Page 60 of The Christmas Arrangement
“Well, you probably want something sweet anyway. I know Holly doesn’t keep sugar in the house.” Merry sets the box on the coffee table. “Because she’s a psychopath.”
Holly breezes past us into the kitchen, already arranging mugs. “Sugar would mask the intense, rich flavor of my coffee.”
“Your coffee tastes like regret,” Merry calls after her. “Because you take it black and bitter, like your heart.”
Despite my mood, I snort. Holly appears in the doorway holding a small basket. She sets it in front of me with exaggerated ceremony.
“I keep creamer and sugar on hand for Jack. Because unlike some people, I’m thoughtful about my partner’s needs.”
The pointed look she gives me is impossible to miss.
“Subtle,” I tell her.
“I’m done with subtle. Subtle went out the window at midnight when you texted to let us know you were sleeping here instead of at the cottage with Dash. You’re lucky I have so many spare keys.”
Merry claims the armchair and pulls an enormous frosted cinnamon roll from the box. “So. Post-mortem time. How bad was it?”
I dump an unseemly amount of cream into my coffee and watch it swirl. Then I spoon in plenty of sugar. “It wasn’t bad. You saw her at karaoke. Rachel was charming. Everyone loved her.”
“She was. So why is she at the cottage while you’re moping around my loft?” Holly settles onto the other end of the couch, tucking her long legs beneath her.
“I haven’t had a moment alone with Dash since she got here. She dragged him off for a tour of the town, just the two of them. And then, at karaoke, every time we tried to talk, she needed him for something.” I take a cautious sip from my mug. Holly’s coffee is infinitely better now that it’s been doctored. “And then I left without saying goodbye because I felt like I was in the way.”
“In the way of what?” Merry asks. “Your own boyfriend?”
“He’s not officially my boyfriend,” I correct. Then I pause. Or is he? My sisters snort in unison. “Or even if he is, I feel like I’m encroaching on their time together. She came all this way. She’s his mother. Of course he wants to spend time with her.”
Holly and Merry exchange a look.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing,” Holly says, too innocently. “Except she didn’t just show up here. You invited her, and now you’re mad that she came.”
“I’m not mad?—”
“You’re moping in my loft at eight in the morning, drinking coffee you lack the palate to appreciate, and radiating misery,” Holly interrupts. “That’s the Ivy version of mad.”
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I thought I was doing something nice. Giving him a real family Christmas. But now she’s here and I feel like ... like I don’t belong.”
“Did she make you feel that way?” Merry asks carefully. “Or did you make yourself feel that way?”
I open my mouth to answer, then close it. Because the truth is, Rachel didn’t do anything overtly wrong. She was polite. Grateful, even, for being invited. So what’s my problem?
“It’s just a vibe,” I say finally. “I’m probably being paranoid.”
“Or,” Merry says slowly, “this woman you don’t really know is suddenly very present in your brand-new relationship. You’re allowed to feel weird about that.”
Holly nods. “Even if she’s lovely. Even if she’s his mother. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”
“But I’m the one who brought her here!” The words burst out of me, louder than I intended. “Like you said, I called her. And now I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself because she’s actually spending time with her son—which was the whole point of inviting her.”
“Two things can be true,” she says simply. “You can do a kind thing and still feel uncomfortable with the result.”
I slump back against the couch cushions. “I just thought ... I don’t know what I thought. That she’d be here and we’d all have this perfect Hallmark Christmas together.”
“Life’s not a Hallmark movie, Ivy,” Merry says gently. “Real relationships are messy. Real families are complicated. You invited his mother to town after fake dating him for less than a week.”
“Well, when you put it that way ….”