“So, what did Richard say?” I ask.

“Sent me the ‘cool’ emoji with the sunglasses, and a shower of kisses, and says he loves me.”

“I’m getting diabetes,” I say, smiling, and change the subject. “Before we get home, you need to be up to date on our narrative.”

“What narrative?” Blair asks.

“How Diego and I met, our first date, how long we’ve been together, and so on…”

“Oh, so we’re not telling people you picked him off a catalog?” she jokes.

“Blair, be serious, you have to memorize everything we tell you, and we only have about two hours.”

She pokes her head between the front seats to speak to Diego. “Don’t you hate her when she’s this bossy?” she asks him.

His only response is to throw back his head and let out a throaty laugh.

This is going to be the longest week of my life.

Eleven

There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays

Too soon for my cranky nerves, I’m pulling onto my street. The neighborhood in which Blair and I grew up resembles the perfect Christmas dream fairy tale at this time of the year—or nightmare, depending on one’s feelings toward the holidays. Rows and rows of perfectly-curated townhomes and gardens coated in dusty snow, mercilessly decorated to the death.

My house, in particular, could win the go-absolutely-nuts-with-fairy-lights competition. There isn’t a single tree or shrub that isn’t supporting some kind of illumination contraption. And on the lawn, they’ve scattered sparkly reindeers and a huge light-up sleigh. Even in daylight, the house is blinding, I wonder what it’ll do at night. Guess my mom ran off the bat with her daughters bringing home a fiancé and a new boyfriend, respectively.

I kill the car’s engine and turn back toward Blair. “Here we are.” She lives just across the street. “Are you coming over tonight after dinner?”

“Definitely,” Blair says, clipping on Chevron’s leash.

“All right.” I button up my coat, and we all get out of the car.

Diego helps Blair unload her bag and does the same with ours.

“Say hello to your parents,” Blair says, hugging me. “See you later.”

I watch her cross the street and then turn back toward my house, filled with dread.

I look up at Diego. “Ready?”

He nods.

“Let’s do this.”

I hook my travel bag over my shoulder next to my regular bag and walk up the driveway to the porch. My gloved finger has barely touched the doorbell when the door swings open to reveal Mom, Dad, and Julia crowding the threshold. If Diego was a real boyfriend, and not one paid to endure my family, I’d be dying of shame at their ill-concealed eagerness. Mom and Julia look like wolfhounds with the scent of a bone fresh in their nostrils.

Mom is poring over Diego in awe. I don’t think she even notices how hot he is; she’s just overwhelmed he’s the first boyfriend I’ve brought home since high school. Julia, on the other hand, is staring at him slightly slack-jawed. Ah, ah. Bet she was expecting me to introduce them to someone boring and possibly balding, not Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious. Take that, little sis.