Over his shoulder, Susan threw Donna her “What the heck!” look, but Donna just shrugged, gesturing Susan to hug Alexander back.
Susan closed her arms around him in a comforting embrace.
“That’s…nice,” Susan soothed, her eyes shut tightly, patting his back while Alexander sobbed.
Per the plan, when Eric knocked on the kitchen door, Alexander released Susan.
“Hey there, we finally ma—” Eric looked at Susan’s tear-stained blouse and Alexander’s reddened eyes. “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to disturb.” He raised a hand in apology.
Alexander straightened up. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he murmured. He cleared his throat and picked up the empty shot glass that was actually Donna’s. “Cream liquor always makes me sentimental. I hope you don’t mind too much.” He took a deep breath and wiped his tears. “So, now that our company is finally complete, how about opening presents?”
* * *
Donna should have felt relieved when she entered the living room, but she was suddenly more nervous than she’d been the entire evening. Her heart raced when Susan positioned herself in front of the tree and cleared her throat loudly.
“Um, could I have everyone’s attention for a moment?” Susan waited for the room to grow silent. “Before we start unwrapping gifts, Donna and I would like to make an announcement.” She shifted from one foot to the other. Unsure of who she should look at, she turned to her wife.
Donna took Susan’s hand and nodded encouragement.
She smiled gratefully and turned to their guests. “We know it’s an anti-Christmas party, but since our little family is all here now and we all love surprise gifts, we thought there wouldn’t be any better time to tell you.” Susan sighed heavily, squeezed Donna’s hand and laid her other hand on her stomach. “Julius, Seth, we’re having twins.”
* * *
Donna waded through the mountain of discarded wrapping paper, sparing a thought for the environment, then deciding that it was not an evening to feel guilty about not being green. After the first brief look of panic had faded from Julius’ face, and the congratulations and cheers were finished, Phineas and Abby handed out the presents. Operation Jingle Bells had been a complete success. Susan was delighted by the custom-made calendar and had Julius hang it up the instant she had finished flipping through the pictures.
Now everybody was sitting around the dining room table—drinking, enjoying dessert, and talking. The ambience was as relaxed and warm and joyful as Donna had wished it would be. She sighed as she enjoyed the scene for a moment before she continued stuffing the wrapping paper into a plastic bag.
When two long legs appeared before her, she looked up at Alexander, who smiled as he crouched down beside her.
“Congrats, Donna.” He nudged her arm with his elbow. He reached out and picked up a ball of crumpled paper. “Just between the two of us, it wasn’t a customer’s call that distracted you from ordering that calendar, was it?”
Donna froze, then took a deep breath. “No, it wasn’t,” she finally admitted.
Alexander nodded slowly, his gaze wandering over to Lewis, who was playing Twister with Abby, as he had promised. “I’m sorry I’ve caused you such stress,” he said. “I really am.”
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not that you did it on purpose. It’s just…” She shrugged.
“…too much,” Alexander finished for her.
“Yes.”
He nodded again, looked over his shoulder at the gathering around the table, and then reached into his pocket and drew out a square object. “This is for you.” He handed her a small booklet with a blank cover. “The others helped me with it.”
Donna studied his face for a moment before she took it from his hand and flipped it open. It was a pocket calendar with handwritten notations. Browsing through the pages, she found twelve more gifts.
January: Eric—fixing broken laptop.
February: Owen—spa weekend.
March: Lailani—shopping for children’s room.
Alexander grinned. “We decided not to do a rushed photo shoot in the garage. You really need more lesbian friends. Especially given your news, I guess this will be more helpful. I’m Mr. April, by the way. I’ll build that garden shed you asked me to help you with last spring.”
Deeply touched, Donna looked at him with watery eyes. “This is so sweet of you.” She sniffed back the tears. “Thanks. Really. Also for what you did today. That was award worthy.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“It was absolutely brilliant. Still…somehow, I still have a feeling that something is…missing. Huh. Well, never mind. Thank you. Again.”
“No problem. It covers my ‘making amends’ resolution for next year. So, one thing sorted, I’ll move on to the next. Excuse me?” He touched her arm, got to his feet, and slowly went over to the corner of the room, where Abby and Lewis were playing Twister.
* * *
“And?” Susan crawled onto the bed and let herself carefully drop on her side next to Donna. She sighed as she stretched. “Have you remembered whatever it was you thought you forgot?”
Donna bit her lip, then smiled and reached for Susan’s hand. “Um…kinda.”
“So, what was it?”
“Ummm… Telling you that you’re the most fabulous wife of all.”
“Oh. You haven’t said that in a while. Regular adulation of my awesomeness should be put on your next list.” Susan snickered. “But besides the fact that it’s true, what makes you say that?”
“Many reasons.” Donna grinned. “One is you convincing me a couple of years ago that it would be a good idea to adopt Seth’s friends.”
“Ha. Sounds like you think that the guys aren’t that bad after all.” An amused expression on her own face, Susan studied Donna’s features. “So we strike ‘making friends’ from our to-do list for next year?”
Donna nodded. “Yeah, I guess. There won’t be much time for that. We’ll be too busy coordinating our twelve volunteer babysitters.”
Susan smirked and cast a glance at the tiny calendar on the nightstand. “Oh yes, we’ll make good use of them. After all, there will be enough babies for all of them. I mean…actually it’s perfect that we’re having twins. That way, each McKenzie can have his own baby.”
Donna laughed. Sighing, she curled up against Susan. There was a long moment of silence before Susan broke it with a lengthy clearing of her throat.
“Um…Donna?” Susan squeezed her wife’s hand. “Now that we’re alone, I wanted to tell you something. I’m sure you’ve probably wondered about it already. Your present… There…was a delay in the delivery. After all, it was the holidays. So…your present is still on its way. I hope you’re not mad.”
Donna stared into the dark for a long moment before she burst into laughter as the last tensions of the evening eased away. “Oh well.” She giggled. “You know, there can only be one Operation Jingle Bells per Christmas.”
Donna laughed as she imagined the confusion on Susan’s face. She felt Susan shifting next to her, trying to see her expression so she could catch a clue.
“Um… Operation what? Is that the Bailey’s talking? Did you even hear what I just said? I don’t have your gift.”
Donna took a deep breath to stifle her amusement and reached for Susan. She pulled her closer and placed a kiss on Susan’s temple. “Never mind, honey. When my gift arrives, I’ll tell you the whole story.”
One Hot Tamale
Catherine Lane
The narrow, small serrano chile is almost pure heat. Chefs and other people in the know place this chile at the top of the Scoville scale. Near the bottom, on the other hand, is the Anaheim chile. Often called simply the plain green chile, it is also long and thin, but this chile brings very little heat to a dish. The green chile is used primarily to impart the subtle and traditional flavors from south of the border. But when mixed, watch out, because just the right balance of these two chiles can lead to…One Hot Tamale
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nbsp; Colorful fruits and vegetables in overflowing containers lined the sidewalk. Vendors in singsong voices offered free samples. The warm Southern Californian sunlight shone through the organic honey display on the first table, casting a magical, golden glow on the whole scene. The farmers’ market sprang up in the hospital parking lot every Thursday like a dance scene from Brigadoon, and this particular Thursday, everyone who entered smiled a little deeper and stepped a little lighter—everyone except the woman who stood at the entrance under the hospital’s banner: Healthy Eating—Good Food, Good Choices.
Marisol closed her honey-brown eyes and sighed deeply. She ran a hand through silky dark hair and willed her foot to take a step into the line of stalls. Ordinarily, a trip to the farmers’ market in the middle of December was a time of joy. Buying all the ingredients for the Christmas tamales rang in the holiday with both bells and whistles. But this year was different. Horribly different. She would go home with all the fresh ingredients spilling out of the basket on her arm to an empty house and putter about her kitchen, soaking the corn husks and stirring the chicken broth into the masa harina all by herself.
Never before had she made the tamales alone. In years long past, her grandmother had steadied her hand as she, a little girl in long braids, added the masa flour slowly and carefully to the base mixture. Then her mother had ushered in a whole new modern era with the Tex-Mex spicy avocado cream addition. Legend had it that her mother had dreamed up the concoction as she stared at the avocado soap dispenser while she washed the Thanksgiving dishes. By December 25, almost like a Christmas miracle, the delectable spicy and creamy sauce made its successful debut.
This year should have seen Marisol and her girls building the tamales in their own kitchen, as the women of her family had for years. But her ex, Carrie, had ruined the tamale tradition, among other things, when, the day before Valentine’s Day, she admitted to Marisol that she had slept with another teacher—who was married, no less—at her school.
“I think I’m in love,” she had opened the conversation as they strolled around their funky Topanga neighborhood. For a brief moment, Marisol had thought it was the start of a fun new game to usher in the holiday, but her smile had fallen as soon as she saw the hard look on Carrie’s face. The full conversation that followed had frozen her heart, and now, nine months later, a tamale party for one was not going to thaw it.
“Hey, beautiful.” The fishmonger who set up his coolers right by the honey stand winked at Marisol. She had bought a salmon fillet from him once, and since then he had always greeted her the same way. She smiled wanly. There was no real sentiment in the compliment. She had heard him greet every woman from six to sixty that way, and the creepy breathiness of the way he drew out the “ful” at the end of the word finally drove her into the market.
The chile and pepper kiosk, her destination, lay smack in the middle of the market, a terrible spot between the artisan-roasted nuts and the perfumed soaps. Even so, it was always packed. Today in the crowd, a man with the light blue scrubs of a surgical nurse stood over the poblanos, inspecting each one carefully.
“Hey, Carlos,” Marisol said.
Carlos raised a hand to wave happily at Marisol as she approached. His scrubs, a size too small, stretched over his chest, revealing rippling muscles underneath. He claimed that he just took whatever the laundry gave him, but Marisol had many times seen him riffle through the piles of clean scrubs to find the size he wanted. The other male nurses made fun of him, but Carlos had immediately taken her side in the break-up. He could go around in a jockstrap if he wanted to, as far as Marisol was concerned.
“Oh hi, Mari! What are you doing here? I thought this was your day off.” He leaned in for a hug, smelling deliciously of Obsession for Men.
“It is, but I’m making tamales this weekend for the girls. So I came for the ingredients.”
“A tamale party? That’s wonderful. Are they coming over?”
“No, it’s just me. Things are crazy. The girls have finals and a softball tournament, and my schedule here at the hospital is all over the place. But there’s one night somewhere in all of that mess where the girls and I can have dinner before they leave for Hawaii. I thought I would do one Christmassy thing, and we’d eat tamales.”
Marisol shrugged. For the most part she was writing Christmas off this year. She had already signed up to work on Christmas Day, telling everyone that the overtime was great. Frankly, with the girls on their beach vacation with Carrie and Mrs. Homewrecker, who conveniently owned a condo on the Big Island, there was no real point to celebrate. Her cousin who lived in the Bay area had invited her up, Carlos and Mark too, but she didn’t want to throw gloom over the holiday for anyone. The hospital would be the best place for her.
“What are you getting?” She forced herself to focus on Carlos and not the empty days ahead.
He held up a dark green pointy poblano. “Mark said he wanted chile rellenos this weekend, all Bobby Flay style, with the cornmeal crust and the goat cheese.”
Marisol raised an eyebrow.
“I know. What can I say? I love him.” He dropped two perfect chiles into a plastic bag with an exaggerated wave of his hand. “Don’t tell my mother.”
His gaze drifted over her head, and then his eyes went wide, very wide. “Oh my God.” He silently mouthed the words. Pushing Marisol aside, he stepped into the path of a tall woman with pretty almond-shaped eyes and black hair styled in a spiked pixie cut.
“You’re … you’re that woman on the cooking show contest.” Carlos bounced up and down on his toes. “You won the whole thing with the cod and coconut broth dish, right?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “It’s a curse to be known for your food rather than your name. Jenny Kwon.”
“I’m Carlos. Mari, did you see that episode? Oh my goodness, the colors in that bowl. It was like a piece of art.”
Marisol nodded. She had seen every episode, in fact, of that season. The woman standing beside her looked better than she had on the show. On TV she raced around a hot kitchen and even hotter personalities. It had been barely controlled chaos. Here she stepped with purpose; her motions were quick and energetic, her face radiated calm. Not classically attractive, but everything about her screamed confidence. That was better than pretty, in Marisol’s book. She met the woman’s gaze for a moment, and then let her eyes drop. Jenny’s scrutiny, too open and too inviting, bored into her, probing places that had been very cold for a long time.
Carlos looked from one woman to the other. He tipped his head for a moment and ran a darting tongue over his lips. Then a sparkle lit his dark eyes. “Jenny, this is Marisol. Marisol, this is Jenny.”
“Nice to meet you.” She fixed Marisol with another lingering look and waved her hand in the direction of the chile and pepper stand. “What do you know about these?”
Marisol couldn’t immediately find an answer. People these days only looked at her as a nurse or a mother. Jenny peered at her like she was an attractive woman. She didn’t quite know how to answer.
“Oh my God. Marisol is a wonderful cook. Ask her anything.”
“Stop it. Jenny’s a professional.”
“Don’t let a win by one vote fool you. I actually know very little about Mexican cuisine.” Marisol again said nothing. “I came over to see if there were any Thai chiles. It’s not the season, but you never know. Of course, now I don’t see any, so I guess I’ll just stand here like an idiot.”
Carlos reached out his foot and kicked Marisol into a response.
“The Thai chile is spicy, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then the serrano could be close.” Marisol pointed to the narrow red chiles in the basket closest to them. “It’s spicy and hot, but it also has real pepper flavor, not just heat.”
“Then it’s made for me.” Jenny reached up for one of the thin plastic bags that hung on the crossbars of the kiosk roof. She wrapped it around her hand like a glove, and then took another. She grabbed a couple of the
serrano chiles and stuffed them inside the second bag. “What are you getting?”
Carlos struck through the opening like a viper. “Mari’s getting green chiles. She’s making green chile and cheese tamales for Christmas. It’s a Mexican tradition. You haven’t lived until you’ve had her tamales.”
This time Marisol kicked Carlos—harder and on the shin. “Ouch. Seriously. She’s embarrassed, but it’s true.”
“I’d love to taste them,” Jenny said simply. Again she cast that open and inviting look at Marisol, who had no idea how to interpret this statement. Was she serious? Was she just aggressively dedicated to bettering her craft as a chef? Or was flirting with anyone she met on the street just her way? How was anyone supposed to navigate these waters? She had been out of this game way too long.
“You can.” Again Carlos jumped right in. “She’s making them this weekend.”
“Carlos!”
“Thursday is her day off.” He rushed the words out before anyone could stop him. “We’ll meet back here next Thursday at, let’s say, the same time. Noon?”
“Carlos, I’m sure she’s too busy to come back next week.” She marveled that she wasn’t blushing, but the coldness, Carrie’s parting gift, still circled in her chest.
“No, it’s okay. My uncle has a standing appointment here. I brought him today. I could come next week too. Believe me, I could use some brownie points with my mother.” She handed the bag of chiles to the vendor, who finished a text on his phone before he weighed them.
“Two bucks,” he said with a yawn.
Jenny dug the money out of her pants pocket, while Carlos and Marisol watched as if she were creating performance art. She tucked the bag up under her arm, and then whipped up her hand to shake Marisol’s with a firm, poised motion. “It’s a date.”
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