Hold On (Page 170)

“There were a lot of variables, wanted to make sure it all went down—the inspection, what I asked to be fixed, what I was gonna suck up—so I didn’t tell you just in case it fell through. It all got worked out. Now I can tell you. Got an offer on the condo coupla weeks ago, took it. Sold the boat. I used that and savings as the down payment. Closing is set for Thursday on the house.”

She stared into his eyes. “What house?”

“Lake house,” he told her. “I close on this place in three weeks. Get that money, use some of it to do some updates. But I’m gonna have to live there while they get done.”

“You’re closing on the lake house.”

“Yeah.”

“That house you showed me on your laptop?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re closing on that.”

He grinned again. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna live there?”

His grin got bigger. “That’s what I said.”

“Ethan and me get sleepovers?”

They’d start with that.

They’d end with him having a lake house that looked like Jim Morrison bought the place, not Garrett.

He rolled her and answered, “Oh yeah.”

She was now on the bottom, staring up at him.

She did this awhile without speaking.

Then she declared, “For a housewarming, I get to buy you a kickass grill.”

He’d let her do that.

“You’re on.”

“And twenty tiki torches.”

Garrett burst out laughing.

When he was done, he saw she was smiling.

His brown-eyed girl…happy.

He knew a way to make her happier.

And he was on top.

So he dipped down and set about doing that.

In the end, he succeeded.

Chapter Twenty-Five

No Room for Tears

Cher

Thursday Morning, Mid-December

“We should do Christmas here,” Ethan said to Merry and me while sitting at the breakfast bar in Merry’s awesome new house, shoveling in some of Merry’s pancakes. “We can open presents, then go out and ice skate on the lake or something.”

“Kid, it hasn’t even snowed,” I reminded him. “There’s about a half a centimeter rim of ice that runs the edge of the lake and that’s it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get a deep freeze between now and then.”

“We don’t have ice skates,” I went on.

“That would be why we’d go out after we open presents. And just sayin’, ice skates are a big fat no. Hockey skates, though…” He let that hang.

And there it was. Shared with all the finesse of a hammer.

My kid wanted hockey skates for Christmas.

This did not fill me with joy. Hockey skates might lead to hockey lessons and hockey probably cost a mint. I didn’t have a mint nor would I ever.

But if my kid wanted hockey skates then hockey lessons, I’d find a way.

I just wished he’d turn his attention to Frisbee. A Frisbee champion needed functioning limbs and a plastic disc. Ethan luckily already had functioning limbs and I figured even the most expensive Frisbee you could get cost less than hockey skates.

On this thought, Merry spoke.

“Bud, don’t have any decorations and your place is already all set up, seein’ as we spent twelve hours straight decorating it a week ago and now it looks like Santa vomited all over the joint.”

Ethan busted out laughing.

I turned and glared at Merry.

Merry, not sitting but bent over his plate at the bar opposite Ethan, turned his attention from his plate of pancakes to me.

“What?” he asked, one side of his lips tipped up.

“I like Christmas,” I snapped.

“I can tell,” he replied.

Ethan kept laughing.

“I got a kid,” I stated. “You decorate for Christmas when you have a kid.”

“Mom, I quit believing in Santa Claus when I was six,” Ethan reminded me of the dire day he imparted that information on me, information he’d learned from some snot at school who had an older brother and sister, both of whom had big mouths as did Ethan’s snot friend. “Now I’m nearly twelve. I’m totally over the over-the-top Christmas stuff.”

“Yes, you did stop believing in Santa when you were six,” I confirmed. “You also quit getting presents from him when you quit believing in him. Think about that for a second, smart guy.”

The look on Ethan’s face told me he was thinking about it and I’d made my point.

I didn’t rub it in.

But I did keep at him.

“And you’re not nearly twelve. You’re eleven and two months. That isn’t even close to nearly twelve.”

I was right, of course. It wasn’t.

But it was more that I couldn’t think of my kid as “nearly twelve.” This meant, after that, he’d be nearly thirteen and then nearly fourteen and then nearly out of the house, off to college, then getting married to some bitch who better treat him right or I’d cut her.

So no.

I couldn’t think of Ethan being nearly twelve until he actually was nearly twelve.

“Just sayin’, babe,” Merry started, and I looked down at him. “Dudes and chicks are different. Women spend most of their lives denying their age. Men spend theirs living for retirement.”

This was true.

And it sucked.

“That’s because chicks stop bein’ hot at around thirty-five and men can be hot for, like, ever,” Ethan declared, and I turned my now-far-more-intensified glare to him.