Read Online Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances by John Green, Lauren Myracle, Maureen Johnson - Free Book Online Page B
Ads: Link
before.”
Debbie got up and poured me some of the coffee, setting the cup down in front of me, along with a gallon of milk and a massive sugar bowl.
“I know that this must be a very rough experience for you,” she said, “but I believe in miracles. I know it sounds corny, but I do. And I feel like you coming here has been a little one for us.”
I glanced up at her as I poured milk into my coffee and almost flooded the cup. I had noticed a sign in the bathroom that said FREE HUGS GIVEN HERE! There’s nothing wrong with that—Debbie was clearly a nice person—but she maybe veered toward the goofy side of soppy.
“Thanks?” I said.
“What I mean is . . . Stuart looks happier today than he has in . . . Well, I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but . . . Well, he may already have told you. He tells everyone, and you two already seem to have hit it off, so . . . ”
“Told me what?”
“About Chloe,” she said, wide-eyed. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“Who’s Chloe?”
Debbie had to get up and slice me a thick piece of cake before she could answer. And I do mean thick. Harry Potter volume seven thick. I could have knocked out a burglar with this piece of cake. Once I tasted it, though, it seemed just the right size. Debbie didn’t fool around when it came to the butter and sugar.
“Chloe,” she said, lowering her voice, “was Stuart’s girlfriend. They broke up three months ago, and he . . . well, he’s such a sweet guy . . . he took it so hard. She was terrible to him. Terrible. Last night was the first night in a long time that I saw a spark of the old Stuart, when you were sitting there with him.”
“I . . . what?”
“Stuart has such a good heart,” she went on, oblivious to the fact that I had frozen, a bite of cake halfway to my mouth. “When his father, and Rachel’s father, my ex-husband, left, he was just twelve. But you should have seen how he helped me and how he was with Rachel. He’s such a good guy.”
I didn’t know where to begin. There was something shockingly awkward about discussing Stuart’s breakup with his mom. The expression is: a boy’s best friend is his mother. It’s not: a boy’s best pimp is his mother. It’s that way for a reason.
Even worse, if it could get any worse, which it apparently could . . . I was the balm that had healed her son’s wounds. Her Christmas miracle. She was going to keep me here forever, stuffing me with cake and dressing me in oversize sweatshirts. I would be Bride of Flobie.
“You live in Richmond, right?” she chattered on. “That’s, what, a two- or three-hour drive. . . . ”
I was thinking about locking myself in the bathroom again, when Rachel came bounding in the doorway and skidding up to me in her slippers. She climbed halfway up onto my lap and studied my eyes up close. She still needed a bath.
“What’s the matter?” she said. “Why are you crying?”
“She misses her family,” Debbie said. “It’s Christmas, and she can’t see them because of the snow.”
“We’ll take care of you,” Rachel said, taking my hand and doing that adorable “let me tell you a secret” voice that little kids can get away with. In the light of her mother’s recent comments, though, it seemed kind of threatening.
“That’s nice, Rachel,” Debbie said. “Why don’t you go and brush your teeth like a big girl? Jubilee here can brush her teeth.”
Can, but hadn’t. No toothbrush in my backpack. I was really not at my best when I packed.
I heard the front door open, and a moment later, Stuart arrived in the kitchen with the snowsuit.
“I just had to look at two hundred photos on a digital picture frame,” he said. “Two hundred. Mrs. Henderson really wanted me to know just how amazing it was that it could hold two hundred photos. Did I mention that there were two hundred of them? Anyway.”
He set the snowsuit down, then excused himself to go change his jeans, which were soaked
Debbie got up and poured me some of the coffee, setting the cup down in front of me, along with a gallon of milk and a massive sugar bowl.
“I know that this must be a very rough experience for you,” she said, “but I believe in miracles. I know it sounds corny, but I do. And I feel like you coming here has been a little one for us.”
I glanced up at her as I poured milk into my coffee and almost flooded the cup. I had noticed a sign in the bathroom that said FREE HUGS GIVEN HERE! There’s nothing wrong with that—Debbie was clearly a nice person—but she maybe veered toward the goofy side of soppy.
“Thanks?” I said.
“What I mean is . . . Stuart looks happier today than he has in . . . Well, I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but . . . Well, he may already have told you. He tells everyone, and you two already seem to have hit it off, so . . . ”
“Told me what?”
“About Chloe,” she said, wide-eyed. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“Who’s Chloe?”
Debbie had to get up and slice me a thick piece of cake before she could answer. And I do mean thick. Harry Potter volume seven thick. I could have knocked out a burglar with this piece of cake. Once I tasted it, though, it seemed just the right size. Debbie didn’t fool around when it came to the butter and sugar.
“Chloe,” she said, lowering her voice, “was Stuart’s girlfriend. They broke up three months ago, and he . . . well, he’s such a sweet guy . . . he took it so hard. She was terrible to him. Terrible. Last night was the first night in a long time that I saw a spark of the old Stuart, when you were sitting there with him.”
“I . . . what?”
“Stuart has such a good heart,” she went on, oblivious to the fact that I had frozen, a bite of cake halfway to my mouth. “When his father, and Rachel’s father, my ex-husband, left, he was just twelve. But you should have seen how he helped me and how he was with Rachel. He’s such a good guy.”
I didn’t know where to begin. There was something shockingly awkward about discussing Stuart’s breakup with his mom. The expression is: a boy’s best friend is his mother. It’s not: a boy’s best pimp is his mother. It’s that way for a reason.
Even worse, if it could get any worse, which it apparently could . . . I was the balm that had healed her son’s wounds. Her Christmas miracle. She was going to keep me here forever, stuffing me with cake and dressing me in oversize sweatshirts. I would be Bride of Flobie.
“You live in Richmond, right?” she chattered on. “That’s, what, a two- or three-hour drive. . . . ”
I was thinking about locking myself in the bathroom again, when Rachel came bounding in the doorway and skidding up to me in her slippers. She climbed halfway up onto my lap and studied my eyes up close. She still needed a bath.
“What’s the matter?” she said. “Why are you crying?”
“She misses her family,” Debbie said. “It’s Christmas, and she can’t see them because of the snow.”
“We’ll take care of you,” Rachel said, taking my hand and doing that adorable “let me tell you a secret” voice that little kids can get away with. In the light of her mother’s recent comments, though, it seemed kind of threatening.
“That’s nice, Rachel,” Debbie said. “Why don’t you go and brush your teeth like a big girl? Jubilee here can brush her teeth.”
Can, but hadn’t. No toothbrush in my backpack. I was really not at my best when I packed.
I heard the front door open, and a moment later, Stuart arrived in the kitchen with the snowsuit.
“I just had to look at two hundred photos on a digital picture frame,” he said. “Two hundred. Mrs. Henderson really wanted me to know just how amazing it was that it could hold two hundred photos. Did I mention that there were two hundred of them? Anyway.”
He set the snowsuit down, then excused himself to go change his jeans, which were soaked
Similar Books
