Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

MARY

I was so nervous at work that I started tapping my keyboard without realizing it. Worse, it was to the tune of “Jingle Bells.” My boss, Hilde, actually came over—not to tell me to stop, mind you, but to compliment the rhythm.

What if Aidan is anxious?

What if this man is some kind of weirdo or pervert?

What if Aidan is kidnapped from the library, and I never see him again?

What if this is another mistake, and Aidan gives me the cold shoulder for a month?

Because he’s already giving it to me—the cold shoulder, that is. He doesn’t get mad the way other kids do. He’d probably say he isn’t mad. He’d probably even believe it. But I know differently. Everything I do right now is wrong, and it’s because his Santa dreams have been crushed.

We still haven’t decorated the horrible tree. It stands in the corner of our living room, its most naked bits turned to the wall, like someone changing into a bathing suit. Maisie and Molly haven’t seen it yet, thank God—my sisters are worried enough about me as it is—but a reckoning might be in store for me anyway. Molly said she has something urgent to talk about, so I’m going to drop Aidan at Maisie’s for dinner so my little sister and I can chat.

I’m hoping Molly’s just seeking my lawyerly advice about her book contract. Her first novel, Hearts in Flight , just sold to a small, independent press. But that voice in my head, the one that never turns off and has been particularly loud lately, suggests she’s going to confront me about being a hot mess. The tables have turned—usually I’m the one worrying about Molly and encouraging her to (a) get a better job or (b) find a boyfriend who lasts more than a week, but it’s abundantly clear she doesn’t need my advice anymore. She’s happy in a way she’s never been before, and I’m happy for her. Actually, it’s a weight off my shoulders because I always blamed myself for the way she floundered after our parents died. My mother had always impressed upon me the importance of security, something she’d felt was lacking in her relationship with our father, and I’d tried to do my big-sister duty and steer Maisie and Molly away from situations that offered none. In retrospect, I realize that I had it wrong. They’ve both built lives that make them happy and fulfilled, and me? I don’t really know what happiness looks like anymore. I only find it with Aidan and my sisters. Work is comforting, the rhythms of it predictable and calming, but I wouldn’t say I’m happy there. Content, sure. Happy? No.

Because here’s the thing. Strip away all that security, all the manners I’ve cultivated to hide my nerves and awkwardness, all the trappings of my life…

I don’t know who I am.

Maybe it was like this all along, and I just didn’t realize it, but I’m the O’Shea sister who’s most lost.

How am I supposed to help Aidan when I can’t even help myself?

But as soon as I see him—Jace—that persistent voice in my head shuts up.

This is my son’s “buddy”?

Jace Hagan is sexy in the way real people aren’t supposed to be.

He looks like the bad boy in a movie, with his short beard, longer golden-brown hair, and a body that is frankly intimidating. And his eyes…they’re that strange teal of the ocean under sunlight—a color that shouldn’t exist in nature. I feel a weird stirring in my body.

Weird, because I honestly can’t remember the last time it occurred to me that my body is capable of more than delivering me from place to place, task to task, and item one to one hundred on my never-ending to-do list. Even before Glenn left, it had been a long time since we’d had any—ahem—intimacy—and even longer since I’d enjoyed it. It’s uncomfortable, this feeling, and it takes me several long, awkward moments to notice that he’s holding his hand out to me. Shoot, I’ve probably left him hanging for several seconds.

I dart my hand out and take his, feeling my cheeks flush. Darn this fair O’Shea skin.

His hand is big and rough, and the feel of it sends a cascade of tingles through me, awakening all the dusty and, frankly, abandoned bits of me. There’s something untamed about Jace. Wild. And even though I don’t want that—I’ve always wanted the very opposite of that—I can’t help but feel an answering purr inside of me.

And you worried that he’d be a perv? You’re the perv.

I take my hand back abruptly, as if bitten.

“Mom,” Aidan says, “you tell me I’m always supposed to say my name when someone introduces themselves. You didn’t say your name.”

The blush I felt deepens. I ignore it. “Mary O’Shea,” I say.

The man, Jace, is watching my mouth in a way that has me wiping at it.

“Did I smear my lipstick? Sorry, I was in a rush to make it down here.”

He shakes his head slightly, an almost delicate gesture for a man so large. “No, nothing like that. It’s nice to meet you. My friend, Aidan, has been telling me all about you.”

“No, I didn’t really talk much about her,” Aidan says. “I just told you that she’s been lying to me about Santa for my entire life. And that my dad’s on a long business trip.”

Great.

Jace is looking at me skeptically, as if to say he knows I’m a liar, and not just about jolly men in red suits. Good for him. He can judge me all he pleases. Still, I can’t ignore the fact that Aidan actually opened up to him. That’s what I’ll choose to focus on. Not his judgment. And certainly not his eyes.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Hagan,” I say. “I’m glad Aidan has a…” Oh, God, I can’t say it. This man is all man. He’s no one’s buddy. Finally, I choke it out. “Bud–dy.”

“Call me Jace,” he says. His gaze shifts to Aidan, who’s still sitting in his chair, in absolutely no hurry to leave. “You too.”

“Are you ready, Aidan?” I ask. “There’s just enough time for a puzzle or an episode of Dinosaur Train before I bring you to Aunt Maisie’s house.”

“I’m not ready to go, Mom,” Aidan says. The zipper on his sweater goes up and down. “I’d rather keep playing with Jace.”

Embarrassment floods me. My son would prefer to hang out with this beefcake than go home with me, and now the beefcake knows it. Feeling someone’s gaze on me, I turn slightly—which is when I remember that Ms. Duckworth and the librarian are both still present. Jace’s presence is so large, so all-encompassing, that I’d completely forgotten. Excellent. My humiliation is complete.

“Honey,” I say slowly to Aidan before glancing back at Jace. “Jace has to go home to his own house. He can’t stay here forever.”

“Why do you keep looking at him like that, Mom?” Aidan asks. “You usually don’t look at people this much.”

“Because he’s a new acquaintance,” I mutter. “It’s good to pay attention to what new people look like so you can recognize them when you see them again.”

Aidan considers my response, then nods, thank God. I don’t dare look at Jace. I can’t let him realize I have a pathetic attraction to him. Although, looking like he does, he probably has a line of women who follow him around like children flock to ice cream trucks.

Ice cream.

Since the puzzle wasn’t enough of a draw, I add, “Why don’t we stop for ice cream on the way home?”

Sure, it’s bribery, but I’m not above it. Besides, he needs to eat more, and I’m at the calories-are-calories stage of desperation.

“It’s cold out, Mom,” Aidan scolds. “That’s not a good treat for a day like today.”

“Okay, how about stopping for a hot chocolate at the Chocolate Lounge?”

Something lights in his eyes, and I know I have him on the hook, until he says, “I want Jace to come.”

My gaze flits to Jace again, dammit, and there’s a flicker of a smile playing at his lips.

“I’m sure Mr. Ha—Jace has places to be, sweetheart. But you’ll see him again…”

“Thursday,” Ms. Duckworth supplies from behind me. Oh God, she’s still here.

“I want him to come,” Aidan repeats. Zipper goes up. Zipper goes down.

If Jace doesn’t come, getting Aidan to leave quietly is going to be a problem, so as much as I’d like to end this encounter, I find myself glancing at him.

He’s giving me a questioning look, so I offer a slight nod.

“I love hot chocolate,” Jace says. “Sounds great.”

Of course, Aidan being Aidan, he adds, “My mom and I are lactose intolerant. But they have almond milk at the Chocolate Lounge, right, Mom? That’s why I like it the best.”

“Right, Aidan,” I mutter, collecting his backpack. I can practically feel Jace laughing. It’s bad enough that Not-Santa knows milk makes me bloated. The last thing I want is for a man like this to know about my bloat.

Forcing myself to look at him, I catch the slightest quirk of his lips— knew it —and then force out, “We go to the one on Riverside Drive. It’s his favorite, and they actually have a parking lot.”

“I know it,” he says with a dip of his head. “I live nearby.”

My mind jumps to where a man like this would live. The upper floor of a garage? The back of a tattoo parlor?

I can practically hear my sister Molly add the inside of a sexually repressed suburban housewife’s imagination?

I clear my throat. “We’ll meet you there, then. Thank you, Jace.”

I make myself turn and nod to Ms. Duckworth, who’s watching us like we’re the cast of a soap opera. The librarian, who’d been craning her neck to look at us, knocks over one of the empty red-wrapped presents by her desk. She has the grace to blush.

“Okey dokey,” I say, and immediately hate myself. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

“Mom, that’s a dumb saying,” Aidan says. “It doesn’t really mean anything.”

I just gesture for him to get moving, silently adding, Actually, it does, Aidan. It means your mom is making a freak show out of herself.

I don’t wait for Jace to leave the library. I hurry Aidan off like I just pulled off a heist, which is stupid for multiple reasons but mostly because we’re about to meet up with him again. It’s not like I can run away. Still, as I prepare to leave, I spy Jace in my peripheral vision, folding himself into a red truck. It suits him.

Few things wouldn’t suit him.

It’s just a sexual attraction though, nothing more. Molly has always put a lot of stock in that sort of thing. And given that Maisie wound up dating her husband after they had a one-night stand, I suppose she does too. But that’s just foolish. You can be attracted to an ottoman, and it doesn’t mean it would make a good boyfriend. And okay, if you’re attracted to an ottoman, you have bigger problems than being single, but that’s beside the point. Sexual attraction is meaningless.

But I can’t deny I feel a weird sort of anticipation as I drive us to the Chocolate Lounge.

After I get on the highway, I shoot a glance at Aidan in the rearview mirror. He’s actually looking back to see if Jace’s truck is following us. Maybe he just likes the color—red is one of his favorite colors, his current issues with Santa notwithstanding—but I can tell there’s more to it.

“You like Jace, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Mom,” he says, settling back into his seat. “He’s my friend. You’re supposed to like your friends.”

“Did he say anything about his work?”

“He said he does construction, like Uncle Cal.”

I nearly correct him, because my sister Molly and her boyfriend aren’t married, but it’s sweet that he’s finally taken an interest in Cal. He made Aidan this truly amazing tent, and it apparently upgraded him to uncle status. Which is fine, I guess, even though it’s currently inaccurate. It’s only a matter of time before they make things official.

Thinking about Cal and that tent he made, my mind skips to his business. His house flipping and renovation business. Huh. If Jace works in construction, they might know each other. I tuck that in the back of my brain and ask, “Anything about his family?”

“I don’t know. He said something about a nephew. Why are you asking me so many questions?”

“Just interested in your new friend,” I mutter. The nephew fits with what Ms. Liu told me about Jace’s motivation for volunteering his time. I guess his nephew is on the spectrum too, and they have a close relationship. Knowing that made me feel more comfortable with the arrangement.

Aidan starts humming Christmas carols, and I spend the rest of the drive glancing in my rearview mirror. I don’t see Jace, which is actually sort of a relief. I always drive the speed limit, and if he were close enough to be seen, it would mean he was speeding.

When we get there, Aidan refuses to go in until Jace arrives, so we wait at the bumper of the car, Aidan playing with his zipper while I resist the temptation to rifle through my purse just so I have something to do with my hands. I hate that it’ll look like we’ve been waiting for him—even though that’s exactly what we’ve been doing.

A tingle of anticipation zips through me when his red truck pulls in, and from the huge smile on Aidan’s face, I’m not the only one affected. He starts hopping a little on his feet, from one to the other.

To my surprise, Jace is grinning when he gets out of the truck. He’s not treating this as an unexpected inconvenience.

“Thanks,” I say to him, telling my hormones to get lost. This is Aidan’s “buddy.” And my son needs to make connections more than I need to get laid, even if Molly’s right and there are spiderwebs in my vagina. Besides, it’s not as if a man like him would ever look twice at me. He probably dates models. Or bartenders. Or the type of women who keep snakes for pets and take pictures of them writhing sinuously around their bodies. “I appreciate you making the time. I know you were only expecting to spend an hour with him today.”

He shoots me a look that’s almost annoyed. Um, okay.

“It’s no imposition. I’m happy to spend time with Aidan.”

“Come on,” Aidan says, offering Jace his hand as if I’ve become vapor. “You know, you should get almond milk too. Human bodies aren’t equipped to process cow milk. We’re only supposed to drink breast milk, like how Mom fed me when I was a baby.”

Dear God. I think my flesh has permanently become red. Jace doesn’t glance back at me, thankfully, and I follow them in, silently reminding myself to be grateful. This is the most I’ve heard Aidan speak to a nonfamily member for a month, and while he often attaches himself to one person at a time, letting everyone else fade away like they’re wallpaper, I’m still totally gobsmacked that this Butterfly Buddies thing has worked out so well.

So why can’t I stop myself from checking out Jace’s butt in his slightly worn jeans?

The Chocolate Lounge is going well. Sometimes it’s hit-and-miss because Aidan doesn’t like crowds or do well in them, but his focus is totally on Jace. Although Jace does ask me what I do—lawyer—and responds that he totally “sees that,” whatever that means, I mostly stay silent while the two of them talk. Actually, Aidan does most of the talking, telling Jace statistics about his favorite dinosaur (the ankylosaurus), but I soak in my son’s good cheer. He hasn’t been happy much since Glenn left. Glenn was a mostly absent father, but he was still Aidan’s dad. That meant something. Or at least it did to me and Aidan. Yet, a little voice in my head whispers that Glenn never listened to Aidan with this much interest, as if he actually cared about what he was saying. He’d have been scrolling through his phone twenty seconds in.

Aidan pauses the dinosaur talk to say, “We don’t have to play that matching game again on Thursday, do we, Jace? The library has a copy of Race to the Treasure, and that’s a much better game. I used to have it, but Mom left it at Nana and Gramps’s house.” He gives me an accusatory look that tells me I’d better order a replacement.

Thankfully, Jace isn’t the sort to get offended easily. “Sure, buddy. I’d love to learn something new.” The easy way he says it warms me to him.

“Well, if you want to learn something new, I can tell you about the ankylosaurus’s natural enemies.”

Jace might be bored out of his skull, but if he is, he isn’t showing it, and I take the opportunity to order the game for Aidan on my phone.

We don’t stay long, because I have my mysterious Molly meeting to get to, but after we say goodbye and I get Aidan strapped into his booster seat, I notice Jace’s truck is still in the lot. On a whim, I tell Aidan, “I’ll be right back,” and rush over to Jace’s truck. His ocean eyes widen when I appear by his window.

“Everything okay?” he asks as he rolls the window down.

“Yes,” I say, realizing I’m panting a little. God, I’m a mess. Still, I have to tell him this. “Thank you. I…I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sure about this whole thing. But Aidan’s really taken with you. It’s wonderful to see him so happy. He hasn’t been since… anyway, thank you for that. I…” Oh, no. Are there tears in my eyes? What on earth is happening to me? “Anyway. I just wanted to thank you.” I’m repeating myself, and I probably sound exactly as tired as I am, but when I meet his eyes again, I’m surprised by how they’ve softened.

“My nephew and I were close,” he says, leaning toward me a little. “Aidan reminds me a little of him. It’s really meaningful to me…spending time with him.”

The way he says it makes me wonder if the little boy died. A gasp escapes me, and I lean forward, but he pulls back in the car as if he’s worried I might try to kiss him. Oh my God, did he think I was going to?

Mortification roils through me. “Okay. So. Anyway. Thank you. Yeah, I said that. I’ll see you on Thursday. Not for hot chocolate but when I come to pick up Aidan.”

An alarm goes off in my head, practically chanting, Exit, exit, exit.

He displays that little half smile again, and I have to wonder if he’s laughing at me. People do that sometimes. Because I’m too literal. Because I’m almost as socially awkward as Aidan. Because when you strip away the mask of manners and professional dress, I don’t know what to do with myself. At least I came here in my work clothes. At least I have that to cling to.

“Goodbye, Mary,” he says. “I’ll get hot chocolate with you anytime you like.”

Then he puts the truck in reverse and leaves.

My mind is working overtime—anytime I like? Did he mean anytime Aidan likes?—when I hear a woman calling out, “Holy Christmas crackers! Someone left a little kid in this car. Are you okay, kid? Micah, why isn’t he saying anything? Does he have enough oxygen?”

Which is my cue to run back to the car. The woman is tapping on the window as if Aidan were a goldfish, and he is, understandably, cringing away.

“He’s fine, ma’am,” I say, trying to tamp down my annoyance. “The car is on, and he’s six.”

“So you’re saying he could just drive away if there’s a problem?” she snaps, turning on me in a cloud of brown hair and perfume. She’s getting in my face, and I feel a familiar slick of discomfort on my palms. “I don’t know where you come from, but kids around here don’t drive at age six.”

“Here,” I mutter, pushing past her. “I come from here. And he’s just fine.”

Maybe if I keep telling myself that it’ll be true.

I hear her mumbling something about young people these days, even though she looks to be my age, or maybe younger, but then I get the door closed, and it’s just me and Aidan.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I don’t like that woman,” he says, grazing his lips with his nails. “Can I have my blanket?”

I fetch it from the trunk, ignoring the woman, who calls out, “Leaving him again, huh?” which twangs an uncomfortable song on my nerves. Because one parent walked out on Aidan, and I’m going to make damn sure I’m always there for him, even if I have to staple our sleeves together. The rest of the evening passes without any sort of mishap, although Aidan kept his weighted blanket on the whole way home. I pack him off to Maisie’s, stopping in for long enough to kiss the baby—Mabel is another redhead, bless her; our father would be tickled by that—before continuing on to Molly’s house.

It’s a bit of a fixer-upper that never got to the fix-up stage, but Molly and her two roommates seem to love it. I’ve only met them once or twice. They seem nice, though, like the kind of friends you could call at two in the morning if something happened. I’ve never really had friends like that. The only people in my life like that are Molly and Maisie, but I don’t think I’d ever call either of them at two in the morning.

The thing is, I’m the big sister—I’m supposed to take care of them, not the other way around. I remember my mom making a point of that one day after Molly darted into the street when she and I were walking the family dog. She almost got hit by a car, and Mom grabbed me by the shoulders and said it was up to me to keep her safe because I was her big sister.

Too bad I’ve always sucked at being a good one.

I immediately head around back, as Molly instructed, just in case one of her roommates has a guest over. An acquaintance in college told me that someone will hang a sock on their doorknob to tell their roommates they’re getting busy, and I don’t want to walk in and see a bunch of socks. I think I’ve blushed enough for one day.

Only one person’s waiting in the back, though, and it’s not Molly.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, glancing around as if Molly might be hiding under the picnic table. “Molly told me to come back here.”

Her scary friend, the one with the pink hair and nose ring, nods. “She did. Because I told her to. This, Mary O’Shea, is your intervention.”

“Intervention?” I ask. “I’ve never even smoked a blunt. Heck, I’ve only been drunk twelve and a half times.”

“Exactly,” she says with a healthy dose of disgust. “Does that sound like a person who’s living life?”

“Actually, it does,” I say, keeping my distance. My heart is racing, although I’m not sure why. “It sounds like someone who’s doing a good job of not dying.”

She shakes her head with something like pity, and to my shock, I find myself taking a step toward her. Then another. “The fact that you think they’re the same thing says it all.”

“One of those twelve and a half times was on Thanksgiving,” I admit. “So, I don’t actually remember your name. Or know why you’d think I need an intervention.”

“I’m Nicole,” she says, not offering her hand for a shake. “And you should probably sit down. This might take a while.”

I glance around again. “Does this mean Molly’s not coming?”

“She and her roommates went out for dinner.”

“That sounds nice.” I’d rather be with them, to be honest, but it would be rude to say so. Still, I take another step closer.

“You’d rather be with them,” she says, her expression smug. “I can see right through you.”

Some residual anger from the other night, the terrible Not-Santa night, bubbles back up. “Good. Then maybe you can fill me in on what, exactly, I can do to make my life not suck. I’m all ears.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she says with a smile, her teeth sharp and almost feral. “I’m starting a new Bad Luck Club, and I want you to be my first sponsee.”

I know what she’s talking about. Actually, anyone with an internet connection would probably know what she’s talking about. Molly’s boyfriend, Cal, and his father, Bear, started a club to help down-on-their-luck people turn their lives around. It became kind of a media sensation, what with someone stealing their idea and writing a bestselling book about it. Molly was the one who revealed them as the true creators, and since then it’s gained even more of a following—with Bear appearing on a major talk show to tell his story.

So, yeah, I know about the Bad Luck Club.

But my life’s not that bad, is it? I’m floundering, yes, but I have a good job, I have a roof over my head, and I’ve never struggled to put food on my son’s plate. I’m doing okay when it comes to the things that matter.

I venture to say so, and Nicole laughs in my face.

“Someone’s always going to have it worse, but from where I’m sitting, you need plenty of help. You’re a single mother with a special-needs child. You probably haven’t had an orgasm in five years, and you’ve only been drunk twelve and a half times. Oh, and your parents died when your little sister was only seventeen. Molly needed a guardian, and she chose to stay with your middle sister rather than you. Does that about sum it up?”

God, when she puts it that way…

Did I tell her all of that on Thanksgiving, or does she know some of it from Molly? I feel a little pulse of anxiety at the thought of Molly having shared so much. Does Nicole also know about our dad?

Before our parents died, Molly found out that he was cheating on our mom. She tried to tell me back then, but I refused to listen to her, even though I knew she was probably right. Mom had confided in me in ways she hadn’t confided in my sisters, and I knew how much she’d struggled with Dad’s flightiness. Yeah, some big sister I’ve been. I told myself I was protecting her and Maisie, that I was doing and saying what my mother would have wanted, but maybe I just didn’t feel capable of dealing with another heartache. Molly and I have healed our relationship, mostly, but I haven’t forgiven myself. I shouldn’t forgive myself, for that and a whole filing cabinet’s worth of other things.

Still, that’s not how I respond to Nicole. For some unearthly reason, I sputter, “Please. Five years ago? Try never.”

My alarm bells go off instantly. I shouldn’t have told her that. It’s insane for me to have told her that. I don’t know this woman at all. For all I know, she could have snuck onto Molly’s property both times I’ve talked to her. Maybe she’s a complete stranger who’s stalking me. Like Jennifer Jason Leigh’s character in Single White Female .

Please, Mary. Who would want to steal your life?

Nicole’s eyes widen, and then her mouth stretches into an even bigger, scarier smile.

“Oh, we’re going to have fun,” she says.