“I don’t know,” I grumbled. At the time, it had felt like an odd thing to brag about, including to one’s parents.

  “Your daughter is very humble,” Julia remarked. “She’s not one to shine a light on herself even when she deserves the recognition.”

  “She doesn’t tell me anything,” my mom openly complained. “Julia, you’ll have to be my eyes and ears for me. Or at least encourage my daughter to call more often.”

  Julia gently smiled. “I’ll do my best, Nancy.”

  This time I did reach for her—underneath the table. I held Julia’s hand in mine and traced hearts into her palm with the pad of my thumb.

  We continued work on our respective gingerbread houses over the next half an hour or so. Julia and my mom continued to swap stories while my ears burned to be the center of attention for such a prolonged time. They gabbed like long-lost friends while I focused my attention on my mess of a gingerbread house.

  Eventually, Julia stood from the table. Both my mom’s and my eyes raised along with her elegant motion.

  “I need a shower,” she announced.

  She bent slightly at the waist in my direction. Her movement stalled short of where I sat, and instead of kissing my cheek as was her custom, she patted the top of my shoulder like an awkward game of Duck, Duck, Grey Duck. The pause, the flinch, didn’t escape my notice. I knew the almost instinctive movement to swoop down low and kiss my cheek. I hated that my Closet was the reason she had to alter her behavior.

  I worried my lower lip as Julia disappeared down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom.

  “This was fun,” my mom happily observed. “I know the holidays are almost over, but you should take your houses home with you. Your dad will eat all of this candy otherwise, and he certainly doesn’t need all that sugar.”

  “Mom.”

  She carried on as if she hadn’t heard me. “One of the days you’ll have to invite me over. I’d like to see where you’re living these days. Maybe help with the decorating.”

  “Mom,” I tried again.

  “Mmhmm?” she hummed.

  I took a breath. “Julia and I aren’t roommates.” I swallowed hard. “We’re together.”

  My mom didn’t look away from her candy cane sidewalk. She’d broken down the peppermint pieces and was using them as pavers. “I know.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “No, I mean we’re, like, together-together.”

  “Cassidy.” My mom finally set down her sugary construction materials. She leveled her gaze on me. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

  I gulped. “You … you knew?”

  “Mothers know these kinds of things.”

  “But how?”

  “You never really had any boyfriends in high school,” she explained with a small shrug. “Nothing serious, at least. Besides, I see the way you look at her.”

  “The way I look at her?” I squeaked.

  God, had my mom caught me undressing Julia with my eyes or something?

  “Like you’re in love,” she answered. Her tone was very matter-of-fact. “If you were trying to keep it a secret, you didn’t do a very good job.”

  I stared down at my lap. “Does … does Dad know?”

  “If he does, he hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

  Coming Out to my mom had been an important first step, but I hadn’t really been worried about her reaction. I was more nervous about my dad. He’d been polite to Julia when we’d had burgers at a jungle-themed restaurant in the Mall of America, but his first introduction to Julia had occurred months earlier when his childhood best friend, Chief Larry Hart of Embarrass, had told him about my abrupt departure from the small town’s police department. In my experience, older men could be just as gossipy and cruel as the fairer sex. Chief Hart had not painted a flattering picture of the woman who had eventually become my live-in girlfriend.

  “When are you going to tell him?” my mom asked.

  “Uh, never?”

  “Cassidy Anne Miller,” she scolded. “You don’t keep something like this a secret from your family.”

  I picked up a candy cane and used it to stab at a pile of white frosting that was doubling as a snow drift. “He’s not the easiest person to talk to.”

  “You need to do it,” she emphasized.

  I knew she was right, of course.

  “I’m proud of you for finally telling me,” my mom congratulated. “But you’re still sleeping on the couch tonight. Call me old fashioned, but until you’re married, it’s separate beds for the two of you.”

  “Mom!”

  After I helped my mom clear off the dining room table and package up all of the leftover candy, I made my way to my childhood bedroom. The door was closed, so I assumed Julia resided on the other side.

  I quietly knocked on the door. “Everybody decent?”

  “You can come in,” I heard her allow.

  I opened the door and stepped inside. Julia sat on the unmade bed in the same clothes she’d been in earlier. Her hair, wet from the shower, was wrapped in a bath towel.

  “I left you some hot water if you’d like to go next,” she announced. She leaned forward and untangled the towel from her hair. “I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to live in a house where you have to worry about things like that.” She briskly rubbed at the damp raven strands until they stood out as though electrified.

  I closed the door behind me and leaned against it. “I did it. I told her.”

  Julia’s head snapped up. Her towel-dried hair stuck out this way and that. “You did?”

  I nodded. “She said she already knew.”

  A number of emotions flickered across her features. Finally, Julia hummed. “Your mother is a crafty one. And I’m not just talking about the gingerbread houses.”

  I sat beside my girlfriend on my childhood bed. I grabbed her hand in mine and intertwined our fingers.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  I shrugged a little. “Not sure. Should I feel different?”

  “I suppose we’re no longer teenagers sneaking away to cop a feel beneath the bleachers,” Julia remarked.

  I dropped a single kiss to the top of her shoulder. She smelled good. Clean from the shower. The lingering perfume of her fabric softener mingled with her own natural scent. I pressed my lips to her shoulder again, but moved closer to her exposed neck.

  “What are you doing?” Julia’s voice was a low murmur.

  I paused long enough to respond: “Celebrating me Coming Out to my mom?”

  Julia rose from the bed. “I am not going to betray Nancy’s trust by letting you have your way with me in here.”

  I stared up at her. “I can be quiet! She’d never know.”

  Julia flashed a sardonic smile. “No offense, darling, but you’re not as sneaky as you think.”

  After we’d humored her with the gingerbread houses, my mom seemed determined to cram every Christmas activity invented into the long weekend. We made cut-out sugar cookies and decorated them with miniature sprinkles and homemade frosting. We had a movie marathon of my mom’s favorite classic Christmas films like White Christmas and Holiday Inn. We played Christmas trivia at the dining room table and nibbled at the leftovers from her initial welcome dinner smorgasbord. She stopped just short of us cramming around the piano and singing Christmas carols.

  I could have complained or put up a fight or even rolled my eyes, but deep down, I found myself enjoying every moment. My dad had spent most of the time in front of the TV or outside in his work shed, so I felt confident swiping a frosting-covered finger across Julia’s nose while we decorated cookies or holding hands when we cuddled on the couch to watch one of my mom’s Christmas movies.

  It felt good—really good—not having to hide my affection for Julia. I’d thought myself content to be closeted around my parents since I rarely spent much time with them. I hadn’t realized how liberating it would feel to be my full, authentic self around my mom.

  When we’d been in St. Paul, I’d told Julia I hadn’t wanted to spend an extended amount of time at my parents’ house. In reality, I was nearly disappointed that the weekend had passed so quickly. But Julia and I had to get back to work and to our lives. Plus, I was looking forward to sleeping in the same bed as her again.

  Our bags were packed and in the trunk of Julia’s black Mercedes. Early morning sunshine reflected like precious gems against the fresh snow in the front yard. Neither of my parents wore jackets as they stood in the driveway to see us off.

  My mom handed me a tin container that I knew would be filled with sugar cookies. She hugged me tight. “Oh, it was so good to see you!” she enthused. “Don’t stay away for so long next time, okay?”

  I nodded, surprised that I meant it.

  My mom beckoned to Julia and trapped her in a three-person hug. “You two take care of each other.”

  I could feel Julia’s arms tighten around my mom and me like a silent promise.

  In contrast to my mom, my dad wasn’t a hugger. He lingered at the outer edge of the group hug.

  “Thanks for clearing off Julia’s car,” I said in lieu of a proper goodbye. Several inches of snow had fallen overnight.

  He grunted before handing me something small, flat, and paper. I knew what it was without having to look. My dad always gave me money—usually a fifty dollar bill—whenever I left the house after an extended visit. He’d been doing it ever since I’d enlisted. Whenever I tried to refuse him, he insisted, telling me it was for gas. After a while, I’d stopped trying to reject the kindness.

  The gift of money wasn’t a surprise, but his next words were: “She’s a good girl, Cass,” he said in his usual gruff tone. “You did good.”

  A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t find any words. I could only be an observer as my parents walked back inside the house.

  I heard the doors of the Mercedes unlock, followed by Julia’s gentle timbre. “Come on, Marine,” she coaxed. “Let’s go home.”

  Epilogue

  The live band interrupted its set to make note of the time. “We’re only a few seconds from midnight!” the lead singer gleefully announced into his microphone. “Make sure your glass is filled and you’ve got a cutie by your side!”

  The woman at my side leaned her figure into mine. “I’ve never needed an excuse to kiss you,” she said, nuzzling her nose against my ear, “but I could get used to this.”

  With my hand at Julia’s waist, I held her just a little closer.

  I’d nearly suggested we spend the evening at home. I was starting to feel a little holiday fatigue, but Julia had insisted that we go out. Minneapolis no longer shot off fireworks to ring in the new year, so I’d been able to enjoy my evening with her without stressing about the possibility of a waking flashback. It felt good being able to celebrate with Julia with no reservations or hesitation. And we had plenty to celebrate—her new job at Gresham & Stein was going well, and the Cold Case team had been able to bring closure to another case.

  Julia had gotten tickets through her law firm to some high-end swanky soirée with a live jazz band. Uniformed waitstaff swooped around the dance floor with unlimited trays of champagne and tiny chestnuts wrapped in prosciutto. My first choice would always be a Juicy Lucy at the 5-8 Club or any artery-clogging gloriousness from Mickey’s Diner, but at least I’d found an excuse to wear the dress from Julia’s office party a second time.

  Fashion-wise, I doubted this was the start of me wearing more skirts or dresses or even revealing clothes, but I couldn’t deny how much I enjoyed the way Julia looked at me in the outfit. I wasn’t so modest as to deny that I was typically easy on the eyes, but when I stepped out in that figure-hugging red cocktail dress, Julia made me feel utterly craveable. She’d specifically asked for an encore appearance of the dress, and I was only so happy to oblige. If I was lucky, maybe we’d also have a repeat performance of what had happened in the locked bathroom of her office building.

  The anticipation had been building all night. Someone passed around funny paper hats, Mardi Gras beads, noise makers, and plastic glasses that identified the new year. I normally didn’t go for all that over-the-top corniness, but even I couldn’t help chanting along with the crowd as the clock ticked closer to midnight.

  The group counted down in unison: “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!”

  I flinched at the chaotic sound of kazoos mixing with confetti poppers. They sounded like gun shots. Julia’s hand lightly ghosted across my lower back. The reassuring touch kept me tethered without fear of mentally teleporting to an Afghanistan desert.

  “Happy New Year, darling.” Happiness shone in her caramel-colored eyes. I imagined I’d find the same look reflected in mine.

  “Happy New Year,” I returned with a broad smile.

  I pressed a firm hand in the small of Julia’s back and dipped her backwards. I heard her quiet sound of surprise before I covered the noise with a dramatic kiss. When I finally pulled her upright, her features looked mildly flushed. It made me wonder where the closest bathroom stall might be.

  “Are you hungry?” Julia spoke into my ear to be heard over the band’s opening notes of “Auld Lang Syne.”

  “Starved,” I admitted with an enthusiast nod. The hors d’oeuvres at the elegant party hadn’t been nearly enough to fill me up. “I’m not sure what would be open at this hour though.”

  “Mickey’s is nearby, isn’t it?” Julia proposed, naming my favorite 24-hour diner.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “But I didn’t think you’d want all that grease and carbs.”

  Julia reached for my hand and intertwined her fingers with mine. “I suppose I can make an exception just this once.”

  I felt positively giddy as we hustled from the fancy party to a location that was more my speed. In high heels, the snow-dusted sidewalks were nearly unnavigable, but we somehow managed to pick our way the few blocks from the New Year’s Eve celebration to Mickey’s iconic diner car without slipping. Julia held my hand tight like I was a balloon she didn’t want to float away.

  I stamped my feet and blew warm air into my cupped hands when we entered the diner. Because of the late-night holiday, nearly every table was occupied, but through some miracle, a small booth by a window—the perfect table for two—was unoccupied. A frazzled waitress, a half-filled coffee pot in one hand, pointed to us and then to the empty booth. We took that as our cue that we should take a seat.

  Julia slid into one side of the empty booth while I took over the opposite padded bench. I grabbed the laminated menus I found perched between the bottles of ketchup and mustard and passed one across the table to Julia.

  I rubbed my hands together as I scanned down the deep fried options. I flicked my eyes up to meet Julia’s. “Will you judge me if I get a milkshake with my burger and fries?”

  Julia smiled indulgently. “Ask for two straws.”

  “You’re fucking perfect.”

  Julia didn’t have the opportunity to comment on my praise or profanity before the hurried waitress arrived at our table. She’d continued to hold onto the coffeepot like it was her lifeline. She held two red plastic water glasses pinched between the fingers of her freehand like a Skill-Crane machine at the arcade. It was decidedly unsanitary, but I was there for the burgers, not the beverages.

  “I’ll be right back for your order.” The waitress’s voice sounded distracted and disinterested.

  When she set the glasses down, the bottoms of the plastic cups hit the table at a funny angle. Instead of nailing the landing, the cups wobbled and then tipped over. The former contents of the water glasses flooded across the table’s surface and promptly poured over its edge, all in the direction of Julia’s lap.

  I heard the tell-tale surprised hiss that let me know it had been a direct hit.

  “Oh my gosh,” our waitress gasped in horror. “I’m so sorry.”

  I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could in heels. I grabbed handfuls of flimsy, cheap napkins from the dispenser on the table and did my best to contain the puddle of ice water before more could waterfall onto Julia’s lap.

  Julia appeared frozen in her seat, having been stunned into immobility by the icy water. Her outstretched arms hung in the air like she was being robbed, and her painted mouth formed a perfect O of surprise.

  The waitress snagged a suspicious-looking rag—one that was probably used to wipe down dirty tables—and dropped it in front of Julia. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. “This day has been crazy.” She began to haphazardly wipe at the liquid mess, causing ice cubes to ricochet in every direction.

  “It’s fine, dear,” Julia said between grit teeth. “Accidents happen.”

  “Stay there. I’ll-I’ll be right back,” the waitress promised before hustling away and out of sight.

  With our waitress’s hasty departure, I continued to mop up spilled water. “If this doesn’t bring me back …”

  I tried to joke in an attempt to keep the evening from souring. I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. I hadn’t been the one to knock over the drinks, but Julia never would have suggested we go to Mickey’s if not for me.

  Julia picked at the pile of saturated paper napkins crumpled on the table. A disgusted look crossed her features. “Why is it always me who gets drinks spilled on them?”

  “I’d offer to be tribute on your behalf,” I said in earnest, “but you seem to be a magnet.”

  “At least it was only water this time,” she mused.

  “You did a nice job not tearing off our waitress’s head,” I noted, jerking my thumb in the direction of wherever she’d disappeared to. I thought Julia’s good behavior deserved some kind of recognition.

  “Like I said—it was an accident,” she allowed. “And I’m sure she’s had a long night of dealing with drunk assholes.”

  I hummed in approval. “Look at you being so reasonable and level-headed.”

  Julia sighed, almost like she was disappointed with herself. “I blame this kinder, gentler version of myself on you, you know. All your bad influence.”