Mr. Hot Grinch - Lindsey Hart Page 0,24

I expected some emotion when we talked last night but there was nothing. He’s become seriously good at shutting down.

Not that I can blame him. If I were in his place with a kid to look after, a household to run, a job I couldn’t just quit, bills to pay, and I was doing it all alone after something terrible happened, and I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I just didn’t deal with it, I can’t imagine I’d be much better.

I know I wouldn’t be much better. Christmas was always a fun time at my house. My mom loves Christmas, and my dad endures it for her sake because he loves her. Even after all these years, my parents are a success story. I can’t remember ever asking them how they met, and they don’t talk about it, but it’s been nearly thirty years, and they’re still together. They don’t hate each other, they sleep in the same bedroom, and sometimes, they even do small loving things in front of me, like hold hands or kiss each other on the cheek.

And Mom always makes a big deal out of Christmas. Every year, she goes full out with the decorations. We usually have three trees, and the house turns into this extravaganza that could outdo most malls or put any Christmas display to shame around the city.

This year, it makes me feel disgustingly homesick to think about it being the first Christmas I’m not going to be spending at home. I’m ashamed to say I literally cried myself to sleep last night thinking about it—the first time ever for that too.

So no. I don’t think I’d handle being in Luke’s place any better than I’m handling being in my own. The way I’m choosing to deal with it is to not think about it. Shut down, shut it out, and focus on something else. I guess that’s exactly what Luke does.

Luke steps into the living room where Shade and I are sitting on the couch together. After a busy day getting the tree and buying decorations (I was careful to budget the expenses), we both took a break and parked ourselves on the couch to wait for Luke. I think we are both tense in equal measure.

When Shade spots his dad, he jumps off the couch and hurtles straight at him. Luke bends down, and Shade wraps his arms around his neck.

Ouch, my heart.

I don’t care how much you dislike a person. Seeing them dote and love on their kids is always going to get you right in the sensitive spots you don’t know you have.

“Dad! Look what we did! We got a tree! And we made things for it! We bought things too! Do you like it?! Come look!”

I didn’t tell Shade that I talked to Luke about getting the tree. Or that he knew it was coming. Luke actually acts surprised, and then he smiles.

It’s not the first smile I’ve seen from him, directed at Shade, for Shade, but this one does something funny to me. I know what it feels like to have a crush on a guy. Granted, I might have experienced it later in life than most people, but I do know what those butterflies in my stomach mean. I know what those tingles in certain spots signal.

So, it’s time to focus on the tree and not on Luke. Not on the tingles, and not on the butterflies. They’re probably moths, harmful moths.

“Do you like this one? We made a paper chain! Look over here! This one’s a squirrel!” Shade is all over the place after he drags Luke to the tree.

I guess I have to admit that Luke can be a pretty good sport when he’s called on to do it. He acts enthusiastic enough, exclaiming over each and every ornament Shade picked out.

“Look, this one’s a mermaid cat. Feeney picked this one. It has pink fur around the tail.”

“I see that. What an odd thing.”

“I think it’s awesome,” Shade says, slightly put out.

“I think so too. Pink hair. Huh.”

While Shade and Luke study the tree, which was a forty-dollar special at a department store—the usual green fake kind (I wanted pink or purple because those are super cool, but they were also super expensive)—and all the ornaments we picked out, which we also carefully bought with a budget in mind, I slip away to the kitchen.

I dig out the ingredients for dinner, which we also bought while we were out. I’m