“Ahh, just ten million or so, and only a few have cute unicorns farting inspirational phrases.” The way she rolls her shoulder back and her narrow-eyed glare tells me everything I need to know.
I’ve totally hit a nerve. I don’t know why I enjoy needling her as much as I do. Maybe because she’s so prone to reacting. “I bet your place is decorated for the holiday. All sorts of cute pumpkin stuff everywhere, a papier-mâché turkey centerpiece that you made at some workshop on your dining room table.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “I don’t have a dining room table.”
“But you have a papier-mâché turkey?”
“I had several construction paper ones when I was a child. I probably would have kept them for all eternity if my parents hadn’t thrown out my box of homemade crafts when I was a teenager in the name of decluttering.”
I file that little piece of information away, feeling like she’s told me a secret she didn’t intend to. “Pumpkin, then?” I press.
I can tell it irritates her that I can read her so easily, but all anyone has to do is step foot inside Buttercream and Booze to see how much she loves the holidays. “Ceramic, not papier-mâché.”
“And you painted it yourself?”
“Maybe.” She pokes me in the shoulder. “Enough with all the questions. It’s an hour and a half drive; you’ll have loads of time trapped in a car to make fun of me.”
“Right. Yeah.” I’m not sure what a long ride in a car together is going to be like. “I’ll just change real quick. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
I leave her to wander around my apartment while I change. She doesn’t seem the type to snoop, but you never know. Considering Blaire is wearing one of her dresses complete with festive holiday print, I decide a pair of black casual pants, dress shirt, and plaid tie are appropriate. I don’t bother with contacts since my eyes already feel gritty from lack of sleep.
I find her in my living room, staring up at a collage of family photos. “Ready to roll?”
She turns her head slowly, her expression soft. “I’m so sorry.” She reaches up and adjusts the wooden picture frame, and suddenly her apology makes sense. That was the last family photo we took, and the phrase “In loving memory” is etched into the matte in silver letters.
It’s never level, always listing to the right because the frame itself is unbalanced. I refuse to change it, though, because it was one of my first woodshop projects, and my dad and I worked on it together. It’s old and cracked and a whole lot ugly, but it’s a memory I can’t let go of. I nod and swallow around the lump in my throat. “Oh, uh, thanks. It was a long time ago.” But on days like this it feels like it was yesterday, not a decade ago, that they passed.
“How old were you when you lost them?” She presses her hand to her chest. “You don’t have to answer that if it’s not something you want to talk about.”
“It’s okay.” I jam my hands in my pockets and clear my throat again as I step up beside her. “I was twenty.”
She blows out a slow, tremulous breath, her smile sad. “That must have been so hard. It looks like you were close.”
“We were a tight family. My brothers are both older, so they were more settled, with careers and partners. It shook us all up pretty good. I ended up living with my gramps and grams for a couple of years after they passed.”
She nods, putting together the pieces of the puzzle, like why I took over The Knight Cap and why I kept all the pictures of him and Grams up.
“I’m sorry you’re not with your family today.”
“I’m used to celebrating after the fact.” If my brother’s place wasn’t so far away I might have made the effort to drive out there again today. But after spending all day yesterday taking Gramps up there and coming back, I just don’t have the energy. And sometimes the family stuff is harder on days like today, especially since my brothers are in committed relationships, and everyone gets on me for being alone. I force a smile and change the subject. “We should probably hit the road, huh?”
She gives her head a slight shake, as if she’s been lost in her own thoughts. “Oh yes. Definitely.”