Tanya Michaels - Mistletoe Baby

When she’d finally dredged up the nerve to confess she didn’t think their marriage was working, that it had long since become a marriage based on technicalities rather than intimacy, she’d braced herself for argument. He’d always been a man who refused to brook defeat. He’d once planted a tree that didn’t successfully take root in the soil, but he’d come back with some kind of specialized fertilizer and continued watering it for weeks, not ready to acknowledge that it was dead. Rachel had anticipated that he’d tell her she was being melodramatic-whenever she’d tried during the past year to broach the difficult conversation of their not being happy, he’d turned into Mr. Optimism, automatically downplaying her fears and telling her he loved her. That they could do anything together (except possibly have a child). She wanted to appreciate his positive thinking, but it became more difficult over time in the wake of her growing frustration that he was not hearing her. After Thanksgiving, she’d been determined to make him finally listen, but she hadn’t expected him to capitulate so readily. She’d anticipated his saying that things would look better in the morning, his once again proposing immediate solutions before she’d had a chance to fully articulate what she saw as the problems.

Instead, he’d practically shrugged in agreement. He’d expended more effort on the damn tree.

“Why now?” she muttered under her breath.

David paused. “What do you mean?”

She rolled her shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the growing tension.

Not even the small motion got by him. “You need one of my famous back rubs.”

“I don’t think so.” If the mere brush of his fingers this morning had caused a zing, what would happen with her muscles warm under his touch? Annoyed by how tempting the offer sounded, she glared. “Don’t flirt with me. Not now, not after months of…”

“What, not touching you?” He was even closer now, his voice lowered to give them privacy. “You pushed me away, Rach. You made it clear you didn’t want me looking at your body. Unless it was for procreation.”

She flinched. During the hormone treatments, she’d tried to explain to him how the side effects sometimes made her feel like a stranger in her own skin. But David, for all that he paid lip service to “being there” for her, could grow impatient with discussions that didn’t have easy answers. If she tried to tell him that she didn’t feel like herself, didn’t feel sexy, he’d roll his eyes and tell her that she was being neurotic, that she looked just fine to him. Somehow, being called neurotic wasn’t a big turn-on for her.

“If I seemed uninterested,” he continued, “I was just trying to respect your wishes. I wanted to take care of you.”

“I know, David. But that’s not what I wanted.” They were supposed to take care of each other, except that he’d never seemed to need her.

“You don’t consider that part of a husband’s job?” He was looking distinctly irritated now. “Taking care of his wife?”

“It’s a nice sentiment, but you got more and more…” Paternal? That would not sit well with him and wasn’t exactly what she meant anyway. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“You mean you don’t want to talk about it.”

Her hands trembled as she uncoiled lights. “We’re supposed to be having a fun, festive family evening. Why ruin it with accusations that won’t change anything that’s happened?”

“You’re right.” He took his end of the lights toward the outlet, the electric string stretched out between them. A second later, the entire strand began twinkling white in a cheery rhythm.

Rachel sat back on her heels. “Looks like they all work.”

“Yeah. Guess there’s nothing here I can fix.” With that, he spun on his heel and left.

Which was only fair, she supposed. After all, she’d left him first.

DINNER did a lot more to restore Rachel’s spirits than she would have guessed possible. She sat safely buffered between her father-in-law and Lilah. The bride-to-be chattered excitedly about her upcoming wedding. Everyone else was mostly free to nod and enjoy the home cooking. Susan’s food was the old-fashioned, hearty kind that comforted the soul, carbs be damned.

When Arianne finished eating, she pushed away her plate and interrupted discussion of flowers, lace and music with a wicked grin. “You haven’t mentioned the most important part-the bachelorette party!”

Tanner groaned.

Arianne ignored him. “Come on, Li. I’m the maid of honor. It’s part of my job description. I wasn’t even legally old enough to participate in the champagne toast when Rachel and David got married-you’re not going to rob me of my fun now, are you? Besides, it will drive my brother crazy wondering what I have in store, and he picked on me a lot when I was younger.”

Smacking a hand to his forehead, Tanner asked, “Would it help if I apologized for that now?”

“Not so much,” Arianne said sweetly. She turned back to her friend. “You trust me, right?”

Lilah laughed knowingly. “Not even a little. Rach, you’ll help Arianne with the party plans, won’t you? Make sure she doesn’t get too crazy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rachel heard herself say. “Maybe we could all use a crazy girls’ night.”

“Yes!” Arianne clapped her palms together. “Good to have you on board. Now, Lilah, you have a valid passport, right?”

Throughout the rest of the meal, Rachel and Arianne brainstormed facetious party ideas, each more outlandish than the last. If anyone noticed that David wasn’t laughing quite as much as the rest of the family, no one drew attention to it. Clearing the table went quickly with so many helping hands, and they adjourned to the dining room, where the bare green Christmas tree waited.

“Aunt Shelby always popped popcorn to string on the tree,” Lilah told them, “but Uncle Ray and I usually ate most of it.”

Tanner lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a quick kiss across her knuckles. “Just think, soon we’ll be able to start our own family traditions.”

Susan glanced up from the piles she was making-sorting decorations by the room she planned to use them in-and smiled at Rachel. “How’s your family doing, dear? They have big plans for the holidays?”

It occurred to Rachel then that her parents had never come to Mistletoe to see her for Christmas; they stayed in South Carolina to celebrate with Kate and her husband. It would have been nice if just once…Well. That hardly mattered now.

She cleared her throat. “Actually, I talked to my sister the other day, and she did have some big news. They’re expecting their second child.”

Even though Rachel kept her gaze locked on Susan and couldn’t really see David’s expression, she felt him tense, felt his sudden vibe of oh, babe. He would know more than anyone how deeply Kate’s happy news had cut…and how disgusted Rachel was with herself because of that.

There was a flicker of what might have been pity in Susan’s eyes, too, but she smiled brightly. “Your parents must be thrilled.”

“Undoubtedly,” Rachel said automatically. “You know, I have this craving for hot chocolate. Can I make some for everybody?”

She got several enthusiastic responses and promised extra marshmallows to Tanner before escaping the room. The pot of milk on the stove had barely begun to bubble when she heard footsteps behind her. Oh, please let that be Arianne. But she knew better.

“Thought I’d come see if you could use some help,” her husband said.

Emotionally frayed, she snapped, “I’m perfectly capable of managing hot chocolate.”

“Rachel.” That was all, just her name and a wealth of understanding.