Mourning Wood

by Heather M. Orgeron

  “Could say the same for the two of you.” His hungry eyes give me a thorough once-over that sends butterflies flooding my tummy.

  I run my hands over the front of my black dress, smoothing out any wrinkles, and adjust the gold belt at my waist. “Thank you.”

  “Can y’all stop flirting so I can go meet my future great-grandparents?”

  Dating with a child isn’t for the faint of heart.

  Wyatt snorts. “You heard the lady.” He rests a hand between my shoulder blades guiding me toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  When we arrive at Wyatt’s house, there’s a little old man sitting on the porch swing just waving away. He’s adorable, with a head full of snowy white hair, little round spectacles, and stereotypical plaid flannel and khakis.

  “Home sweet home,” Wyatt says, killing the engine.

  There’s a little extra pep in his step as he rounds the truck to let me and Prissy out. The man is simply glowing with pride over finally being able to show off the people who raised him.

  I, on the other hand, am seconds away from a nuclear-level meltdown. This fit of nerves is ridiculous. I meet new people every day. That is literally my job. But I can’t stop thinking about a conversation I had with Kate the other night—the one where she let it slip how uneasy his Mimi was about the rate at which our relationship has progressed. As a fellow mother hen, I’m now petrified to enter that house.

  “Whitney, Prissy… I’d like you both to meet my Pop, Charles Hazelwood.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir.” I swallow my nerves, steel my spine, and reach for his hand.

  “My, she is a pretty one, Wyatt,” he announces, clamping his other hand over mine so it’s sandwiched between both of his.

  “Thank you.”

  “And who do we have here?” Charles shuffles over to stand in front of my daughter, exerting a heck of a lot of effort to bend his old body to her level. It makes me smile to see where Wyatt gets his finer qualities, always making it a point to be sure that child knows she has his undivided attention.

  “I’m Prissy.”

  He nods, patting her head with a shaky hand. “That’s some fine, sturdy footwear you’ve got there.”

  Beaming, she twists the toe of one combat-booted foot into the ground. “Thank you.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen my daughter blush. It’s sweet.

  “Pretty sure you’ve just made a friend for life, Pop.” Wyatt swipes his knuckles along my spine, eliciting a full body chill. “Y’all wanna get inside, outta this cold?”

  “Boy’s such a wuss,” the old man tuts, easily earning a laugh from my little girl, while trailing his grandson to the door.

  “Woah!” Wyatt shouts when Ru—Sprinkles nearly knocks us all over trying to get to Prissy. “Down, boy.”

  “Sprinkles, sit!” Prissy commands, snapping her fingers and holding out a hand for Wyatt to get her a treat. “Good boy,” she says kissing all over that slobbery muzzle of his. “That’s a good boy.”

  “You could learn a thing or two from that precious little girl there about controlling that beast.”

  “You ain’t lyin’,” Wyatt says to the elderly woman hobbling out from behind the stove. “Mimi, I’d like you to meet my girls.”

  Well, if my dang heart doesn’t swell to bursting with that proclamation.

  “Whitney, this is my Mimi, Melinda. Mimi, Whitney.” Sweat beads over my brow while I extend my hand. I wish Kate hadn’t said anything, because I’m not usually so awkward.

  “Oh, darlin’, I don’t do none of that hand shakin’ business. If you’re gonna make it in this family, you’re gonna have to get acquainted with my huggin’.” The short round woman wraps me up tighter than a boa constrictor while Wyatt observes with the hugest smile on his face—completely oblivious to the mounting tension. “Don’t you go hurtin’ my little boy,” she murmurs in my ear, so quietly there’s no way possible anyone heard it but me.

  I clear the frog from my throat and nod discreetly. She certainly won’t be hopping aboard the Whitney train any time soon.

  “Your turn, little missy,” Melinda threatens, aiming her attention at my daughter.

  “Hi, Mimi,” my darling child greets, throwing her arms around the woman’s waist without even being prompted. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  She, too, is well-versed in meeting new people.

  “Well,” the woman says, patting Prissy on the back of the head, her eyes suddenly twinkling. “Aren’t you somethin’?”

  My baby girl looks up, staring into the old woman’s eyes with nothing but sincere admiration. “People tell me that a lot.”

  Wyatt and I reach for each other at the same time, hooking our fingers together, both fighting back laughter.

  “Well, I guess they do,” Mimi offers. “I bet you’re a handful.”

  Prissy nods. “Yes, ma’am. My teacher says I’m a real piece’a work.”

  Leave it to my child to try selling herself with every backhanded compliment she’s ever received.

  “Well, I’ll tell ya one thing—you sure are cute as a button.” Her once-hesitant smile now stretches ear to ear. I think it’s safe to say one of us has won her over. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t me.

  “I love your pink flowery dress.” My kid is lying trough her gosh-darn teeth. But I love her all the more for it.

  “I’m so glad to hear it!” the clever old bat announces. “Cuz I got you one just like it for Christmas.”

  Prissy’s forced smile looks positively constipated. “Th—thank you.”

  “I’m joking,” Mimi cackles, pinching her cheek. “Wyatt talks about your naughty little tail all the time. I know you don’t like pink.”

  “Sorry.”

  “There’s nothin’ to be sorry about. Don’t ever apologize for being just who you are.”

  Prissy nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The real question is…do you like cookies?”

  My little girl bounces on her toes. “Uh-huh.”

  “Good,” she answers, heading for the oven. “If youd’a said no, that one might’a been a deal breaker.”

  “Shouldn’t she eat dinner first?” Wyatt says when his grandmother hands Prissy a chocolate chip cookie right off the pan.

  “Wyatt Jude, I know you ain’t tryin’ to tell me how to spoil my new grandbaby.”

  I swat his leg and give him a stern look. The last thing I need is the woman thinking he’s questioning her judgment on my behalf.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, appropriately chastened.

  Once the awkwardness of introductions has passed, the evening isn’t so bad. We have a nice sit-down meal of beef tenderloin, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans. Prissy keeps the grandparents entertained asking all sorts of questions about their grandson and what he was like as a child while Wyatt and I engage in an hour-long game of footsie beneath the table. I honestly don’t know how I held off on the guy’s advances for so long. I’ve become quite the addict, constantly yearning for even the slightest touch.

  After dinner, he assists me in loading the dishwasher while Mimi and Pop set up a fold-out table and chairs in the living room for some top-secret activity they have planned.

  “What’s up, losers?” The back door flies open, sending in a gush of icy cold air, along with my best friend and her little family. “It’s freaking freezing out there.”

  “Well, hello there, Lulu-magu,” I croon, going straight for the baby, who cranes her back, gripping her mother’s shirt with tiny fists that are impossible to pry open. Per usual, the child wants nothing to do with me.

  “Just take her,” Kate orders, shoving the flailing tot into my arms before kissing my cheek. “You know her spoiled butt ain’t going willingly. Merry Christmas, Morticia.”

  “Merry Christmas, Cruella.”

  She snorts. “Cruella, really? Sure you ain’t talkin’ bout yourself?”

  I shrug. “Was the best I could come up with on the spot.” After shushing and
coddling Lucy for a few minutes, I give up and set the little tyrant to the floor to do her worst.

  “Auntie Kate! Uncle Beau! I didn’t know y’all was coming. Did you bring me presents?” I shoot Prissy a Mom Look but she’s undeterred.

  “Does a bear make poo in the woods?” Beau answers, sounding like a total dweeb.

  Kate’s got the man so scared to say a bad word in front of that baby she has him saying shit like “make poo.”

  “I vow to never steal your man card like that, babe.” I eye our friends, shaking my head in disgust.

  “’Preciate it, love.” He slings an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close while Beau gags on air.

  “Could you two be more nauseating?”

  “Is that a challenge?” Wyatt asks, before slapping his cousin behind the head. “If so, we have some stiff competition with the two of you.”

  “Y’all gonna just stand around here insulting each other?” Mimi inquires, entering from the living room.

  “Mimi!” Kate squeals, skittering across the kitchen in her heeled boots to give the woman a giant hug. “It’s so good to see you.” The two rock side to side, drawing the greeting out.

  Nope. I’m not jealous at all.

  After Mimi and Pop have made their rounds hugging and kissing on the new arrivals, they drag us all into the living room for the grand reveal: a gingerbread house building competition.

  “We did this every year growing up,” Wyatt explains. “Our neighbors would come over and judge afterward.” From the look of sheer joy plastered on his face, I can tell there are some very fond memories there.

  “Listen up,” Pop says, trying to grab everyone’s attention. “Y’all got one hour to build your houses. Then Wyatt’s arranged for Hank and Marie to come over and do the judgin’.”

  Wyatt beams down at my stunned face.

  “My parents are coming over?”

  He nods. “They couldn’t make it for dinner and the competition cuz of that body they had to pick up at the retirement home, but they said they’d come by to meet my grandparents and visit for a bit after. Worked out perfectly.” He squeezes my hand. “We needed judges…and I’ve never met anyone more judgy than your father.”

  Has he met his grandmother?

  “This could be the best Christmas ever.” I press a chaste kiss to his plump lips while trying not to swoon over the fact that he thought to invite my mom and dad.

  Our holidays are usually spent at the funeral home—just me and Prissy and my folks. It’s extremely rare that they aren’t interrupted with business of some kind. And while it’s nice to be out surrounded by loved ones, doing normal festive things, I still feel guilty for leaving them out.

  “That’s what I’m hoping.” He grips my chin, sending a wave of desire rushing through me. “The first of many best Christmases ever.”

  “You two ’bout done?” Mimi intrudes, smashing her hands to her hips and tapping her right foot against the floor.

  My cheeks flame when I notice the rest of the room staring at the two of us. “Yep,” I say, backing away from temptation. “All done.”

  “As I was sayin’,” Pop continues. “The winner gets this here trophy.” He holds up a little six-inch gold gingerbread man in the Heisman stance on a stone block. “And bragging rights for a year. Clock starts…now!”

  With that we each grab a seat and set to working on constructing our houses.

  “At least Rufus is good for something,” Kate muses, watching her daughter—who’s almost never far enough away she can’t make one quick turn and crawl back up in that uterus of hers—climbing all over him.

  “Uh, do you mean Sprinkles?” my little sasshole asks while blobbing icing on the corners of her walls.

  “My bad,” Kate giggles. “Forgot he’s a sissy dog now.”

  Prissy rolls her eyes before promptly getting back to work.

  “How’d you get yours to hold together so well?” I ask Wyatt, who’s already moved on to lining the edges of his house with gumdrops, while I can’t get my damn roof to stop sliding off.

  He shrugs. “You gotta get the icing and cookie lined up right. It’s all about balance.”

  Prissy’s having about as much luck as I am, so I don’t say a word when I see her little genius self chewing up pieces of gum and sneaking them on the inner corners of her house to use as glue when she thinks no one’s watching.

  “I concede!” I announce, ready to throw the damn thing into the trash. “I don’t have the patience for this.”

  “You can reconstruct an entire face, but can’t get a few pieces of cookie to hold together?” Kate taunts.

  Braggy little bitch.

  I toss a peppermint stick in her direction, nailing her right between the tits.

  Pop bows out right about the same time I do. His little pile of rubble is nearly as pitiful as mine.

  Wyatt and Mimi have the most traditional looking houses, by far, but it’s totally not fair because they’ve done this before. Beau’s roof is lopsided, and it looks like Lucy decorated the damn thing; but I truly have no room to talk. Mine appears to have been hit with a wrecking ball. Kate’s house isn’t too bad…I guess.

  Okay, fine. It’s adorable as fuck.

  If there was an originality award, it’d definitely go to my daughter. She’s iced the entire thing in black and added nothing but white gumdrops and candy pearls, and a few randomly placed stalks of black licorice. She’s nothing if not consistent.

  When my parents arrive, I let them in to wait in the kitchen, since they aren’t allowed to see who’s building which house.

  “Time!” I hear Mr. Charles shout.

  In the next second they’re all packed into the kitchen, wishing my parents a Merry Christmas. Momma and Daddy seem to hit it off really well with Charles and Melinda. This thrills me to no end. They don’t get the chance to socialize much, so I’m feeling extra emotional and taking care to commit every moment of this special night to memory.

  “All right,” Daddy’s deep voice booms through the tiny kitchen. “Let’s have a look at these houses.”

  Like a herd of cattle, the crowd moves to the living room.

  “I’m gonna murder that stupid mutt,” Kate shouts, pacing along the table edge, taking in the wreckage. She’s usually gaga for that puppy, so her outrage is extra hilarious.

  “See,” I gloat. “Cruella.”

  “He ate my masterpiece!”

  Sprinkles cowers, tucking tail and slinking away to hide behind the couch.

  “Maybe it was Lucifer,” Prissy argues. “You ever think of that?”

  “Oh, yeah. The baby climbed up on the table and gobbled up every house but yours.”

  Prissy shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, if you didn’t see it happen, you can’t go accusin’.”

  “Well,” Daddy announces, through a roar of laughter, “guess my girl Prissy wins by default.”

  “Only because her house is so creepy, not even the dog would touch it.”

  Oh, what would we do without our Kate?

  “Go on and get yourself ready for the day,” Mimi orders. There’s no question where I get my habit of early rising from. The two of us are already working on our second cups of coffee before the sun’s come up.

  “For what?” I glance down at the candy cane striped pajamas she gifted me last night, smoothing a hand over my chest. “It’s Christmas. We never wear real clothes on Christmas.”

  “Occasionally you gotta adapt with the times, son.” Pop comes strolling out of the guest room, looking sharp as a tack with his hair gelled to one side and a fresh thermal. The smell of Old Spice is so thick I can practically see it floating around him like a cloud.

  My eyes volley between my two parental figures. I feel the divot forming between my brows. They’ve always been sticklers for routine and heavy on tradition. “What’re you guys up to?”

  “You belong with your girls, Wyatt.” My grandmother reaches across the table to pat the top of my hand. “You’re not
being apart from ’em, today of all days. Certainly not on our account.”

  “It’s a nice gesture.” I give her fingers a little squeeze to show I appreciate it. “But I’m not leaving you two alone on Christmas.”

  Her head jolts back, appalled by the suggestion. “Well, of course you’re not. I didn’t say we were just gonna hand you over like we’re some pair of worn-out shoes you’ve gone and tossed in the trash .”

  Damn, but my grandmother can be some kinda drama queen when she wants to be.

  “Marie typed me a note on my phone this mornin’ to see if we wanted to swing by. Said that girlfriend of yours was moping around the house like someone gone and died while waiting for Prissy to wake up.”

  “You learned how to text?”

  She huffs. “Well, no. I had to call her so we could talk. You know my eyes ain’t as good as they used to be. Anyway, she’s invited the three of us over for breakfast and to watch that sweet child open her gifts.”

  “I’ll be ready in ten.” I hop up out of my seat and head for the sink to rinse the rest of my coffee down the drain. After putting my mug into the dishwasher, I return to the table and plant a kiss on my Mimi’s round cheek. “Told you you’d love ’em,” I say before starting in the direction of my room.

  “Jury’s still out on the older one,” she hollers back at me.

  “Hey, Mimi?” I return to the kitchen and peer my head inside. “You do realize they’re a packaged deal?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she answers with a backhanded wave.

  “Wyatt?” Whitney’s sleepy eyes expand as her lips curl into the sweetest of smiles. “What’re you…?”

  “Surprise!” Marie peeks her head over her daughter’s shoulder. “I was gonna stick this big bow on top his head and give him to ya for Christmas, but you got to the door before me.”

  Sure, enough the woman’s standing there with about a foot-wide red velvet bow clutched to her chest.

  “Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I say drinking her in from head to foot. The woman is a vision, even with ratty hair and not an ounce of makeup—especially for those reasons. Just the sight of her gets my heart beating faster and makes my throat thicken. It has me dreaming of a day in the future when we make this thing between us official and I’m able to wake up next to this hot mess every morning.