Christmas Inn Maine Read online

  “Oh, yeah. They seem like great kids,” I said, because that was a thing you were supposed to say to people about their kids, right?

  “We’re playing Scrabble over here, would you like to join us?” No, I definitely did not.

  “I’m okay,” I said. I wanted Laina to come back and bring me some napkins to fold so people would stop coming up to me.

  “Just thought I would ask. There’s also books in the den, if you’re interested.” My books were upstairs. I had to stop leaving my room without a book in my hand. That was just asking for disaster.

  “What kind of books?” I asked, and then I was getting up and walking toward the books, as if drawn there by a spell. I couldn’t help it.

  “So fiction is here, non-fic is over there,” she said. The books were on shelves and in hutches and pilled on surfaces and just . . . everywhere. It was meant to look haphazard, but I had the feeling everything had been carefully arranged. Bowls of pinecones and berries sat atop huge art volumes and holly decorated the tops of all the hutches and bookshelves. I looked up and saw mistletoe hanging from both of the chandeliers in the room. Uh oh. Definitely gonna avoid that shit.

  There was someone sitting and reading in front of the fireplace, and I didn’t need to see anything other than the hair draped across the back of the wing chair to know who it was.

  “Hey, what are you doing in here?” Greta said, walking in front of the chair to talk to Laura.

  “Taking a break,” Laura said. I heard her close her book and get out of the chair. I tried to see the title of the book, but couldn’t. Our eyes locked and it became hard to breathe. I didn’t know what to say or do, so I just kind of wobbled on my feet until Greta cleared her throat and asked me if I wanted some tea.

  “Sure,” I said, and she left the room in a rush, leaving me and Laura alone. Why weren’t there more people in here? Objectively, this was the best room in the inn.

  Bing Crosby played softly from a turntable as the fire crackled.

  “You must go through a lot of firewood,” I said. There were so many damn fireplaces here and they were always lit, as far as I’d seen.

  “We do. I have to haul it in nearly every day,” she said. She’d changed from her work outfit and had on sweater that was probably cashmere and black pants with leopard-print ballet flats. Did she ever look casual?

  “Are you off the clock?”

  “For a few hours. I’ll be back on for dinner. We’re short some of our regular help, so here I am.”

  “It sucks that you can’t relax on your vacation.” Sure, she was a pain in my ass, but the one thing I could say for her was that she worked hard. We both did. I just hoped I worked a little bit harder and got a promotion. I couldn’t afford not to.

  “It’s fine,” she said, fiddling with the spine of the book.

  “What are you reading?” Books were my comfort zone. I could talk to just about anyone about books.

  “Sense and Sensibility,” she said, holding the hardcover up.

  “Good choice,” I said, nodding.

  “I didn’t ask for your approval,” she snapped. Yikes. She turned away from me and sat back down in the chair. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I found my feet carrying me over to the fireplace and into the chair that was next to hers.

  “I’m so fucking tired,” she said, rubbing her face with her hands. I’d said the same thing not that long ago.

  “At least your car isn’t fucked up and you didn’t rent an imaginary cottage like I did.” I wasn’t going to live that one down. I was going to be ancient and still remember this whole thing with embarrassment. Not one of my finer moments.

  Greta arrived with an actual tea tray. With a sugar bowl and everything.

  “Here we are. I also brought some cookies in case you wanted a little something.” It was nearly lunchtime, but I wasn’t going to say no to a cookie.

  “Thank you,” I said, picking up a little gingerbread cookie that was decorated with white frosting.

  “Thanks, Greta,” Laura said, and there was an edge to her voice. The cousins shared a look that I couldn’t interpret and then Greta left again.

  “What was that about?”

  “Nothing,” Laura said, glaring into her teacup as if it had offended her.

  Laura and I sat in silence as I munched on a cookie and she sipped her tea. It was tense, and I wanted to run away. I was saved from having to do that with the arrival of Minnie.

  “Hello, piggy. Can she have cookies?” I asked. I had no idea what pigs could and couldn’t eat. I’d never had a pet before, other than a goldfish that died a week after I won it at a carnival and for which my dad had given a grand funeral, even pulling out his old trumpet to play “Taps” as we flushed it.

  “She can have pretty much anything.” Minnie put her chin on my knee and made this cute little snuffling noise and wagged her tail back and forth. There was a tiny little bow on it. How cute.

  “Here you go, Minnie,” I said, holding a cookie out for her. She took it delicately from my fingers and crunched it.

  “How did your great-grandmother end up with a huge pig?” Laura snorted and I stared at her. She shook her head and I saw a little break in her armor.

  “She meant to buy a teacup pig. She ordered her online and then made my mom take her to the airport to pick Minnie up. She was tiny for a few weeks, but then she started growing and growing and we realized she’d been scammed, but by then it was too late and Nan loved her, so she stayed.” That was so cute.

  “I can’t believe she spent five thousand dollars on a pig.” I stared at her, my mouth open.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. But it’s her money, she can spend it how she wants. Whether that’s on scam pigs or vintage gowns or books or anything else.” I was guessing Lillian had a lot of money. This whole family seemed to. I wanted to get to the root of that, but you couldn’t really come out and say “hey, where is your generational wealth from?”

  “Goals,” I said, about Lillian.

  “She is.” Laura let a soft smile cross her face and I realized that I rarely saw her smile. Granted, I rarely looked at her for longer than a few seconds or acknowledged her presence. I tried to keep my head down and my eyes on the prize at the office.

  Minnie scampered off and I was left alone with Laura again, so I got up and started browsing the shelves. There was quite a collection, including an entire hutch full of romance. Our agency did all kinds of books, but the agent Laura and I assisted for did mostly adult romance, young adult books, and selective non-fiction. It was a good variety, so we got to see all kinds of submissions.

  I pulled a recent romance that I actually had a copy of in my suitcase upstairs and sat back down to read. I could feel Laura watching me for a few moments, but then she went back to reading her own book.

  My body sunk into the chair and I pulled my feet up, kicking off my shoes. In between bites of delicious cookies and sips of tea, I let myself fall into the book and everything else around me fell away. I even forgot about Laura until she coughed and got up to put a different record on.

  “It’s time for lunch,” Greta said, pausing in the entryway between the den and the dining room. “Come sit with us, Colden.” I wanted to protest, but Laura was glaring at me and I found myself agreeing, just to annoy her.

  “Great,” Greta said, and I followed her into the dining room.

  They’d pushed several tables together, and I found myself sitting next to Laura, with Greta on my other side. Her husband, Hank was next to her. He beamed at me and said hello, and then everyone else at the table introduced themselves. I was never going to remember anyone’s name, but I tried to put a face and a name together in my mind. There were aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents.

  “How much of your family is here?” I asked Laura, as the menus were passed around.

  “A lot,” she said. I’d hazard a guess that half the town had the last name of Sterling, or was related to someone who did. I shudder
ed and it brought me back to my own small-town upbringing. I’d hated it.

  This time Laura didn’t wait on me, but it was Michelle, who’d traded out her front-desk attire for the waitress uniform.

  Laura ordered the winter vegetable salad with grilled chicken and I got the same. Once we’d all gotten through our orders, it was back to having nearly every single set of eyes on me. That was pretty intimidating.

  “Are you going to stay for Christmas?” Hank asked. “You can help us find the pickle.” Laura sighed heavily beside me.

  “I’m sorry, the what?”

  “The Christmas pickle,” Hank said, and Greta smiled at him in the way that people who were in love smiled at the object of their affection.

  “And what would that be?” I asked. Surely this wasn’t going to turn into a dirty story? There were children around.

  “Every year someone hides the Christmas pickle ornament on one of the trees on Christmas Eve, and everyone gets a chance to look for it. If you find it, you get to open one present before you go to sleep, and then you get to be the pickle hider for the next year. I’m the pickle hider this year.” He seemed really jazzed about this pickle thing and that was pretty charming to see a middle-aged man excited about something so silly.

  “Do you have any traditions?” he asked, and I felt Greta nudge him.

  “Uh, not really.” I didn’t want to talk about celebrating Christmas anymore.

  Greta hissed something in Hank’s ear, and his face went a little red.

  I was saved from answering by the arrival of drinks and then Laina started a conversation about the weather that got everyone really animated for some reason.

  “Are you still she today?” Laura said in my ear, leaning close. A light scent hit my nose, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew I’d smelled it before, and I realized it must be Laura’s perfume.

  “Yes, I’m still she,” I said. “Do, um, have you told them? About me?” Most of the time I just let people think I was a cis woman because it was easier than explaining what being nonbinary was to someone who thought there were only two genders.

  “Yes, they know. Michelle is queer too, Mel and Sue are married, Judy and Susan are married, Uncle Dan is trans, and then there’s me. This is a very queer family. Nan gives out free hugs at Pride every year.” Wow. I had no idea. I looked around the table and saw nothing but kindness radiating back at me. How unexpected.

  I relaxed a little more and chatted with Greta and Hank, and Griffin wandered in to get some food and then wandered away again. There was a small group of surly teens he seemed to be a part of that used the inn as their hangout place until Laina sent them outside to shovel the parking lot or to get more wood for the fires.

  The food was still incredible and the talk at the table was nice. I didn’t feel the need to participate, I could just sit back and be involved, but not have to speak.

  Laura was tense beside me the whole time, and I wanted to tell her to calm the fuck down because it was getting annoying. What was her deal?

  After lunch, I decided I wanted to get outside, even though it was freezing. I went and got my coat, put on my books, and covered up nearly every bit of exposed skin before going back down to the lobby.

  “Where are you going?” Laura asked. She’d been leaning on the counter and talking to Michelle.

  “To the beach,” I said, my voice muffled by the scarf covering my mouth.

  “It’s freezing out,” Laura said.

  “Thanks for pointing that out, I had no idea,” I said, gesturing to my outfit.

  “You’re going to get lost,” she said.

  “No, I’m not. The ocean is right there,” I said, pointing toward the front door. Laura closed her eyes as if she was losing her patience.

  “Give me ten minutes.” She headed for the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’m going to grab my boots and my coat and I’m going with you. With your luck you’ll get eaten by a bear or slip on the ice and fall into the ocean and drown.”

  “I’m not that helpless,” I said. “I have been near the ocean before without incident.” I wasn’t going to tell her about that one time my dad had to rescue me.

  Laura ignored me and continued up the stairs.

  “Do you want to come? Now I’m afraid she’s going to push me in the ocean,” I said to Michelle.

  “I wish I could, but I have to watch the desk.” Great, it was going to be just me and Laura.

  She came back downstairs in a puffy coat with a fur-lined hood (hopefully fake) and boots.

  “Come on,” she said, putting the hood up in dramatic fashion before heading for the front door. I thought about bolting upstairs and locking the door and staying in for the rest of the day, but I really needed some sunshine on my face, even if it was really cold out.

  “Oh, shit it’s cold,” was the first thing I said as the inn door shut behind us.

  “Told you,” Laura said.

  Three

  “Come on,” Laura said, walking carefully up the driveway. It was icy in places, so I stepped as gingerly as I could so I didn’t have all my weight in one foot.

  “You look ridiculous,” Laura said as I picked my way to the shoveled path that wasn’t covered in ice.

  “Shut up, at least I didn’t fall.”

  Laura kept walking and I stayed behind her until we crossed the road and headed toward the beach. The wind whipped at the strands of hair that had escaped from under my hat.

  The beach was deserted and mostly covered in snow. Piles upon piles of seaweed had built up and crunched loudly as we stepped over them. I nearly tripped on a piece of driftwood and grabbed for Laura to steady myself.

  “Sorry,” I said, but she was silent.

  The waves lapped at the sand as we walked and tried to stay warm.

  “Why did you want to come out here?” Laura said.

  “I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. In spite of my thick coat, the ocean wind whipped through the nooks and crannies and chilled me to the bone.

  “Sometimes I come out here and walk,” she said, looking out at the water that was the color of iron. Unforgiving and cold as hell.

  “Do you come back here for every holiday?”

  “Yeah. I’m kind of obligated.” Her breath looked like smoke in the air.

  “Do you like anything about it?” She hadn’t seemed to, but maybe that was just because she didn’t like me.

  “Oh, I love visiting, but I wouldn't want to move back. I’m pretty much one of the only people who’ve left town. I think my mom had a mental breakdown when I announced I was leaving for college and probably not coming back. I think she tries to lure me to come work with her, but it’s not going to work. I’m not living here.” That was exactly how I felt about my own hometown. So many people were born there, lived there, and then died there, and never ventured anywhere else. If that worked for them, great, but expecting everyone to feel the same way as they did was a constant annoyance to me.

  “Your family seems great.”

  “That’s because they’re not your family.” I laughed.

  “Fair enough.” We covered the length of the beach and reached the edge that was studded with rocks that were covered in snow.

  “Another lap?” she asked, and I nodded. My entire body was pretty much numb now, so the cold wasn’t bothering me anymore.

  “You don’t have family to spend Christmas with?” she asked. “Sorry, that sounded accusatory. I didn't mean it that way.”

  I didn’t really want to talk about this, but the cold must have loosened my tongue.

  “Not really, no.” As little as I knew about her history, she didn’t know anything about me because I did my best not to share anything that was even remotely personal.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That must be hard.”

  I made a non-committal sound.

  “I’m sorry I’m such a bit
ch right now. I just . . . all I wanted was to have a break from my family trying to get me to come back here and just being around them is a lot. Plus, I get roped into helping because ‘that’s what family does’ and I just get tired.” I could understand that.

  “And then having me here probably didn’t help.”

  She looked over at me.

  “No, not really.”

  I thought back to the first day we’d met, when I’d walked into the office and been introduced to her.

  “Hi,” she said, shaking my hand. My initial impression was that she was beautiful and cold, but I chalked that up to being nervous too. We had a meeting-slash-orientation with our new boss, Ping, who went over our job descriptions and set expectations for what we’d be doing.

  I’d started out doing an internship at another publishing house, but Laura had started here, so she already had a leg up on me and that was beyond irritating when she seemed to have a rapport with everyone, even though it was her first day as a paid employee. The real problems started when Ping assigned projects and she jumped in and tried to take every single one, told me what I should be doing, and just . . . took over. I’d never seen someone so aggressive about anything, and it was an adjustment. My nerves got the better of me and I was flustered the whole day, making little mistakes and not the best first impression. I also spilled coffee all over my brand-new tan pants and had to wear them like that the rest of the day.

  Her confidence in what she said and her ideas was like sandpaper against my skin. What the hell did she know? Who was she? I couldn’t figure her out.

  In the year since we’d started working together, my conflict with her had just grown. I swear she searched through the submissions box at all hours of the night to nab the most promising ones that she could read and then send to Ping. I had no proof, but when we met to discuss who would read what, I almost always got the crappy ones that went right in the trash. It was like a race with her, and I was up for it, but she’d still managed to get the jump on me enough times.