“Not bad,” Noelle said, pulling back so she could look down into Miriam’s face.
Miriam looked up, and their eyes caught. Inevitably, their foreheads touched, then their cold noses. They stood without moving, breathing each other in, letting the moment linger. Miriam giggled, and Noelle grinned even wider. Satisfaction surged through her when Miriam shivered against her. By the time their lips met, time had stopped completely.
“I would say that qualifies as a damn great job,” Miriam agreed after they pulled apart. “And now I’m freezing.”
They walked together into the inn, the dark quiet around them. They found the rest of the Carrigan’s crew waiting in the kitchen, with hot spiced cider.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Hannah said, holding up her mug. Her eyes met Noelle’s, and all their love for each other, all the dreams they’d built and the lives they’d intertwined and secrets they’d only shared with each other, passed between them. Hannah’s mouth quirked up, and Noelle’s heart soared. She knew, even before Hannah finished saying anything.
They weren’t going to lose Carrigan’s.
“I heard back from the Rosensteins, and they thought the event was a huge success. They’re ready to sign on to the plan we present to the bank. To Carrigan’s All Year!” Hannah shouted, and the room erupted.
“To Carrigan’s All Year!”
Chapter 18
Miriam
Miriam walked downstairs the next morning grouchy, hoping to hide out in the kitchen and avoid all the festivities. She got to a point in every holiday season when she was Christmased out and ready to graffiti dreidels on random Santa displays.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked into the great room. The guests were gathered in their Christmas pajamas, wrapped in blankets and snuggling in front of the fire. Outside, the wind was whipping the trees into song, the ice crackling on the roof. The cold had become sentient overnight, the kind of cold that made you whisper out of fear that it would steal your voice along with your breath.
Around the tree, piles of presents in bright metallics reflected the lights.
In the center of the room, Noelle sat criss-cross applesauce with a giant bow in her hair, in tree-patterned long johns that left little of her curves to the imagination. Her hair was sleep-mussed and she was laughing at something Mrs. Matthews had said.
On a table along the wall, there were piles of cinnamon rolls, carafes of mimosas, and—Miriam noticed, shining like a beacon—multiple pots of coffee. As she walked in, Noelle saw her and waved wildly.
“I love Christmas morning!” she shouted happily.
Miriam blew her a kiss. She was tempted to lean into Noelle’s warmth, but through the kitchen doors she saw Mr. Matthews sitting at the blue-tiled island, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. That was what her mood needed. Miriam took a moment to look him over, since she so rarely saw him in stillness. His hair was grayer, his wrinkles deeper, which was to be expected after a decade. She poured herself a coffee and slid in next to him, clinking her cup against his in wordless cheers.
Mr. Matthews grunted.
“Can I sit here with you? I’ll be quiet, I promise.”
“When have I ever not wanted your company?” He raised a bushy eyebrow at her. “All my kids are always welcome in our kitchen.”
She teared up at him calling her one of his kids. They sat, warm and quiet and comfortable, for a long time, listening to the sounds from around the tree.
While everyone was re-creating all of Cass’s favorite Christmas Day traditions (she thought Cole might perish from excitement over the reindeer races), Miriam went looking for her mother. She was standing just outside the action, watching.
“You know you’re allowed to have fun, right?” Miriam asked her.
“I don’t remember how,” Ziva admitted, sitting stiffly on the same chaise that Miriam had wanted to turn into a moose.
“You realize how depressing that sounds.”
“Yes, poor sad rich woman with the shitty husband, please pity me.” Ziva held her hand up to her forehead in a vaudevillian gesture. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”
Miriam rolled her eyes at her mom managing to make Miriam’s birthday about herself.
“You’ve missed all my birthdays since middle school, Mom. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I’m impressed that you managed to get away, now.” She leaned back against the other end of the chaise, really looking at her mother, trying to figure her out. For that matter, trying to figure herself out. What was driving her, now, to try to find common ground? Was it just Carrigan’s, making her defenses low?
Maybe if she could decode her mom, she could start to heal the mountain of hurt that had been suffocating her for so long.
“I’d like to stop missing them. I’d like to stop missing all your life, eventually.” Ziva looked over at her, and Miriam cocked her head, considering this.