If It Makes You Happy(90)

“Okay”—I walk to the hall closet and heave out the heavy, deflated rubber air mattress—“I’ve got this I can sleep on.”

Dad folds down his paper. “You’re not sleeping on a cot, Shellfish. I’ll take the—”

“No,” Sara and I both snap at the same time.

“You’re definitely taking the bed,” I demand, and Sara nods firmly in agreement.

“You have to run this place,” he argues. “You need good sleep.”

“I can run on no sleep.”

That’s wrong. I’m actually a high-maintenance sleeper. I always wear an eye mask and earplugs. One time, I accidentally popped one out at three in the morning, and the next day, I stumbled down the sidewalk to work through bleary eyes, clutching a massive coffee. But my dad doesn’t need to know that.

The back door opens, and Emily strides in with a backpack over her shoulders. Cold air sweeps in behind her until the door shuts, blinds snapping against the window.

“Getting coffee before school,” she says without looking at us. “I’ll be quick. Britt’s outside.”

I lean to the side to find a teeth-chattering six-year-old in a color-block windbreaker, gripping the straps of her pink backpack for dear life.

“Doesn’t Brittany want to come inside?” Sara asks.

Emily groans. “She’s still afraid of Rocket. But”—she grabs a to-go mug from the cabinet and shrugs—“she’s at least in your yard. That’s progress.”

As if on cue, Rocket’s ears perk up from his dog bed, and he taps to the window, jumping to rest his paws on the windowsill. His tail cautiously wags as he presses his nose against the glass, sending pulsing puffs of heat on the surface.

Brittany stares at him for a moment, then slowly raises her mitten in a small wave. Rocket’s tail shakes more.

“Oh my God, I didn’t even think about Rocket!” Sara says, leaning back in her chair more. “So, we’ve got three adults and a dog in one room for a couple days?”

“What?” Emily asks.

“It’s nothing,” I say. “We overbooked the inn. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s sort of a big deal,” Sara interjects.

“I can take the air mattress,” Dad mumbles to himself.

“Dad,” I warn.

“You should stay with us,” Emily blurts out.

My family goes dead quiet, like a gust of November wind blew through and chilled us to the bone. But when I look around, my sister and Dad are nodding, as if considering this idea.

So, maybe I’m the only one who’s shocked.

The inn is fully booked the night before Thanksgiving and the night of. That’s two nights. Two nights where Emily expects me to sleep under the same roof as Cliff?

As if reading my mind, Sara flashes me a devilish grin.

I slide my clammy hands over my skirt. “Em, shouldn’t you talk to your dad first?”

She blows air through her lips. “Psht, he won’t have a say. He’s trying to get on my good side.”

“Well, you can’t surprise your dad with this.”

The back door swings open again, bringing with it another gust of near-winter chill and Cliff himself. He’s wearing a dark brown corduroy jacket with the cuffs of his long-sleeved maroon shirt peeking through the ends. His freshly shaven jaw scratches against the collar when he turns.

“Em, why is your sister outside?” he asks, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Rocket,” Emily says, spinning the cap of her mug to secure it. “I’m heading back out now.”

He blows out a breath. “Coffee’s a good idea. I’ve got the truck already running.”

“I’ll get the heat going. Oh, and I invited Michelle to stay with you for a couple of days.” Emily throws that in like a tossed grenade. As the back door closes, she quickly says, “Okay, bye. See you.”

Cliff’s eyes catch mine, then quickly dart to Sara. It feels so sudden, like he didn’t want to look at me to begin with.

My brow furrows.

“Emily was being funny,” I say.

“Why would she say that though?”

Cliff looks between Sara and Dad. Not me.

“We’re overbooked for Thanksgiving,” my dad says behind the paper, indicating he never left the conversation fully.

“Huh,” Cliff considers, then says, “Well, yeah, Michelle can take my bed.”

Leave it to Cliff to be unfazed by this news.

“That’s not—” I shake my head. “No, we’re not doing that.”

“And I’m not asking,” he says quickly. It’s weird how he’s somehow both balancing a generous offer while also looking like he’s one step away from never allowing me near his house again.

Is he upset with me?

“This is perfect,” Sara says.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think—”

“It’s not a problem,” Cliff finishes.

“Maybe we should—”

Then Rocket barks. Why are you so nervous about this, Shelly?

I close my eyes. “Can you people quit interrupting me for two seconds?”

The room goes quiet again.

I open my eyes and find Cliff staring. His mouth is in a straight line. I hate that I can read Cliff like a book. And while I’ve never seen him like this, process of elimination tells me this is a new type of irritation, aimed directly at me.