Merry Cherry Christmas - Keira Andrews Page 0,55
this date in the first place.”
But Max didn’t laugh. “Not exactly. I was encouraging you. I thought it would be good practice. I thought you wanted to date.”
Jeremy didn’t know what the right answer was. “I feel like I’m supposed to. You said we’re just friends now, right? That’s what you said.”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.” He rubbed his face. “You’re right. I’m being an asshole. Sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in on your date. He seems cool.”
But he’s not you. “Yeah, he’s laid-back. He’s a drummer in a band.”
“And you scored a second date!” Max held up his palm. “Your fairy godfather is very proud.”
Jeremy didn’t leave him hanging for the high five, even though triumphant wasn’t one of the many emotions swirling around his gut in a big ball of anxiety. If Levi was right and Max was jealous, why didn’t Max just say that? Jeremy wanted to ask, but he couldn’t get the words past his tongue. The fear of humiliating himself was too strong.
If he said it out loud and Max denied it—or worse, laughed at him—it would crush him. Maybe Jeremy was a coward, but the last thing he wanted for Christmas was a broken heart.
Macaulay Culkin slapped his cheeks on the big TV over the crackling fire, and they all laughed. Jeremy finished most of his third slice of pizza and picked at the crust idly. He half watched the movie, his socked feet curled under him on the couch and knee pressing Max’s thigh comfortably through the layers of their jeans.
Was Max manspreading on purpose so they could touch? Or was Jeremy reading way too much into it? Probably the latter. They sat on the love seat closest to the tree, and the pine scent filled his nose. Under it were faint notes of coconut, and Jeremy wished he could lean to his right and nuzzle Max’s thick waves.
The phone rang in the kitchen—an old rotary one that had likely been attached to the wall for many decades and had apparently been put back up after the reno. Taking the empty pizza box and a few plates, Valerie hopped up to answer.
Jeremy had the ridiculous thought that maybe it was his mother calling, and he stamped down the sudden bloom of hope. His parents didn’t have the number. They didn’t even know Max or his family existed. It was hard to believe Jeremy hadn’t either until the past week. He had to remember that. Remember that this was all new and very likely transitory.
Valerie called, “John! It’s your parents. On speaker phone.”
Everyone laughed, and Jeremy smiled. “Is this a thing?”
John pushed up from the other end of the couch. “Yep. They’ll talk over each other and the dogs will be barking, and it’ll be chaos.” He smiled fondly and shrugged. “Parents.”
A swift punch of loss hitched Jeremy’s breath as he nodded. He stared at the TV, one of the crooks falling down the stairs with a huge shout and sound effects. His hand rested on his curled leg, and his breath stuttered again when Max covered it with his own, tugging it down hidden between them, although Meg definitely noticed. Max still watched the TV, laughing, but he rubbed Jeremy’s knuckles with his thumb reassuringly until John returned and told Max it was his turn.
When Max came back and told Meg she was up, he flopped down on the love seat. He folded his hands in his lap, and Jeremy tried not to miss that small touch Max had bestowed. Papy didn’t get up to talk with his in-laws, but shouted greetings, his feet up on an ottoman.
When Meg returned with Valerie, they paused the TV and everyone laughed about something to do with aunties and uncles that Jeremy didn’t quite follow. He didn’t mind, though. It was nice just being with a family, even if it wasn’t his.
“The monthly phone call is always stellar when they’re in Goa,” Meg said.
“The airing of grievances is next level,” Max agreed. He added to Jeremy, “They winter in Goa now. They have a house near the beach. It’s amazing. We all went a few Christmases ago. Dad and Valerie are going for a few weeks in January.”
Valerie asked John, “Think they’ll try to make you and your sisters go to confession?”
John laughed. “My father will probably try.” To Jeremy, he said, “When I was a teenager, my dad packed me and my three sisters into the car and drove us to church in Scarborough. Marched