Adult-sized feet descend.
I practically leap off of Grady, land two feet away, and prop my elbow on the back of the couch in the most casual pose I can muster.
Just as casually, Grady plops a throw pillow on his lap.
“Hey, kids,” Mitch says as he passes by us. “Just grabbing that small light-up tree.”
He grabs the tree, then heads back upstairs. I look over at Grady, who’s still got the pillow on his lap, and swallow hard.
I remind myself that he didn’t call and that I’m probably never going to see his wonderful family again.
“Let’s go do the dishes,” I suggest.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he agrees.
When his parents come downstairs, they’re delighted to discover us cleaning the kitchen. Afterward we have more eggnog, and then the four of us play gin rummy for an hour.
I lose. Badly. Even though Patty keeps showing me her cards and trying to help me cheat. Even though, after several rounds, Mitch also starts helping me cheat.
In short, it’s a great time. I didn’t think I’d be cheating at rummy on Christmas Eve, but here I am, enjoying the hell out of it. Grady’s parents are great. Their foster kids are great. Their house is great.
The only thing not great is Grady, who told the lie that this great time is built on and as the night gets later, I’m increasingly annoyed about it.
I’m never going to see Patty and Mitch and their foster kids again, and it’s his fault. He could’ve just called me, but instead of that, we’ve now run some weird gauntlet where he told them I’m his girlfriend, and presumably in a week he’ll tell them we’ve broken up and I’ll seem like the asshole.
But I’m not the asshole, he’s the asshole, and this is all stupid.
When we finally say goodnight to his parents, his mom hands me a flannel nightgown and a toothbrush.
“Since I’m sure you didn’t bring anything,” she says. “There’s already toothpaste in the bathroom.”
I thank her, pull my coat on, and we walk into the back yard, our shoes crunching across snow. Neither of us says anything. I’m silent because I’m busy thinking this is all built on a lie, and God knows what Grady’s thinking.
The backhouse used to be some sort of farm outbuilding, I think, but it’s been completely redone into a two-bedroom cabin with a lit wood stove and a small bathroom. The main room has a wood-framed queen bed piled high with quilts.
The other bedroom has four bunk beds, and all four have bare mattresses. Apparently Patty’s one of those realistic, pragmatic moms I’ve head so much about.
Grady looks speculatively as the nice, warm queen bed, but all I can think about is how nice his parents are and how annoyed I am at him for the weird carnival sideshow that was tonight.
“I’ll sleep in here,” I say, walking past him for the bunk bed. “Where are the blankets?”
“Take the big bed, I’ll sleep on a bunk,” he says.
“I don’t want the big bed, I want a little bed,” I say. “It’s your parents’ house, you should take —”
“Right, you’re a guest,” he says.
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“You couldn’t have just taken me home?” I finally ask.
“You said you wanted to stay!” he says, his voice rising a few notches.
“Before we even got here,” I say, lowering my own voice. “It wouldn’t have taken that long, and I could be sleeping in my own bed right now and you wouldn’t have to lie to your parents.”
“Maybe I should have left you there and let you call Triple A,” he hisses.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have run me off the road!”
Grady closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t run you off the road,” he says slowly, anger flaring behind his eyes. “If you go up a snow-covered hill at two miles per hour, it’s not gonna go well.”
“I wouldn’t have been going two miles per hour if some asshole in the world’s dumbest truck hadn’t been honking and flashing his lights behind me.”
Grady gives me a long, flat look, his jaw working.
Finally, he speaks.
“Adeline, you’re a jerk, you know that?” he says. “Good night.”
With that, he heads into the bunk bed room and closes the door.
What the hell? He sticks his tongue down my throat at a wedding, doesn’t call me, runs me off the road, lies to his very nice parents about us, and I’m the jerk?
I flip off the closed door, then stomp to the bathroom where I brush my teeth and change into the flannel nightgown that Patty provided.
The nightgown both makes me feel a little better about the situation and explains why Patty doesn’t mind us sharing a bed. It’s the least sexy garment I’ve ever put on, and I’ve worn hospital gown.
It’s boxy, with puffy sleeves, a high neck, and several rows of frills coming to a V over the chest. It’s seafoam green with tiny orange flowers all over it, and the whole thing really feels like the worst parts of 1860s fashion met the worst parts of 1960s fashion.
When I head back into the bedroom, Grady is there, going through a closet and coming out empty-handed. Then he goes through a dresser, then another dresser, and finally a big plastic box under the bed.
Finally, he pulls out a fleece blanket from the box, puts the box away, and walks toward the bunk bed room. He’s wearing pajama pants with reindeer heads on them and the white undershirt, and even though he just called me a jerk, that blanket’s not very big.
Also, his butt looks great in those pajama pants. Yeah, I notice.
“Take a quilt,” I tell him. “There’s an extra on the bed.”
“You’re gonna need that,” he says, fleece blanket over his shoulder.
“Grady.”
“Good night, Adeline,” he tells me, and shuts the door.
I flip it off again. Fine. Fine. I tried. He can freeze to death.
I turn off the lights in the main room, get into the big, warm bed, and close my eyes.
And then I lie there, eyes closed, for a very long time. Long enough to start feeling guilty that he’s in there, probably very cold, and I’m out here being toasty warm.
I roll over. Sleep doesn’t come.
Finally, I open my eyes and sigh at the ceiling.
Then I get out of the bed, walk over to the door, and knock.
Chapter Eight
GRADY
Goddamn, it’s cold. I’ve got no heater and one inadequate blanket, and it’s still snowing outside.
In theory, I could just walk back to my parents’ house and sleep in one of those beds, but then I’d have to explain why I was there and sooner or later I’m sure I’d wind up telling my mom the whole awful truth, and I think maybe I’d rather lose a couple toes to frostbite.
Which, frankly, is starting to feel like a real possibility.
Just as I’m rolling over to explore possibly warmer options, there’s a knock on the door. I roll onto my back, the blanket wrapped around me like a cocoon.
“Who is it?” I call.
The door opens without an answer. Obviously, it’s Adeline.