Page 61 of Theirs for the Holidays

“You’re making a scene, Violet.”

I frown, thrown for a loop. “How am I making a scene? We’re just walking around like everyone else. It’s not like we’re making out or anything.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” she says. “I can’t believe you’re not thinking about your sister in all this.”

Now I’m just blinking at her, completely confused. “I’m not following, Mom. What does Isabelle have to do with anything?”

She sighs, rubbing her forehead like she’s the one who’s frustrated. “This is supposed to be your sister’s time. She’s getting married, and now you show up with your…non-traditional relationship. How do you think that makes her feel? It’s like you’re trying to upstage her.”

“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m just living my life.”

“Still. You know people are going to be talking about you and the three of them more than Isabelle and her wedding. The least you could do as her sister and maid of honor is keep things on the down low a bit.”

“On the down low.”

“Yes. Don’t parade your relationship around at things like this. You know how people here love to gossip.”

I wish I could say I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I wish this wasn’t so entirely typical for her. Irritation surges through me, and I clench my jaw, trying to keep my emotions in check.

Because of course my mother is worried about Isabelle’s feelings. Of course. When Isabelle started dating Andrew, my mom didn’t have anything to say about it and had no problem inviting him to family dinners and making sure I never got a break from seeing the two of them together. No one checked in with me, to make sure I was alright. No one asked if it was okay for my sister to flaunt my ex in my face constantly. No one cared.

But heaven forbid I do anything to make Isabelle uncomfortable before her big day.

Usually, I would just roll over and agree, because it’s easier to just give in than to rock the boat in this family. But something makes me dig my heels in a little tonight, and I run with it.

“I’m not going to hide, Mom,” I say, lifting my chin and looking her in the eye. “I’m very happy right now, and I don’t think I need to downplay that. Isabelle should be more focused on her own happiness than on mine.”

I realize, as I’m talking, that what I’m saying is true. The stuff about Isabelle for sure, but also the fact that I am really happy these days. As nerve-wracking as it can be in some ways, sharing space with these three intense men, I’ve actually been having a much better December than I would have without them around. It’s less lonely, and I wake up each morning actually excited to see what the day will bring.

Mom doesn’t look impressed by my answer, which I suppose makes sense since she’s used to me just giving in to what she wants and not arguing back. Clearly, she can’t even muster up the will to be glad that her daughter is happy, and that says everything about our relationship.

“I’m going to go back to them now. I’ll see you later, Mom,” I say, stepping away and ending the conversation.

Dad has escaped from small talk when I get back, and my three guys are standing off to one side. They move to me when I come back, each of them searching my face, probably trying to see if my mother pissed me off.

I just shake my head and smile. “Typical my mom stuff,” I tell them. “Let’s keep looking around.”

Mrs. Henderson has finished her song by then, and then someone else takes up the mic, it’s to make an announcement.

“Just a reminder that we’re closing the sign-ups for the charity auction in twenty minutes,” the mayor says with a grin. “There’s a sign-up sheet near the door, and we’re happy to auction off anything you can think of. Want to get your teenagersout of the house this winter break? Auction off an hour of their time shoveling snow for the elderly. All the proceeds go to charity, and we have some great ones lined up this year. Most notably the shelter over in Shelton, which as you know, we partner with every year. Every little bit helps, folks!”

Every year I at least bid on something small, just to help out, but this year, I’m feeling impulsive. I don’t know if it’s the conversation with my mom, or just everything else, but I want to do something more.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the men, and go over to the sign-up sheet to put myself down for one free baking lesson.

It’s not much, but maybe someone will bite?

By the time the auction starts an hour later, I’m less confident in my decision. Because who would want a baking lesson from me?

What was I even thinking? This is just going to be embarrassing, watching everyone else get called up and have their things auctioned off while mine makes no money at all. Not even my parents would probably bid on it.

I wish I could go back in time and tell past me that this is a terrible idea.

They start with an old jewelry box that someone found in an estate sale, and it goes for a whopping $500. That sets the tone, and people bid fast for concert tickets, reservations to a new restaurant in the city, and a day of having a group of teenagers from the high school do yard work.

And then the mayor says my name.

“Next up, we have a free baking lesson from Violet Bentley, who as we all know is the owner of Blackbird Bakery. Come on up, Violet.”