“Why did you adopt me?” I demand, cutting off her speech about the atrociousness of my speech. “If I’m so awful to listen to—if you can’t bear to sacrifice any of your precious writing time for me. If you can’t even give me twelve days in a cabin you haven’t visited in over twelve years, why did you adopt me in the first place?”

Mom blinked and finally dropped the royal we to say, “The Muse has alighted upon my soul. She has finally agreed to unlock the iron cage where this last story resides, and you wish to question me about my spectacularly poor mothering abilities now?”

Now, it was my turn to blink. “Wait, you knew you were a bad mother?”

“Of course, I did,” she answered, throwing up her hands. “I told your father as much when he entreated me to adopt you. But you never complained. Not once. So I assumed you were fine with the scant mothering I provided you.”

Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning.

I’d cried and cried over the way people had treated me, alone by myself. But I’d never spoken up. Not with Mom. Not with Josh. I’d always kept my feelings to myself, even when Shelby, the worst person I’d ever known, stole my Christmas cards and claimed them as her own.

What happened with Josh—yes, it was all my fault. But not for the reasons I’d assumed when I let him walk out the door. It was all my fault because I should have spoken up and told him how I felt instead of letting some mean girl turned reality star just take the only guy I’ve ever loved.

My love mattered. I mattered. And it was time—time for me to be too much.

“Go home to your huge house to write this book,” I ordered Mom. “Tell your muse to meet you there.”

My mother snatched off her readers. “Surely, you must be jesting.”

I took Mom by the arm and pulled her out of my desk chair.

“I am not,” I assured her, guiding her toward the back door. “If you want this cabin that you’ve barely earned and said I could have for twelve days, come back on December 26th.”

“But—”

“A promise is a promise with me—and binding,” I reminded her. “See you on the 26th, Mom.”

I didn’t give her the chance to protest again. Just placed her on the other side of the door before slamming it shut and doing something she’d never bothered to do. Locking it.

She knocked and protested outside and even dropped a few base curse words.

But guess what still worked even when you have no reception? Noise-canceling headphones.

I slipped mine on and started to write. Not the book. That would have to wait.

No, this was a gift. A gift for Josh.

Chapter Eight

This Christmas