A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,62

go quite the way I anticipate, though. Maybe it triggered thoughts of last night and the peace we made, because my dad flips his face and hands me a mimosa with a smile. We stand while everyone else crowds the tree and my dad raises his glass to mine.

“To our beautiful women. I don’t know how we got so lucky, but thank god we did.”

We clink glasses, and Mila looks over her shoulder as I’m about to take the first sip, saluting me with her glass and making the sweetest, sexiest eyes at me.

The champagne and juice is the perfect sweet and bubbling celebration mix for this morning, and it’s fun. It’s finally back to being easy, calm fun.

Mom and Dad get us a bunch of gag gifts, so we’re all wearing fake mustaches and playing with our Wooly Willys when Mom’s screech makes us all look up from the magnetic hairy men we’re working on.

“Tommy, what the hell is this?” Mom’s hands are shaky.

Paisley comes by and glances over my mother’s shoulder. “Isn’t that gram’s ruby?”

Mom’s wiping tears away from under her eyes. “We don’t have enough for this, Tommy,” she chokes.

My dad, looking pleased as hell with himself, gestures for my mother to come to him. She’s still holding the box, the shiny silver wrapping paper attached with leftover tape. She sits on my dad’s lap, and he puts his arm around her.

“You didn’t need to pawn that, Gillian.” He raises his eyebrows at her horrified face.

“I put the money into savings, just in case we needed it. I didn’t want you to know.” Her voice is quiet, sad.

My dad runs a hand over Mom’s hair, tucking it behind her ears and smiling at her.

“Sweetheart, I own the town bar. Everyone knows me, and everyone spills. You know that.” He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, closing his eyes for a long second. “It was a beautiful gesture, and I love you for it. But I know how to squeeze a penny, babe. And you don’t have to worry about a thing. That ring your mom gave you? It belongs on your gorgeous hand, end of story.”

He takes the ring out of the box and slides it onto Mom’s finger. Everyone in the room is silent, like we’re all holding our breath, and Mom just stares at her outstretched hand for a minute before the tears choke her up and she buries her face in my dad’s neck.

“Tommy!” she wails. “You’re too good to me!”

“I’m not good enough,” Dad says with a chuckle, patting her on the back.

I don’t know anything about jewelry, but I know Gram’s ring was old and precious. And I bet Mom got a nice chunk for it.

Even if everything is doing okay at the bar, Dad must have had to scrimp to get the ring back and still help Rusty out.

My ears burn when I realize that the tattered look of the place isn’t my dad’s negligence.

It’s his ability to put the woman he loves first, even before his pride in the place he loves most.

I get up and stalk out the front door, suddenly needing some fresh air.

I’m standing in the front yard, shivering a little in just a t-shirt while my body gets shocked over and over by the whipping wind and swirling blasts of snow flurries. The door opens, and when I look back, Mila is walking toward me.

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” she announces, and for a single, heart-stopping second, I’m pumped to hear her call me ‘baby’ like we’re a real couple.

Then I realize she’s quoting a Christmas song.

“Cold as a witch’s tit in a brass bra,” I say, and she smiles, recognizing her crazy description of the blizzard that blew us together that first night. “You need to get back inside.”

“Why are you out here all alone?” She stands close enough that the sharp smell of winter is replaced by the warm, comforting smell of her.

“Did the full extent of your own idiocy ever just...” I punch my fist into my palm. “Smack you upside the head? All at once?”

“Is this about your dad?” She pulls the dark hair that whipped into her face back away from her eyes. “His gift to your mother was really sweet.”

I shake my head. “Yeah. He was saving up to make my mom happy, and I was judging the fact that his bar wasn’t in perfect condition. I’m...God, I’m such an asshole.”

She links hands with mine, and her skin is ice-cold.