The Pieces Of Us (The Firebird Trilogy Book 3) by Jennifer Loring

Author:Jennifer Loring [Loring, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Limitless Publishing LLC
Published: 2017-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

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Alex

A saturnine Anya spent much of Christmas Day staring at her phone in anticipation of a text or call that didn’t come. It was in Stephanie’s honor they still celebrated December 25th at all; Alex would have been content to shift the festivities to Orthodox Christmas, the way his parents raised him. Anya refused any part of the traditional forty-day fast leading up to Christmas Eve—she had practice and games, after all, and needed meat protein. Nor did she want to be the only “weirdo,” in her words, who didn’t observe Western Christmas.

Alex compromised and prepared the customary goose with sour cream sauce, picturing his mother in her kitchen and missing her all of a sudden. That his mother was still alive for him to miss when Anya’s was not plagued him with guilt, and he set out the deer-shaped kozulya cookies from the Russian deli which he’d intended to serve for dessert, as though cookies would rectify this injustice. Christmas break was already driving her crazy, no help from him required. No hockey game for another four days. No Lucas.

All made worse when Hannah called. In the flurry of pre-Christmas activity, which Alex vowed would be the inverse of last year’s funereal proceedings, he had forgotten to reschedule their abortive coffee date.

“Privét.” He’d hoped to keep his caller’s identity concealed, but who else would call on Christmas? Matt had done so that morning, and so had Alex’s parents, which gave Anya an excellent opportunity to practice her Russian. Not that he’d expected Hannah to either.

“Merry Christmas, Sasha. Oh wait—you’re probably Orthodox, aren’t you?”

“Da. I mean, I was raised Orthodox. But my wife…”

“Right.”

Awkward silence ensued. Alex cleared his throat. He was reminded of his pre-teen years, calling a girl he liked and then not saying a word once he got her on the line. Funny, how it had all changed in a handful of years.

He’d found Stephanie’s older journals after a more thorough inspection of the walk-in earlier that week, one with an entry dated August 9th of their junior year of high school.

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