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August plops down on the couch beside me and steals a snowball as well. “She wants to know how long you’ve been with Wynn.”
Oh. “Since…” I ran away from home last month. “…the end of October.”
“And no one told me?” Leeann plants a hand to her chest, aghast, horrified, insulted—about as dramatic as August usually is. “What manner of betrayal is this?”
“Oh nooo. Wynn didn’t want you meddling in his blossoming love life, so sad,” August drawls. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else, perhaps?” She bats her lashes and steals another cookie.
Leeann huffs and glares at me. “When are you two getting married?”
August groans, peers heavenward, and declares, “Mercy. That’s all I’m asking for this holiday. An ounce of mercy.”
“It’s a bit complicated,” I say.
Somewhere behind me, Wynnter grumbles, “Granee, mind your business. Also, if you had a leak in your shower, why didn’t you call me sooner?”
Leeann puffs, turning her face from her grandson. “Thanksgiving was right around the corner when it started, and it’s not like it’s that important. By the way, did I remember to mention your grandfather’s tire?”
A moment passes while Wynnter reviews the paper in his hand. “No,” he grunts, then lifts his stony gaze. “What about Grampy’s tire?”
“Strange… I thought I remembered to put it on the list since I remembered to ask him to take my car to work today. The driver’s rear seems a bit flat.”
Wynnter drops his head, scrubs his hand down his face, and mutters a swear. “Right. Okay. So. We cannot keep doing this thing where you wait until a holiday to tell me about stuff that could impact your safety or the structural integrity of your house.”
Leeann teases her perm, keeping her attention fixed off her grandson. “December, are you sure you want to be with a grouch like him? There are about five million better fish in the sea.”
“Dece wants kids,” Wynnter mutters as he turns on his heel, voice drifting away. “And I’d like them to have great grandparents.”
Leeann’s tune immediately shifts. “Oh? Children? Already?”
I flush.
August gags.
August and Wynnter’s parents join the cacophony building in the living room. “December!” Mrs. Winslow beams. “Oh, honey, we had no idea you’d be here.”
“It’s about—” Mr. Winslow cusses. “—time. When’s the wedding?”
Like her mother-in-law and daughter, Mrs. Winslow steals a snowball and points it at me. “Please tell me I won’t have to be tied up for this one.”
“Hey, my wedding was fun,” August protests.
“I agree,” I chime in. “It was very, very fun.” I got to be an evil vampire’s accomplice instead of some regular maid of honor, and I got to see Wynnter dress in grim reaper attire while handling a scythe, sooo. In short, August’s wedding was majestic. A fantasy novel come alive.
Leeann glances slyly at me. “Shame you only probably remember half of it.”
My flush assuredly deepens, because I thought Wynnter said no one else knew I’d gotten drunk and wound up in his room.
“Mom, behave yourself.” Mr. Winslow sighs, pinching himself into the slim space between August and the couch armrest. “Hi, Augy,” he murmurs, so sweetly.
Squished, August squirms, bemoaning the loss of her comfort in lieu of a greeting.
“Since we’re all here, should we start planning the weeks leading up to Christmas?” Mrs. Winslow asks, sitting beside me.
I straighten. “Wynn-Wynn isn’t here.”
Leeann waves her hand. “Neither is Grampy, but those two only grunt when it concerns Christmas cheer, so it hardly matters. Also, we all know that Grampy will be with his second wife half the time anyway.”
I gasp.
