Chapter 5: Susan’s Wisdom

The Monday after the New Year’s kiss was a masterpiece of emotional denial.

Jackson and I had a brief, clinical text exchange. It went like this:

Jackson: Midnight performance review: 10/10. The crowd believed it. Mission accomplished.

Sloane: Agreed. High marks for lip-syncing enthusiasm. Protocol restored.

Jackson: Good. See you Sunday for the brunch. Keep your focus, Holidate.

He never mentioned the way the kiss had lasted slightly too long, or the way my hands had gripped the silk of his lapels, or the brief, terrifying spike of genuine feeling that had momentarily dissolved the champagne haze.

We had both agreed to treat the event as a tactical necessity, a successful deployment of the Physical Proximity Guidelines (PPGs) to prevent the greater tragedy of family pity.

When Jackson arrived at the Holbrook house for the Sunday brunch, he was not just on time; he was early, bearing a beautifully arranged fruit platter that looked suspiciously professional.

"He brought fruit," my mother whispered to me conspiratorially, as if Jackson had just presented her with a solid gold yacht. "He is attentive, successful, and he is Australian. I am thinking spring wedding, maybe an early June ceremony outdoors."

"Mom, stop," I hissed. "We just started dating.

My mother ignored me, floating toward Jackson as he smoothly transitioned from fruit presentation to complimenting Peter’s new grill. Jackson was too good at this. He did not just play the role; he inhabited it, making my carefully constructed contract feel flimsy and ridiculous.

The inevitable happened when I was cornered by Grandma Holbrook, who was showing me blurry, magnified photos of her last colonoscopy. I looked up and saw that Jackson had been intercepted by the one person whose judgment I truly feared: Aunt Susan.

They were standing near the fireplace, Susan clutching a dubious-looking mimosa, and Jackson looking captivated. Susan, a woman who treated dating like an extreme sport, was the only person in the family who had zero investment in my settled happiness. She was chaos incarnate, and I watched, transfixed, as she leaned in close to Jackson.

I needed to intervene, but I was currently required to identify polyps.

When I finally escaped, I found Jackson looking slightly shell-shocked but deeply amused.

"Everything alright?" I asked, sliding next to him and subtly placing a hand on his back to signal the All Clear, Abandon Conversation directive.

"Fascinating," he breathed. "Your aunt Susan is a revolutionary."

"She is a menace. What did she tell you?"

Jackson leaned down, his voice dropping into a low, theatrical murmur. "She said my biggest mistake in the New Year’s kiss was pulling away too soon. She said, and I quote, If you want to keep Sloane interested, you need to kiss her like you are starring in a period drama, not a sixty-second TV spot."

I choked on my coffee. "She said what?"

"Oh, that was just the appetizer," Jackson continued, shaking his head. "She gave me five rules for handling you, which she explicitly said will not be in the contract."

I braced myself. "Hit me."

"Rule One: Never reveal your maximum earning potential. Keep a twenty percent buffer in reserve. It maintains the mystery and provides a safety net if things get bad."

"Shockingly good financial advice," I admitted.

"Rule Two: Always have a ghost route mapped out of your apartment. An emergency exit, preferably a window onto a soft patch of grass. Just in case you change your mind about the no feelings clause and try to barricade the door."

"That is paranoia bordering on felony," I countered. "And I do not have a fire escape."

"Rule Three: Do not buy flowers. Buy a single, indestructible potted plant, like a snake plant. It symbolizes enduring commitment but is also impossible to kill, which is the quality you should aim for in all relationships."

"That is the most cynical thing I have ever heard," I laughed.

"And the final two rules were the best," Jackson said, his eyes twinkling. "She told me that you, Sloane Holbrook, only date two kinds of men. The ones who bore you, and the ones who disappoint you. She said I was neither, which means I am highly dangerous.

And finally, she told me that the only way to beat a commitment phobe is to be a better commitment phobe than they are, making them chase the avoidance."

I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. Susan had cut right through the witty banter and the contract jargon, identifying the core fear in both of us.

"She is too observant," I muttered, glancing back at Susan, who was now engaged in a serious conversation with Grandma Holbrook about the optimal time to harvest seasonal herbs.

"She is brilliant," Jackson corrected. "She is the only one who sees that the whole performance is an elaborate defense mechanism. You know, she asked me if I really liked you, or if I just liked the idea of being the one who finally got you to break Rule Two."

The question hung heavy in the air between us, completely destroying the safe, light atmosphere we had cultivated.

"What did you tell her?" I asked, trying to sound casual but failing.

Jackson gave me a noncommittal shrug, avoiding my gaze for the first time. "I told her that my performance as your Holidate requires a great deal of focus, and I need to conserve my emotional energy for the next event. Which, for the record, is a low-stakes Valentine’s Day date with your sister’s friend."

He was back to the script. But the kiss and Susan's words had already cracked the foundation. Jackson had integrated seamlessly into my family, and now he had Aunt Susan's terrifying, brilliant advice to guide him. He was not just a date; he was becoming an asset, a handsome, Australian-accented asset that knew exactly how to dismantle my emotional barriers.

Do not stare at the accent, do not stare at the eyes, and definitely do not stare at the potted plant he might bring you next time, I told myself firmly.

This Holidate was going to be a lot harder than I thought.