A Sorority Cheerleader for Christmas

I was twenty-two when I made the decision that defined the rest of my life.

The condom broke. Plan B failed. Her mother didn't want a kid — didn't want anything to do with the kid. So I kept my daughter, raised her alone, and built a life that made sense. Quiet. Steady. Mine.

Twenty-one years later, Mia's in college, thriving, coming home every holiday with her best friend Wendy. Wendy, who makes herself at home in my kitchen. Wendy, who remembers my bourbon preference from a five-second conversation four months ago. Wendy, who is a redheaded college cheerleader and looks at me sometimes in a way I've been categorizing as friendly for two years — because friendly is the only interpretation I can afford.

Then a phone call changes everything. Mia's biological mother — the woman who signed away her rights and wrote a check — is dying and wants to meet her daughter. Mia decides to go on christmas morning before anyone else wakes up.

Which means when I walk into my living room with my coffee, the only person in my house is a twenty-one-year-old with green eyes who has been waiting for exactly this opportunity.

She's been planning. She has a list. And the only thing standing between her and a very merry day is two decades of me being responsible.

That's about to stop.