I'm Dreaming of a Wyatt Christmas by Tiffany Schmidt

Author:Tiffany Schmidt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2021-08-09T00:00:00+00:00

Forget Santa and presents—I’m counting down the seconds until we’re done with the gourmet dinner Mrs. Kahale had delivered and it’s time for Wyatt to model his jammies.

“Showtime,” he tells me with a shimmy as we enter our adjoining rooms. “Prepare yourself.”

But, really, I don’t think it’s possible to prepare myself for Wyatt in a onesie. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of him in ballet tights, so it’s not just the aesthetic. The more attractive thing—okay, the equally attractive thing—is his wink, his laughter, him clutching the pajamas to his chest and giving his stepmom a hug, saying, “Thank you. Really. Next year I’ll give you more notice so we can all have matching animal one-piecers. I’m thinking otters.”

I’m giggling as I change into my new pj’s, which Mrs. Kahale totally didn’t have to do, but the flannel snowflake print feels as warm as a hug. It hasn’t been as weird as it should be to be an interloper on their traditions—but this is where it might get awkward. I’m hoping for all sorts of onesie antics to distract me from my mismatched, faded ballerina stocking being hung among their quilted monogrammed fanciness, to help me shake off the adrift feeling I got when my call home went to voice mail.

I pull my hair into a ponytail before heading back out. Wyatt’s in the kitchen with his dad, bent over the table in a way that puts his butt on display—and I think it’s for comedic effect, until I get close enough to hear their conversation.

“Your mom thinks you’re not skiing this week.”

Wyatt folds up the trail map he’d been studying. “I never said that.”

Mr. Kahale blows out a breath. “She seems to think you’re upset about your role in The Nutcracker and wanted a week away to clear your head.”

I can’t see Wyatt’s face, but his expression makes his dad snort. “Right. Well, she sent me a meal plan and a list of workouts she got from your teachers—as well as links to videos. She wants me to oversee them and reassure her you won’t step foot on the slopes.”

“Dad—”

Mr. Kahale holds up a hand. “I deleted the email as soon as I saw Loaded Lodge Fries weren’t on the menu. You know your mom’s just trying to support your goals in her own way, but you’re old enough to make your own choices regarding your body—whether or not to ski, what to eat, how often you work out.”

Wyatt’s voice is thick when he says, “Thank you.”

His dad nods, “But I don’t like lying. So not today or tomorrow, but sooner than later, we need to get on the phone together and hash this out.”

Wyatt nods and they hug. “Anything else you want to tell me, bud?” Mr. Kahale’s question isn’t as casual as he thinks.

But neither is Wyatt’s when he replies, “Nope. Nothing I can think of.”

His dad turns to exit the kitchen and I’m about to be exposed as the least stealthy spy to ever wear snowflakes, so I step forward.

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