A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,65

I know she is, but I don’t add anything to keep the conversation going. I’m on edge about things with Mila even since Paisley’s comment.

Don’t break that girls heart.

No pressure, right?

“We have a good time.” I shrug, trying to keep the tone of the whole conversation casual.

“I’d say it’s more than that,” Mom suggests smugly.

“Ma, really? You just worry about cutting your pie there,” I joke, shaking my head. “I’ll wash these dishes.”

By the time Mom and I get the mess in the kitchen under control everyone has cleared out of the dining room and moved into the den. I follow behind her and her tray of pies with as many glasses of Mila’s punch as I can hold, and when you carry glasses for a living, that’s a lot. Mila was excited to contribute this punch, and these people are going to enjoy it or else. Mom passes out the plates of pie, while I do the same with the frothy glasses of punch.

“Henry, banana cream or pumpkin?” Mom offers my brother his choice of the last two pieces on the tray, just as the doorbell rings.

“Both, Ma,” he says, jumping up enthusiastically. “One for me, and one for my guest. Hope you don’t mind, I figured since Paisley has Cal over, and Landry has sweet, sweet Mila, I might as well invite someone for dessert.”

“‘Course,” Mom says absently, but Henry is already out of the room.

I plop down in the overstuffed chair next to Mila, cramping her space, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Sorry Santa Claus didn’t bring you anything today.” Mila tips her head to meet mine. My parents didn’t expect me, so, no, there wasn’t a gift under the tree for me.

“Oh, I beg to differ. Santa brought me a pretty freaking awesome gift.” I press my lips to her temple and breathe her in. “Maybe he’ll let me have another after everyone goes to bed.” I pull back and wink at her just to watch the blush fill her cheeks.

“You’re not drinking your punch,” Mila says.

“We didn’t have a toast yet.”

“I thought you hated toasts?”

“Meh,” I scoff. “That was before I had anything worthwhile to toast.”

“Okay, so, what are we toasting to tonight?”

“To remembering the moments worth never forgetting,” I say, raising my glass.

I glance around the room taking in my sister and her assbasket of a boyfriend, canoodling on the edge of the sofa like a couple of seventh-graders. Mom and Dad apparently have the same idea as Mila and I, and are clinking glasses over by the brightly lit tree.

And then Henry is back.

With his guest.

With Heather.

Mila follows my eyes over to them, and then looks back at my face, silently questioning my shocked expression, waiting for me to continue. I pull my lips into a tight line and snarl out the rest of the toast. “And forgetting those not worth remembering.”

“Um, that was…poignant?” Mila forces a small smile and presses her glass toward me.

I touch my glass to hers, then tip the faux-alcoholic drink back, swallowing it quickly and wishing I’d spiked it with some extra booze like Dad had suggested earlier.

“Excuse me.” I pat Mila on the knee and she frowns back at me. “I’ll just be one minute.”

I’m trying to reassure her, but I’m pissed as hell that my brother invited my ex here.

On Christmas.

With Mila here.

What am I saying? That’s exactly why Henry pulled this shit.

“You. Outside. Now,” I say, clipping each angry word and gripping my baby brother by the collar of his starched shirt.

“Landry, calm the fuck down,” Henry says through gritted teeth and a plastic smile.

“You little shit, what are you trying to pull?” I yank him out through the open sliding glass door. “Are you trying to screw up what I have going in there? Because, why? You have a little crush on her?”

Henry pulls back and brushes himself off. “Dude, you need to chill the hell out. I ran into Heather doing some last minute shopping yesterday. She mentioned that her family was all out of town because her brother and his wife are having a baby. She sort of wrangled an invite out of me. It wasn’t intentional on my part, bro, and I sure as shit didn’t expect you to get this bent about it. Your girl in there is crazy about you, so who gives a rat’s ass if Heather is here or not?” He waits a few beats, checking to make sure I calmed down. “So, can I go inside