Page 94 of Not Home Alone

“Oh my goodness. Thank you so much. Wow, you’ve seen every performance?”

“Yes. Your performance—your direction—was brilliant.” She lowers her voice, leans in and says, “Exactly what I envisioned when I wrote it.”

Record scratch.

“When you… what?!”

She holds her index finger up, shushing me. “I wrote The Not-Ballet Nutcracker when I was eleven years old. Under my maiden name.”

I look around. Nobody here seems to be paying attention to her. “You’re M.E. Blossom?”

She nods. “Nobody knows. Except Harold.” She looks over at him and says, “I’d say he’s good at keeping secrets, but the truth is he’s always talking about himself. So I’m sure it never occurred to him to mention that he was my first boyfriend.”

My brain just melted. I have so many questions. I sway a little.

“Don’t faint,” she says. “Get a grip.”

“I’m trying to… I just… Mrs. Crowley—Ms. Blossom? What should I?”

“You can call me Marlena. Just don’t gush at me. I know how special this play is, trust me.”

“Marlena.” I reach out to touch her arm, but it doesn’t feel right to actually touch her. “I can’t even express just how much your play means to me.” I clumsily thrust the flower bouquet my dad just gave me to her. “Here. Please take these. I don’t even know how to express how much I love your play.”

She accepts the bouquet. “It’s not my play anymore, Merrily Tucker. It belongs to the town. And now it belongs to you.” She glances over at Grant, who’s still chatting with Harold. “Just like that nice young man over there.” There’s a glint in her eyes. She leans in again, conspiratorially. “I made Harold call in sick. You and that boy needed a do-over. I saw that performance too. Ten years ago? Woof. That hurt.”

“Tell me about it.” I look over at Harold, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Old Lady—I mean, Mrs. Crowley, since she walked over here. I recognize that look of longing. “Wait, so Harold is your ex-boyfriend?”

She chuckles. “From before we were both married. To other people.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, it looks like Harold would like a do-over too.”

“Oh, I know. We’re going back to his place for a hot beverage. Had to agree to it to get him to back out of the show tonight.”

“Well, I hope he behaves himself.”

“Oh, I made him promise he wouldn’t.” She smirks. “That was also part of the deal.” She turns in the direction of Harold and says to me, “See you around the neighborhood, kid.”

I am still a little too stunned to speak as I wave goodbye to Marlena as she makes her way through the oblivious crowd, to Harold and Grant. I used to try not to picture her killing and eating her husband, but now I’m trying to picture what she looked like as a precocious eleven-year-old girl. It’s pretty easy, actually.

What a night.

After the cast and crew party, which consisted of Mrs. Henderson’s eggnog and a very brief speech from yours truly so everyone could get home to enjoy the rest of Christmas Eve, Grant and I have gotten into his car to drive back to the Home Alone House. Together. He turns on a satellite radio station that’s playing Christmas music, and I don’t even have to ask. What a guy.

I just stare at his profile, so giddily in love with his stupid, handsome face. He looks serious. Like he’s going over what he’s going to say to his dad in his head. He cares. He cares so much. About everything. I can’t believe I didn’t see through his act. As he’s running the engine, before he pulls out of the parking space, I reach out to touch his arm and say, “I wish I had believed in you sooner. The way Clara understood about the nutcracker doll right away. I wish I had always believed in you too.”

He looks over at me with such a soft expression. He waits for me to go on.

“I wish I’d never stopped believing in the good parts of you that you showed me when we were teenagers. That sounds wrong, but you know what I mean.”

Smiling, he says, “You do not have to feel guilty about that. I wish it hadn’t scared me to show you and everyone else my good parts. That didn’t sound great either, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.” I lean over to kiss him on the cheek.

He puts the car back in park and angles his torso toward me. “There’s something I want to tell you. Something good.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out the perfect gift for you. And I think this is it. An answer. You haven’t asked in a while—about why I bought the Home Alone House.”