Santa's Playbook. Karen Templeton
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wasn’t the issue. The issue was that the child really was hurting, and for her dad more than for herself. That put a whole different spin on things, one she wondered if Ethan even realized. “Your heart’s in the right place, wanting someone to fill the gap in your lives. Especially your dad’s. But as I said, you can’t force these things to happen. If you father’s not ready—”
“But how does he know that if he won’t even try? It’s been more than three years already!”
“And I know, for you, that feels like a long time. For your dad, it might feel like no time at all.” She let go. “You know, not every kid in your situation is down with getting a new parent. In fact, many are absolutely horrified by the idea—”
“And you don’t think I’m not? Hey, I devoured fairy tales when I was little—all those wicked stepmothers?” She shuddered. “Serious nightmare material. So yeah, while I think things would be much better if Dad found someone else...” Her face pinked. “I don’t totally trust him to pick for himself.”
A startled laugh popped out of Claire’s mouth. “So you’ve decided to prescreen applicants for the position?”
“Seemed like a good idea.”
“And I’m on your short list.”
“Well...yeah,” Juliette said, and Claire laughed again.
“Why?”
“Because you’re sane?”
“Spoken like someone who clearly doesn’t know me very well.”
“Oh, trust me. I know from insanity. Not to mention desperation. At least you don’t go around shoving your boobs in guys’ faces.”
Claire smiled. “This is true. But, honey, I’m not your mother—”
“Duh, I know that—”
“No, what I mean is... Okay, let’s get real. Setting aside the fact that I’m no more interested in your dad than he is in me—”
“And maybe if you guys got to know each other—”
“Juliette—stop. Even if, by some very, very slim chance, your dad and I hit it off, it takes a special person to take on a ready-made family. And trust me, I’m not that person.”
“But—”
She lifted a hand to stop whatever the girl was about to say. “Four kids? And while I might be able to fake it with girls...your brothers? No way.”
“But...you obviously like kids—”
“I love them. Teaching them, though. Not raising them. I was an only child, honey. I’m doing well to keep a cat and two houseplants alive. Sweetie,” she said, “whatever’s best for you guys... It’ll happen. When it’s supposed to and without your...help. After all, your dad picked your mom on his own, right?”
Finally, the wind seemed to go out of the girl’s sails. “Guess I hadn’t thought of that.” Then she sighed. “But it’s so...hard.”
“I know, honey. Really.” Claire glanced up at the clock over the counter, dug her wallet out of her purse. “And we need to pick up your sister.”
Juliette fell silent after that. Until, right as they reached the dance studio, she said, “Can we at least be friends?”
“Of course! You need someone to talk to, I’m here. But you need to tell your dad your matchmaking days are over. Because he doesn’t need to worry about that on top of everything else. Deal?”
“Deal,” Juliette said on a gusty sigh as her little sister burst outside, and she squatted to hug her.
So, whew, done, Claire thought after she took the kids for burgers and shakes, staying in the car after driving them home. But listening to Isabella’s giggles as they ate, Juliette’s too-grown-up observations about her world... It hadn’t exactly been horrible.
And you know what else? Seeing the little one streak to her father, who was outside raking the last of the leaves, watching him scoop her into his arms, his eyes glued to hers as she relayed every detail of the past two hours... Having someone like that in her life might not be so horrible, either. Except there were way too many ifs and buts and excepts attached to that thought to even go there. Because if Claire had learned anything from her over-before-it-began marriage, it was that serious relationships required at least a certain level of self-sacrifice—something she didn’t seem very good at.
And this man—he glanced over with a nod and mouthed Thanks, and she nodded back before putting the car in Reverse—after what he’d been through?
Whatever he needed, Claire definitely wasn’t it.
* * *
Juliette fell back on her bed, making poor Barney jump, then pick his way across the rumpled Marimekko comforter to slather Juliette’s face with sloppy kisses.
“Stop, stop!” she squealed, trying to squirm away from the wriggling dog. Sprawled on the extra twin bed a few feet away, Rosie Valencia, her bestie since forever, laughed her not-exactly-small butt off.
“Get her, Barney!” Rosie cheered, which only made the stupid dog lick faster. “Maybe you can wash away that rotten mood.”
“Why does everybody keep saying that?” Juliette said, shoving the dog off her chest to haul herself upright in the field of giant red-and-hot-pink flowers. She’d thought this was the coolest bedding ever when she’d been ten and Mom had surprised her with the makeover that banished the cutesy Winnie-the-Pooh stuff of her childhood. And it wasn’t that she hated it, exactly. But it was time for a change, maybe.
The dog flopped over, baring his pink belly. Sighing, Juliette obliged, which of course made him crunch forward to madly lick her hand. “I’m not in a bad mood,” she muttered.
“Uh-huh.” Rosie swept her nearly black hair over her shoulder as she shifted on the bed, her math book open on her lap. Pale green eyes, eerie against Rosie’s dark skin, met Juliette’s. Like her, Rosie was also the eldest. Only she had six siblings. All boys. As crazy as it got here, it was ten times worse at Rosie’s. “So you gonna tell me why you’re pissed, or what?”
Even two days later it still stung that she had to admit Miss Jacobs was right—that whatever was gonna happen, or not, Juliette couldn’t influence it one way or the other. Unfortunately, this flew in the face not only of everything Mom had ever said about people being in charge of their own destiny, but of Juliette’s naturally impatient nature.
Something she doubted Rosie, who was the most laid-back person ever, would understand. The upside to this was that nine times out of ten Rosie was like “sure, whatever” about pretty much anything Juliette suggested. Theirs was definitely a symbiotic relationship. But being from a family in which everybody apparently lived to some ridiculous age—she had a great-grandmother who was like a hundred and five, yeesh—Rosie couldn’t possibly understand the huge honking hole inside Juliette that only seemed to grow larger every day. Instead of closing up, like you’d expect. Like she’d hoped.
“It’s just...stuff,” she said, grabbing her own math book and loose-leaf binder from the foot of the bed, smacking both open. “I’ll deal. So...what did you think of the cast choices for the holiday play?”
Some Dr. Seuss version of A Christmas Carol. Hysterical. And it had a gazillion parts, so lots of kids could be in it. Even if for only a few minutes. Like her and Rosie. Because lead roles only went to juniors and seniors.
“They all sounded okay during the read-through, I guess,” Rosie said. “Although I’d like to swat that smarmy smile off whatshername’s face.” Juliette smiled, knowing exactly who Rosie meant. Amber Fortunato. Big hair, bigger boobs, Daddy owned a BMW dealership. ’Nuff said. “But her boyfriend? The dude who’s playing Scrooge’s nephew? What’s his name?”
Juliette’s