselda about theater, about the life she gave up. How can I say no to that?
“Sure. Just a quick one.”
It takes a while to fight our way to the bar. Titus stops us to tell Mom about the Cat Cafe. Autumn Frost pulls us aside to say she’ll drop off my mom’s gift tomorrow since she hasn’t been to the post office yet. Everyone wants to meet my mother, and she’s gracious with all of them—asking questions, remembering names.
When we finally reach the bar, I order a Frosty IPA for me and a candy cane martini for her. I spot Ivy at the other end of the bar, carrying a steaming mug. I call her name, and she turns to flash me a smile.
I pass my mom her martini and slip away to catch up with Ivy.
“Hot toddy?” I gesture toward her drink.