“Very jealous,” Helen repeated, leaning across Memo to give Josie an appraising look. “You’ve straightened your hair, have you? You should put some hair spray in it, darling, it looks a little flat.”
“Oh shh,” Memo pushed Helen away with her spindly fingers. “Ignore her, Josie love, you look stunning.” Just too pale, Josie nearly said, but stopped herself. “Oliver will be so sorry he ever even looked at another girl when he sees you.”
Josie knew this was supposed to make her feel better, but all it did was tighten the knot of anxiety in her stomach. She tapped her nails against the dresser next to her laptop. She should have painted them, she realized now.
Helen pushed her way back onto the screen. “Oh, there’s no point crying over that now, Josie. Move on to bigger and better, that’s what I say. Though he is a very nice young man, and maybe if you—”
“Helen!” Memo leaned forward and snatched the laptop onto her lap, if the change in angle was anything to go on. “Josie, go and get your present, let’s do that now. We’ll have to be quick, we’re off to the Copes’ for drinks this evening before the carol service in the square.”
“That’s nice,” Josie said, turning to grab her present from Memo and Grandad off her bedroom floor. She remembered that carol service—remembered playing with Beth Cope while everyone sang and drank mulled wine. She’d gone with her parents, the night they died, before they’d headed off to their party.
Frowning away the tears that burned the back of her eyes, Josie turned back to the laptop. “It will be nice, I think,” Memo was saying, patting down her grey bob. “I made some brownies to put in bags and hang on the big Christmas tree—you remember the one?” Josie nodded. “Well, anyway, I really think this batch turned out quite well—less salty than the last batch. Your grandad ate two, didn’t you, John?”
“What?” His bushy eyebrows pulled together as Memo turned the screen toward him. “Oh, yes. They were very, umm, pleasant.”
Josie laughed. “Very convincing.”
Memo sighed. “He’s hoping the baking will replace smoking.”
“Well, he’s right about that—you should stop smoking, it’s bad for you.”
Memo’s hand fluttered across the screen. “Josie, whatever damage is done is already done by my age, there’s no point in changing it now.”
Josie frowned, but heard Helen, out of sight, say, “Hear, hear,” and knew she was fighting a losing battle with the two of them.
“Anyway,” Memo said. “Presents!” They opened their presents in front of the screen in a way that had long since stopped feeling weird, and Josie beamed at the beautiful jewelry box Memo and Grandad had gotten her. Her grandad laughed a little at the sign she’d gotten him, which was a surefire acknowledgment of a job well done, Helen started listing all the new skincare products she had her eye on at Space NK, and Memo genuinely seemed thrilled by the tea set. She’d have to remember to tell Max, Josie thought. If he showed up. God, there went her stomach again. She checked the time, trying to control the urge to do something, anything, with her hands.
“I’m really sorry, guys, but I’ve got this party and I—”
“But the quote!” Memo said. “Helen’s got one this time, haven’t you, Helen?”
Josie raised her eyebrows. “I thought it was my turn?”
“Yes, well, you wouldn’t have done a Christmassy one, would you? And Helen wanted to get involved.” She turned the screen toward Helen, leaving no room for argument.
Helen cleared her throat dramatically. “To me, you are perfect.”
Josie smirked. “Why thank you.”
She heard her grandad laugh in the background, but Helen tsked impatiently. “Well?”
Josie hesitated. Christmassy, they’d said. “Ummm…”
“Oh come on,” Memo said, and Helen turned the laptop back to her. She’d gotten herself a glass of red wine since Helen had taken over the screen. “You must know this one, love?”
Josie saw her phone vibrate next to her laptop and started, then remembered that obviously it wouldn’t be Max, being as how he didn’t have her number. Laura, she saw. God, she needed to get going, she wanted to make sure she found Laura in time so she didn’t have to walk in alone.
“Well?” Helen was demanding.
“I don’t know,” Josie said, and it came out more impatiently than she meant it to. “Sorry, I mean, just let me think on it, OK? I’ll text you.”