She’d thought she had a solid grip, but one of the bottles shifted and slipped out of her hands, shattering, slow motion, on the floor. The smell of merlot filled the kitchen.
Noelle coughed. “Well, that smell takes me back to the bad old days.” She smiled ruefully as she headed for the broom to sweep up the glass shards.
Mr. Matthews shooed her away from the mess. “You know I would have taken care of the wine.”
“You were busy fixing the tractor, and we have to get ready for tonight, Ben.”
Mr. Matthews swatted her with the broom until she went to see if Miriam needed help with the rolls.
“You call him Ben?!” Miriam whispered to her. “I’ve never called him Ben in the thirty-five years I’ve known him!”
“You’re jealous that they love me more,” Noelle teased, nudging her shoulder as Miriam stood at the kitchen island working.
“I’m glad they love you so much,” Miriam said quietly. “You deserve it.” She scooted over a tray of rolls. “Do you ever talk about them? The bad old days?”
Noelle took the basting brush from her and dipped it in the butter, watching the bristles drip but not brushing the rolls. Kringle sat under her feet, watching her intently and waiting for her to drop butter on the floor. She didn’t want to give Miriam a drunkalogue of every afternoon she woke up hungover with an answering machine message from the school about truancy that her parents would ignore, every girl who she went home with from a party when she was too young for parties or girls.
But she wanted to be honest.
“They were a very long time ago, so long that sometimes I forget that I’m the person it happened to,” she finally said. “I started drinking when I was ten, drinking hard when I was thirteen. I drank everything I could get my hands on all through high school.” And it was easy to get her hands on whatever, because her parents were happy to have her drinking with them.
“Then senior year, I had a crush on a girl who went to young people’s AA meetings, so I started going to impress her. We didn’t get together, and she didn’t stay sober, but it stuck for me. I worked my ass off to retake my SATs and send out my college applications. I had a great school librarian who went way out of her way to help, and by some miracle, I got in.”Without any help from my parents, who could only complain that I wasn’t fun anymore, she thought.
“I quit for good, I hope, when I was eighteen, then spent a few years trying to catch up to everyone else, emotionally. I barely knew what it meant to be human at that point. I’d been basically feral for a long time.”
Miriam looked up at her, all big hazel eyes, and Noelle’s heart somersaulted. “I’m so glad. That you’re sober. That you’re here. That you’re you.”
“Me too. I’m really glad to be me, and here, and sober right now,” Noelle agreed, dropping her forehead to Miriam’s.
Mrs. Matthews, Mr. Matthews, and Hannah all sought her out at some point during the dinner to rib her gently about how she and Miriam were finally, as Hannah put it, “dealing with the incredibly annoying sexual tension that’s making it difficult to get any work done around here.”
Noelle almost wished they’d hidden their new relationship for a little while, until she realized that every time they passed, they reached out for the small of a back or the crook of a neck, like magnets. Until she looked up in the middle of a conversation to find Miriam watching her, and she knew her face must have transformed with wanting, because a blush rose immediately on Miriam’s cheeks. Noelle wanted to run her fingers over that pink skin, to see how much pinker she could make it, how much of Miriam’s body blushed. She realized there was no hiding this.
Goddamn it. All her bullshit talk about how she couldn’t fall in love and she was already three-fourths gone for this woman. They’d only just started kissing.
She was so screwed.
Now she had to hope like hell she really could trust Miriam with her heart.
Christmas Eve morning dawned brilliant, with piles of snow glinting in the sun that had finally come out. Mr. Matthews had valiantly plowed the roads through to town, and the Carrigan’s shuttle was running nonstop.
The front lawn had been transformed into a bazaar, with booths packed in where decorated trees had once been. The humane society was selling roasted chestnuts and locally made wreaths. The music store had kazoos, penny whistles, harmonicas—all good things to put in stockings and then hide by the end of Christmas Day when the noise got overwhelming. There was a paperback book swap tent, where everyone dropped off the romances and mysteries and sci-fi they had accumulated over the year and took away new-to-them treasures.
Mr. Matthews was in his traditional Santa suit, taking last-minute gift requests (to the panic of parents) and photos. Cole, dressed as an elf, directed traffic. The costume had been around for decades, and the green velveteen was worn at the knees. One of the Velcro tabs had come off the back just as Cole was supposed to be out front, and the fabric was currently safety-pinned together. Since it had been designed for someone shorter than Cole’s six foot five inches, it stopped at his calves. He had added on knee-high red socks with a snowflake pattern (an early stocking stuffer from Hannah) and a pair of fur-lined boat shoes that he had ordered via overnight delivery.
He proclaimed it the happiest day of his life.
Mrs. Matthews ladled out her famous homemade eggnog from her booth. Hannah was by the carriage house, bundling couples into the sleigh for romantic rides through the pines. Joshua Matthews had taken the train up that morning with his family and was driving the sleigh while seven-year-old Grant “supervised.” Esther Matthews had brought a surprise boyfriend, improbably named Rocket, whom she hadn’t told her parents about.
Mrs. Matthews didn’t like him.
Miriam had deputized Esther to run the livestream on Blum Again’s Facebook page, and she was wandering around charmingly describing the festival for the Bloomers and the Rosensteins who were watching to judge the success of the event.
Ziva had arrived that morning (but not, Noelle had noticed, in time for Miriam’s birthday). She was holding court among the long-term returning families, telling fully orchestrated dramatic renditions of Carrigan’s Christmases of Old, with plenty of haggling over details from the people who had also been there. Fisticuffs nearly broke out over the origin of the reindeer races.
A bluegrass band played Christmas carols from the porch, where they had set themselves up. Ernie was at the upright bass and the librarian was burning up banjo solos. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” on bluegrass fiddle was a soul-altering experience. Everyone was moving, everything was glowing.
After lunch, Elijah and Jason were trying to corral the twins, who were flitting from booth to booth and begging for a second Christmas tree.