Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

JACE

I’m nervous as I park in front of Mary’s house on Tuesday. I haven’t seen her since she walked out on Saturday, and I’ve been grateful for the distraction of Cal’s project. He told me to work whenever I can fit it into my schedule, but I’ve been at his house a lot—most of Sunday, plus Monday after I had dinner with Roger. Cal’s house is an old Victorian that needed a lot of work. He’s had some of his crew helping, so it’s three-fourths done. Thank God, because between his day crew putting in hours when they weren’t working elsewhere and me putting in time on evenings and weekends, there’s still no way we could have gotten the whole place done by Christmas, even with Cal dropping by to help.

I’d hoped the project would help distract me from thinking about Mary, and while it’s helped, I’m still like a lovestruck kid who has a crush on his teacher.

Briefly, I considered cancelling, but I can’t do that to Aidan, and besides, I’m no coward. I’ve faced plenty of hard shit in my life, and I’ve nearly convinced myself that a friendship with Mary is better than nothing.

Still, I’m not sure what to make of our text exchanges. The confession she made on Sunday night…I could tell it wasn’t something she’d told many people. Maybe not anyone. And then she texted me again late last night. It started off with a text telling me how excited Aidan was about me coming over, and then I asked about her dance classes. Her first one is this upcoming Saturday.

I’m nervous , she said.

Don’t be nervous , I sent back. They’re little kids. What do they know?

She sent a laughing emoji, and I assured her she’d be great. Don’t sweat it.

Now, as I walk up to her door, I find myself wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans before I reach for the doorknob, but it swings open before I get to it.

“I want to go to your apartment,” Aidan says with a resolute look in his eyes.

“Uh…”

“Aidan,” Mary calls out from inside, “that’s not polite. Please let Jace come in.”

Aidan backs up so I can walk through the door. The house smells tangy, and my stomach rumbles, but it’s Mary who draws my attention. She’s standing next to the fireplace, wearing jeans and an emerald green sweater that brings out the color of her rich auburn hair and hazel eyes. She offers me a smile that fades into a look of uncertainty.

“Hi,” I say, shoving my hands into my front pockets so I can’t close the distance between us and take her into my arms.

“Hi,” she says shyly. She’s holding an ornament, turning it over in her hands.

Whatever was between us this weekend hasn’t faded. It’s mushroomed. We stare at each other as though we’re caught in some kind of spell.

“I want to go to your apartment,” Aidan says belligerently, and it’s clear he’s not going to let this go easily.

Pulling my eyes from Mary, I turn to face him. “Maybe we can arrange that for another day, but tonight I’m here to help decorate your tree.”

“It’s not fair that Mom went to your apartment without me.”

I head over to the sofa and sit, wanting to be at eye level with him. “I know that you’re upset, but if it makes you feel any better, your mom was hardly there. She came over to help find my neighbor’s cat.”

“That’s not what she said,” he grumps, scowling. “She says she went over to make arrangements for tonight.”

Shit.

“Sure,” I say, “but my neighbor’s cat had just gone missing, and she volunteered to help. She was the one who got his cat back.”

He considers this for a moment. “Where was the cat?”

“Someone had taken him. Your mom’s a hero. She not only saved Cleo the cat from a very bad man, but she also saved my neighbor, Roger, who would be very sad without Cleo. So your mom saved two lives. Besides, she was barely in my apartment. We spent most of our time at Roger’s apartment and with my neighbors.”

He starts to play with the zipper of his sweatshirt, and I can practically see his brain trying to fit this new information into his perception of events. I feel Mary’s gaze on me, although I can’t tell whether she approves of what I’m saying or if she’s trying to silently tell me shut the fuck up.

“She still went to your apartment without me,” he finally says. “Which means I get to go without her.”

“Aidan,” Mary says. I finally allow myself to glance at her, and she’s still standing in the same spot, the ornament clutched in her hand.

I shift my attention back to Aidan. “Maybe you can come visit sometime. I don’t have a Christmas tree. Maybe you and your mom can help me decorate one.” I wonder if I’ve overstepped, but I realize that part of me wants a tree in my apartment. Even if it’s just a small one. And I want them to help decorate it.

“Can we?” Aidan asks, swiveling to face his mother.

Her mouth twists to the side. “We wouldn’t want to inconvenience Jace.”

“No inconvenience at all.”

“Can we go tomorrow?” Aidan asks.

Mary releases a nervous laugh. “Why don’t we decorate our tree first? Then we’ll make arrangements to decorate Jace’s.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” I say, getting to my feet. “So where do we start?”

“Actually,” Mary says, setting the ornament down on the mantel. “I thought maybe we should start with dinner first. If that’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” I say. “I’m actually starving, and whatever you’ve made smells delicious.”

Aidan looks up at me. “Mom made meatloaf and mashed potatoes. It’s my grandma’s recipe.”

I grin. “One of my favorite meals. And I suspect it’s a whole lot better than the type I make for me and Roger.”

“You make meatloaf?” Aidan asks. “You touch the gross meat?”

“Sort of,” I say, laughing. “How about I tell you how I make it while we eat?”

“Okay.”

I look up at Mary and am surprised by the longing in her eyes. But as soon as she realizes I’m looking at her, she bolts into the kitchen.

“Come on, Jace. I already set the table,” Aidan says proudly, walking into the dining room. “Mom only helped a little.”

I follow him. The house has a mostly open floor plan, and the dining room opens to the kitchen, giving me a view of Mary from behind. I can’t take my eyes off her ass. An image of her from Friday night fills my head—her naked in bed, staring back at me as I entered her from behind.

“Does Mom have something on her butt?” Aidan asks, interrupting my thoughts.

I jolt . “ What? No. Why?”

“Then why were you staring at her butt so hard?”

I need to get him to focus on something else. Dinosaurs? School? His weekend away? “Uh…what did you do at your grandparents’ place this weekend? Do they have their Christmas tree up?”

I already know the answer, but it’s as good a topic as any.

The dining room table is set with three place settings at one end of the rectangular table, and it’s no surprise there are cloth napkins. That brings a smile to my lips. Mary has already brought out a bowl of green beans.

Aidan takes a seat at the head of the table, his brow furrowing. I’ve been around him long enough to know this is his s omething doesn’t make sense face. “Yes, but their tree is blue and white, and I told them that Christmas colors are red and green.”

“I’ve seen some really pretty blue and white Christmas trees,” I say, standing behind a chair as Mary comes out with a small platter of meatloaf and sets it on the table. Her cheeks aren’t flushed, so I think I may have escaped this situation unscathed.

“Now you’re staring at her face,” Aidan says, sounding perplexed. “Mom says it’s not polite to stare.”

Oh. Shit.

Mary looks up, but her gaze doesn’t reach mine.

“I was looking at the meatloaf,” I say with a forced smile. “Your mom’s face just happened to be in my line of sight. I’m starving.”

Mary’s struggling not to laugh, which is probably a lot better than she would’ve reacted if she knew that Aidan had also caught me looking at her luscious ass. Thank God I escaped that one.

“So what were you looking at instead of Mom’s butt?” he asks matter-of-factly.

Shit.

Mary’s eyes widen. “Aidan.”

“I was looking at the table,” I choke out.

“No,” Aidan says, getting out of his chair and moving to the edge of the living room. “You were right here, and Mom was right there.” He points to the doorway. “The table is over here.” Now he points to the table.

“I…uh…” I stammer.

Mary looks horrified.

I wonder if I should just get up, walk out to my car, and never look back, but Mary says, “I bet he was just thinking really hard. You know how when you think really hard, you don’t realize you’re staring at something, like a wall, or a car—”

“Or someone’s butt,” Aidan adds. “That does happen to me a lot.”

“Or someone’s butt,” Mary says, but it looks like she’s just swallowed glass. “You were just thinking about something else, weren’t you, Jace?”

My face turns hot, and my heart begins to race. There’s no way I can confess what I was actually thinking about.

“Right.” I swallow. “I was thinking about where we should start when we decorate the Christmas tree. The top or the bottom.”

“I start in the middle,” Aidan says. “I can’t reach the top.”

I nod solemnly. “That’s a great plan.”

“I need to get the potatoes.” Mary turns abruptly and darts back into the kitchen.

“Do you need help?” I call after her.

“No!” she sputters. “Why don’t you sit down with Aidan?”

Is she pissed? Embarrassed? Both?

I take my seat, catching sight of her scooping mashed potatoes from a pot into a bowl. She’s turned sideways, and I get a good view of her silhouette and the way her sweater clings to her breasts.

Turning away from her, I find that Aidan is looking at me.

“I really like potatoes,” I say lamely, then drop my gaze to my plate.

No more looking at Mary’s ass. Or her face. Or her breasts. Or any part of her. Well, maybe her feet. I mentally shake my head. No, then she might think I have a foot fetish. Just keep your eyes down or on the tree or on Aidan. Anywhere but on Mary.

She brings out the bowl and sits down. “I hope you brought your appetite,” she says, picking up her napkin and putting it on her lap. “It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for three. I may have made too much.”

“Dad doesn’t like meatloaf,” Aidan says as Mary puts a slice on his plate. “He said it’s bor-waa.”

Mary coughs. “He called it bourgeois.” She keeps her attention on the potatoes she’s piling onto Aidan’s plate. “And he didn’t mean it like Aunt Molly does when she calls something bougie. But you’ve always liked it, honey. I hope you’ll eat some tonight.”

He insulted Mary’s mother’s recipe. Only further proof that Glenn is a giant dick.

Mary hands me the potato bowl, and I scoop a generous helping onto my plate, then take two slices of the meatloaf. “Like I said, meatloaf is one of my favorite meals.”

Aidan carries the conversation during the rest of dinner, telling me about this weekend—he still doesn’t like his grandparents’ tree, and he and his grandparents attended a caroling event where every guest under twelve got to pick a small present—leaving little opportunity for me to embarrass myself any more than I already have. He eats almost his whole plate, and the pleased look on Mary’s face suggests it’s not a frequent occurrence.

After we finish, we carry our dishes to the kitchen. Mary starts to fill up the sink with hot water and suggests that Aidan and I decorate while she cleans the dishes, but I insist that we help her.

“It’s your tree too, Mary,” I say. “Plus, you strike me as the kind of woman who wants her tree decorated just so. We want to make sure we get it right the first time.” I grin. “No moving ornaments around after I leave and Aidan goes to bed.” When she flushes, I laugh. “Busted.”

“Jace is right,” Aidan says. “You have to help.”

“Many hands make light work,” I tease. “At least that’s what my mother used to say.”

“Does your mom have a Christmas tree?” Aidan asks.

“No,” I say, a lump unexpectedly filling my throat. “My mom died a few years ago.”

“What about your dad?”

“No. He died too.”

He gives me a confused look. “So you’re an orphan. Like Mom. And Harry Potter.”

I laugh. “Only I’m a muggle, so I never got my invite to Hogwarts.”

Mary turns to me with a worried look that suggests she understands just how difficult it is for me to speak about them. She knows because it’s hard for her to speak about her parents too. Even after all these years.

“If I had gone to Hogwarts,” I say, “I’d just use my magic wand to clean up the kitchen.”

“You don’t have a magic wand,” he says matter-of-factly.

Mary’s cheeks flush bright red, and I know we’re both thinking of the vibrator she stuffed in the kitchen drawer. Is it still there?

She catches me looking at the drawer, and her face turns so red it looks like she has a sunburn.

Apparently, we’re not the only ones who make the connection. “Mom has a magic wand,” he says, looking hopeful. “You said it was for grown-up stuff, Jace. Cleaning up is grown-up stuff. Mom can just use her magic wand to do the dishes.” He squints at Mary. “Mom, why is your face so red?”

“The water in the faucet is hot,” she says, keeping her gaze on the sink. “And it’s not that kind of magic wand.”

“Then what kind is it?”

“Uh…” she stammers, looking like she’s about to crawl out of her skin. Her eyes plead with me.

“It is a grown-up magic wand,” I say, “but it’s for things like talking to utility companies and making appointments with podiatrists.”

His nose scrunches. “What’s a podiatrist?”

“Someone who takes care of ingrown toenails and bunions.”

“A foot doctor,” Mary says, looking on the verge of giggling.

He looks even more confused. “What are bunions?”

“Exactly,” I say, holding out my hands. “What are bunions? Are they a vegetable? Are they unsightly foot bumps?” I shrug. “Thanks to the magic wand, we may never have to know.”

Aidan gives me a look that suggests I have lost my mind. “Magic’s fake.”

Still, he’s obviously not ready to let this topic go.

“Not necessarily,” I say, looking at Mary. “You just have to know where to look for it.”

“Magic’s real?” he asks as though his entire worldview has been turned on its axis.

“Not magic like Harry’s,” I say, giving him my full attention. “More like in the things around us. Like when it snows late at night, and everything is so quiet you can hear the snowflakes land. Or like when your cousin Mabel was born—childbirth is magic. Or when it’s summer, and you’re sitting in the backyard and fireflies come out. That’s magic too.”

“That’s not magic. That’s nature.”

“But when you let yourself really experience it,” I say, “it feels like magic.” Even as I say it, I realize this is probably too abstract for him to understand. “Or at least it is for me.”

“Me too,” Mary says, her face filled with wonder.

“Magic comes from magic wands,” Aidan scoffs. “And you don’t even have one that works.”

Mary’s gaze dips to my crotch, and then she quickly averts her gaze, swinging away to face the sink. I can swear I hear her mutter, “Don’t be so sure about that.”

We have the kitchen cleaned up in no time, and Mary starts a pan of hot chocolate, telling Aidan and me to go start decorating the tree. I finally concede and offer to start working on the lights.

Speaking of magic, the light strands aren’t tangled, and all the bulbs work, although I’m sure it has more to do with Mary’s thoroughness than some mystical force.

The tree is halfway lit when Mary joins us, and I consider it a success when she doesn’t de-string the whole thing and restring it. She only makes a few alterations, offering me an apologetic look.

“Sorry. It was just bugging me.”

“It’s your tree,” I say, unable to look away from her. “I’m just the hired help.”

“Did you hire him, Mom?” Aidan asks with a perplexed look. “Did you pay him to decorate the tree?”

“No,” I interject. “I was teasing. You and your mom fed me dinner, so now I’m working to pay it off. But it’s just a joke. I’m here because I want to be.” I give him a warm smile. “Honestly, there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

He seems content with that answer and joins Mary in guiding my placement of the lights. Once they’re finally placed to their mutual satisfaction, we start on the ornaments.

Many of Mary’s decorations were clearly bought with Aidan in mind—there must be five ankylosauruses—but others are older and have obvious sentimental meaning. It makes me think of our family trees growing up. We’d cut down a fresh tree and decorate it with popcorn garlands and candy canes along with handmade ornaments.

Mary picks up a tiny ceramic stocking that has a photo of a baby on it, Aidan’s name, and “First Christmas.”

Is she thinking about when Aidan was a baby? Or is she thinking about their first Christmas together, wishing her family was still intact? I doubt it’s the latter, but I can’t help thinking she wishes for something other than single parenthood.

She looks up, and our eyes lock. A soft smile forms on her lips, as though she realizes she’s been caught in her reminiscing, and I can’t help myself. I close the distance between us and pull her into a hug. Her body molds into mine, and I’m nearly bowled over by how right this feels—holding her, being part of this tree decorating, even eating dinner together. Like we are a family of three.

That thought stops me in my tracks. I gave up any hope of having a family of my own when I was sent to prison. This is not my family, and it never will be. I need to remember that.

I release her, and she looks up at me with glassy, red eyes.

“Thank you,” she says. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

“Would you like me to go?” I whisper. “I can make up an excuse for Aidan.” He’s on the other side of the tree right now, searching for the perfect spot for a Santa ornament.

“No,” she says with a short laugh. “You being here helps more than you know.” She plasters on a bright smile and holds up the ornament to show Aidan, who’s just emerged from his mission. “Looking at your baby pictures always makes me teary.”

“If you want to see a baby, you can go hold Baby Mabel,” Aidan says.

“I know, but it’s not the same,” she says with a wobbly smile, and I wonder if part of her emotional reaction is because she wants a brother or sister for Aidan.

Her voice jars me out of the thought. “We forgot the Christmas music!”

She grabs her phone, and seconds later Christmas music is playing from a speaker on the mantel.

It’s “Jingle Bells,” so I start singing. “Come on, Aidan. Sing with me.”

Soon the three of us are singing, and Mary starts to dance a little. It’s a simple shimmy, nothing like what she did on Friday night, but she still has a rhythm and natural grace most people can only wish for. She grabs Aidan’s hand and gets him to join her, then turns to me. Grinning, I take her hand and twirl her, giving Aidan a twirl next so he doesn’t feel left out.

This is what we needed to move past our awkwardness. We talk and laugh, sing and dance as we finish decorating the tree, until all that’s left is the star that goes at the top. Mary holds it in her hands and stares at it for a few seconds before handing it to me. “Here, Jace. You’re tall. You should put it on.”

I can easily reach the top without a stepladder or chair, but this is their tree, not mine, so I hand it to Aidan. “I think Aidan should have the honors. I’ll lift you up, and you put it on. Are you good with that?”

He nods, so I grab his waist and lift. With Mary’s direction, he gets it on top. Then I lower him and adjust the star, knowing that it would drive Mary crazy to see it listing to the right.

We all take a step back, Aidan between us, and study it, “O Holy Night” playing on the speaker. This is one of those picture-perfect moments you see on TV or in one of those Hallmark movies Mrs. Rosa is always going on about. I know it’s not mine, but I let myself have it anyway.

“It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever had,” Mary says, her voice full of tenderness.

“I’m glad we saved it,” Aidan says, “but it still has bare spots.”

“True,” I say, “but I think those imperfections are what make it so wonderful. It’s beautiful because of them, not in spite of them.”

Mary turns to look at me, and there’s a softness on her face that makes my chest tight. I’m physically aching with the need to touch her. To hold her in my arms.

“I think I should go,” I say. Before I do something I’ll regret.

The song ends, and the beginning notes for “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” begin to play.

“But you haven’t had any cookies yet,” Aidan says, grabbing my hand. “And you haven’t even seen Mom’s new room.”

“She has a new room?” I ask, quirking my brow.

She clears her throat. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I think I should be the judge of that,” I say with a laugh. “Aidan, lead the way.”

He starts down the hall, and I follow, wondering what I’ll find. I saw all those boxes, but she didn’t open any of them before we left to help Roger.

The painting Mary bought is still hanging on the wall, but she’s added an emerald green duvet cover, an old-fashioned Tiffany lamp on the bedside table, and a few other prints to the walls. Those small changes have transformed the room, and it feels totally different. More like the Mary I’m getting to know.

“She bought a painting,” Aidan says in awe. “A real one.”

Obviously, I can’t let him know I’ve seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”

He moves to the dresser and opens a drawer. “And she got new underwear too.” He lifts up a lacy black bra and matching panties. “But they feel itchy.”

I freeze in my tracks, my imagination running wild.

Did I inspire her to buy that?

“Aidan!” Mary protests, hurrying over and snatching the underthings from him and shoving them back in the drawer. “Jace doesn’t need to see those.”

“But it’s not fair. You got new underwear, but I didn’t.”

“You will,” she says, her face scarlet, “when you grow just a little bit more.”

The chorus for the Christmas song filters back into the bedroom. Aidan tilts up his head, then knits his brows. “Did that man’s grandma really get run over by a reindeer?”

“On that note, I better go,” I say, making a beeline for the door.

“Coward,” Mary teases behind me.

When I first arrived, I convinced myself I was brave just for being here. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I am a coward.