Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,47
I went to find my sister.
“Did you remember to catch Morticia and give her the credit card before she left?” Belle asked me, not looking up from her laptop.
“Yep.” Yeah, did I ever catch her. “Do you want to ride together?” I asked Belle.
“I’ll meet up with you all. Save me a seat.”
“You’re coming, right?” I asked her.
“Of course,” my sister said absently.
It was snowing again. The town car drove me down a wide avenue decorated with lights and wreaths and bows for Christmas. I wasn’t feeling the spirit. It was the holiday season, a time for family and coming together, but it felt like my family was falling apart.
My brothers were waiting at the Salt House restaurant when I arrived. My oldest brother, Owen, was texting on his phone while the next oldest, Jack, was arguing with Oliver and Matt about one of their business venture ideas. Owen put his phone away when I walked up to the bar.
“Why were you talking to Mom and Dad?” my older brother demanded.
“I haven’t had enough to drink yet if we are having some sort of family therapy session about our parents,” Jack said, signaling to the bartender.
“At least Oliver’s old enough to drink now,” Owen said, leaning against the bar top.
“Is Belle coming?” my youngest brother asked as he happily took the drink the bartender slid across the counter. Owen glared at him as he started to drain it.
“This isn’t a frat party,” my older brother growled. “That’s expensive liquor.”
“Just order him water next time,” Jack drawled. “He doesn’t even know how to drink like an adult.”
“How were Mom and Dad?” Matt asked as he sipped his scotch under Owen’s watchful eye.
“Let me guess,” Jack said, “they were self-absorbed and image obsessed as always.”
“They weren’t that bad,” I said, feeling as if I had to defend our parents.
“Uh-huh. Did they even ask about Matt and Oliver?”
“Er—”
“Of course not,” Owen scoffed and downed his drink.
“Hey!” Oliver complained. “You didn’t savor that.”
Owen shoved him slightly with his shoulder and ordered another drink.
“They don’t care about anyone other than themselves,” Jack told me flatly. “You need to cut them off.”
“But it’s Christmas!” I said.
“Eventually, you’re going to have to pick a side, because you’re not going to feed them information about me and my life,” my older brother warned.
“I didn’t tell them anything,” I insisted. “Besides, it’s not like we had a long conversation. They squeezed me in between the ballet and dinner with their friends.”
Owen snorted.
“Hm,” Jack said, staring into his glass. “I would have thought that they would have been all over you with your hedge fund.”
“You clearly don’t know them all that well,” Owen stated. “They don’t think their friends will be impressed enough with Jonathan selling alcohol and running”—Owen made air quotes—“a hedge fund. Mom and Dad are math and science people. They only like what they care about. Anything else is unimportant. They even complained that Belle had gone traveling and didn’t have a real job the last time I was unfortunate enough to talk to them.”
“That’s rich,” Matt scoffed, “considering that Belle is turning into them.”
“Hey,” Owen growled at him.
“You can’t act like it’s not true!” Oliver complained. “She got mean.”
We all looked at each other. None of us had wanted to say it, but there it was.
“You can’t just expect women to be nice all the time. That’s sexist,” I told Matt.
“She’s not not nice. She seems really unhappy,” Jack reflected.
“Maybe it’s because she came back,” I said. “She left for a reason, remember? She was tired of being forced to be a mother to a bunch of kids she didn’t choose to have.”
“Or maybe it’s Jonathan,” Jack said. “She’s had to see him for hours every day for the past few months. That’s enough to put anyone over the edge. She was nicer earlier this year.”
“That was because of Greg,” Owen said. “Of course, none of the Svenssons will give me a straight answer on what happened.”
“Maybe she’ll get back together with him over Christmas,” I said as the bartender handed me my drink.
“Or maybe she’ll peace out after the bake-off,” Jack said.
“She wouldn’t leave, would she?” I asked in concern.
“She’s not here now, is she,” Jack pointed out.
I checked my watch. We’d been waiting on her for almost half an hour. I took a deep breath.
Before I could make some excuse, the restaurant hostess came over. “The rest of your party is here, and we can seat you now,” she said cheerfully.