Page 9 of Big Santa

“Then why won’t you?”

I close the drawer. “Because I can’t.”

That’s the simple answer.

Except obviously I can.

Josie would show up with Chase Michael’s truck right now if I asked her to. She’d move every box into their spare room and tell me I could stay there until I was eighty.

She’d mean it too.

That’s the problem.

“You have your own family.”

“So?”

“So you don’t need me taking over your guest room while I figure out what I’m doing with my life.”

“You wouldn’t be taking over anything.”

“I would eventually.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I organized your pantry the last time I stayed for a weekend.”

“That was helpful.”

“I threw away eleven expired things.”

“Also helpful.”

“I reorganized your linen closet.”

“That was invasive.”

“See?”

She laughs, but her eyes are shiny.

I look away.

Nope.

We are not doing that.

I have cried enough in this house.

More than enough.

“I don’t want to be your stray,” I say.

Josie goes still. Then her eyebrows pull together.

“You are not a stray.”

“I know.”