The kitchen wasn’t huge, but it was big enough for the two of us to work together in tandem, and all the while I couldn’t help but wonder why Mom and I hadn’t ever done anything like that before. It seemed like such a trivial thing, but baking cookies was supposed to be one of those rites of passage every girl had with her mom.
“Why is this the first time we’ve done this?” I asked curiously as I poured a small amount of the dry mixture into the wet mixture to stir. Mom paused and stopped drying out the mixing bowl she’d just washed. Her light brows were drawn together and little lines appeared around her eyes, making it clear she didn’t know what I was talking about.
“Making cookies, I mean,” I clarified. “We’ve never done it before.”
“Yes, we have,” Mom replied. “We used to make them all the time when you were little. Don’t you remember?”
Confused, I shook my head.
“We used to make them as an after school snack for Luke and Sky,” she said. “Of course, you couldn’t have been but four at the time,” she sighed, shaking her head and smiling at some distant memory. “I think you probably wound up wearing most of it.”
I was surprised I couldn’t remember any such occurrence, but Mom spoke of it so fondly I knew it must be true. “So why has it taken so long to do it again?”
“Just been busy, I suppose.” She sounded casual as she spoke, but the frown lines around her eyes belied how much it troubled her.
I watched Mom move around the kitchen, straightening odds and ends, as she prepared to start putting together the mixture for the snickerdoodles. I realized, watching her, I knew very little about my mother. What little I did know was information I’d gleaned from her family over the years, but most of it was bits from back when she was still Leela Sawyer. From what I knew about Mom pre-marriage, Leela Sawyer and Leela Granger seemed like two completely different people.
I knew becoming a wife and mother had to have affected the woman she’d turned into. I figured someday my children would think of me as an enigma as well.
I wondered if Mom ever felt sad because her children didn’t really know her and hadn’t taken much time to try. Did she feel as in the dark about us as we (or, at least, I) did about her?
It made me sad, yet at the same time I knew that if I really wanted to know something about her, or she about me, then all either of us had to do was ask. Besides, I knew the most important fact of all: my mother loved me unconditionally.
Since we were bonding, however, I figured I might as well take advantage of it. As embarrassing as it was, I clearly needed an outside opinion on the Jackson situation. I was certain Tegan was never going to give up her “Jackson likes you!” mantra until this fact was either confirmed or denied by Jackson himself.
As I stirred the last of the dry mixture into what was fast becoming a thick mixture of cookie dough, I asked, “Mom, can I get your opinion about something?”
Mom was measuring out sugar into the mixing bowl she’d just cleaned. “Sure, sweetie.”
I swallowed back my nerves. “Well, you see, there’s this guy that I’m friends with,” I began, glancing at Mom. She was watching me, and her eyes seemed to light up with curiosity. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Go on.”
I bit my lip, trying to decide how to explain the situation. “He and I get along really well. We have fun when we’re talking or hanging out,” I finally said, “but Tegan thinks that he likes me as more than a friend, and I’m not sure if she’s right.”
Mom smiled a little, knowingly. “Do you want him to like you as more than a friend?”
My face grew warm; that was probably answer enough. Still, I said, “Yeah, I do.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t wait for him to take the first step,” Mom said decisively. “You could be up front with him about how you feel.”
I was surprised Mom would have such a straightforward approach to the situation. It seemed like a reasonable enough idea, but I didn’t think I could share in my mother’s guilelessness tactic. There was just too much that could go wrong.
Mom was watching me, and I must have made some sort of face because she asked, “What is it, Silly?”
I sighed, realizing I might as well put a voice to my worries. “What if he doesn’t feel the same? And what if he doesn’t want to be friends with me afterward?”
“I’d say if he’d end your friendship because you care about him too much, then he wasn’t a friend worth having to begin with,” Mom answered brisk and resolutely.
I mulled it over, and I knew Mom made sense. I wondered who this sharp-minded and opinionated woman was because she seemed nothing like the Mom I knew, but I found I kind of like this side of her.
“How do you think I should tell him?” I asked curiously. I wasn’t sure I’d actually follow through with her advice, but it was nice to have her input.
“That, sweetheart, I think is something you’re going to have to figure out for yourself,” Mom said, smiling softly. “But just be honest. Guys don’t like games, or at least they didn’t in my day. Of course, that probably seems like prehistoric times to you.”
“Oh, it does not,” I laughed, crossing the kitchen to hug her. “Thanks for the advice, Mom.”
“Aw, bonding.” I stiffened in Mom’s arms at the sound of Skylar’s voice. I pulled away from Mom and looked at my sister, who was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.
“I was just giving your sister some advice,” Mom said as I crossed back to my section of the counter to add the chocolate chips to the cookie dough.
“About what? How to act normal?” Skylar scoffed.
“Sky,” Mom warned. “If you must know, we were talking about guys. I suppose your sister might have asked you for advice if you weren’t so self-absorbed.”
Skylar looked dumbstruck. I was a bit shocked as well. Not that Mom was aware Skylar was self-absorbed, of course, but that she would call her out on it. Skylar huffed and threw a glare in my direction, because what Mom said was clearly my fault, before stomping off down the hallway.
Mom shook her head. “She always was the dramatic one.”
“Some things never change,” I smirked.
Over the next few hours, Mom and I baked, chatting occasionally as we arranged cookies on cooling racks on the dining room table or sampling the spoils of our hard work while we waited for the next batch to finish baking. Once some of the cookies were cool, I was put to work arranging them on trays to take with us on Tuesday.
As we were finishing up, Luke came in to “investigate the situation.” What he really meant was he’d come to steal some cookies. Mom didn’t seem to mind, though, because we had plenty.
As Mom was moving the last batch of cookies from the baking sheet to the cooling rack, the doorbell rang.
Since I was just standing there watching Mom (and contemplating sampling another cookie) while Luke stuffed his face, I offered to get it. I figured Skylar was probably upstairs pouting, and when I glanced into the living room on my way day the hallway, I saw that Dad was fast asleep on the couch.
I moved my head from side to side to alleviate the cramp that was starting to form in my neck. I had a feeling my feet were going to be killing me by morning after standing around all afternoon.
When I pulled open the front door, I half expected to be bombarded by a group of Christmas carolers. There was a group from the neighborhood who’d gotten together each year and went door to door, so it wasn’t completely implausible. Tegan and I had even joined them one year, but Tegan caught pneumonia and wound up in the hospital for a few days, so we hadn’t ventured out to carol since.
Instead of carolers, I found Jackson. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as the snow fell heavily around him. White flakes had already started to gather, standing in stark contrast against his dark hair and his usually pale cheeks were a rosy shade of pink. He smiled, his eyes bright and happy as he greeted me. “Hey.”
That gorgeous grin warm
ed me against the cold air blasting in around him. “Hi,” I said a little breathlessly. I had enough sense to step back, opening the door wider, though, and motioned for him to come inside. “You look cold.”
“I am,” he nodded, stepping inside. “It’s like a blizzard out here.”
I closed the door, shutting out the cold. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry for not calling first, but I wanted to bring you your Christmas present,” he said, holding up a thin rectangular gift wrapped in gold paper. He thrust it toward me, and I fumbled slightly, my fingers brushing his, before I got a good hold on it.
“Thank you.” I knew I was blushing. His fingers had been cold as they brushed against mine, but it had felt like a shock shot up through my arm. It was probably just static electricity, but I liked to think it was something else. I turned the gift over in my hands, curious as to its contents. “You didn’t have to come tonight,” I said. “I thought your family was doing something.”
“We are,” he nodded. “The house was still packed when I left, but I really needed a breather.”
“I can relate to that.” I inwardly cringed, remembering the previous day at my grandparents’ house.
“To be completely honest,” Jackson grinned, “I also wanted to see you.”
I was sure my face turned tomato red then. I bit my lip, unsure how to reply to that, but Jackson glanced over my shoulder and nodded in greeting, “Hey, Luke.”
I followed his gaze, turning to look over my shoulder. My brother nodded as he continued chewing what appeared to be a chocolate chip cookie. Once he swallowed, he said, “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Not much,” Jackson shrugged. “You?”
“Same,” Luke nodded. “Just sampling the cookies Mom and Sil made. Good stuff.”
“Luke’s going to eat them all before we make it to our grandparents’ house,” I commented.
“Am not,” Luke said as a door overhead slammed.
Immediately my thoughts went to Skylar. She’d probably heard the doorbell ring. I inwardly groaned at the thought of Skylar coming downstairs and butting in, as she so loved to do. I glanced at Luke, and he winked at me before muttering something about “places to be” before he hurried up the stairs.
“He’s weird,” I sighed, turning back to Jackson.
“Most siblings are,” he smiled. “So, did you get anything good yet?”
“Some gifts cards and a sweater that looks like it was knit by Molly Weasley,” I shrugged. I studied the gift Jackson had given me again. “This looks too small for an ugly sweater and too big for a gift card.”
“You never know,” he grinned. “I could just be trying to throw you off.”
“Sneaky.”
“Oh, yes,” Jackson smirked. “That’s me.”
I arched an eyebrow—much in the same way Mom had, I realized. “I don’t know if I should trust you then,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and looking him up and down in mock suspicion. “The sneaky types are the ones you have to be wary of.”
“In that case, I’m a very nice boy.” Jackson hunched his broad shoulders and pouted out his plush bottom lip in an attempt to look innocent.
“I’ve been told to be careful of them too.”
Jackson laughed that musical trill that I’d missed so much while we weren’t speaking. “Who aren’t you wary of then?”
“My dad wasn’t exactly clear on that,” I shrugged, grinning. “I understood that all guys are supposed to be distrusted.”
“Except for him and your brother, I suspect?”
“Well,” I chuckled, “my dad at least. Jury’s still out where Luke’s concerned.”
Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but I stiffed when I heard Skylar’s voice drifting down the stairs.
“Crap,” I muttered under my breath. I’d been hoping Luke could head her off and she wouldn’t come downstairs. Things had been a bit better the day before, but I knew she, Luke and I had probably only banded together to survive the holiday with Dad’s family. She was probably still in a snit over Mom’s comment.
Even though Jackson was aware of how I felt in regards to my sister and him, I was sure she’d prance downstairs and make a spectacle of herself no matter how Jackson responded to her.
Panicked, I looked up at Jackson and asked, “Shouldn’t you maybe be getting back home before all of your relatives leave?”
“I suppose.” Jackson eyed me curiously. I wasn’t sure if he’d heard Skylar or not, but it was obvious he knew something was up. He nodded toward the gift in my hand. “Aren’t you going to open that first?”
My first instinct was to lie to get him out of the house, but I didn’t want to lie to him. I didn’t like being that kind of person, and it seemed like such a step backward now that we were finally on speaking terms again.
Instead, I answered honestly. “I would, but Skylar’s upstairs. I think she’s probably going to come down any minute, and I don’t want her to see you here,” I explained. “She and I haven’t been on the best of terms since that day you were over here to watch that movie with her.”
“Oh.” Jackson’s eyes widened. Today they were honey brown with a ring of green around the outside.
“Really, I don’t want you to leave,” I said, biting my lip, “but you probably should.”
“It’s no problem,” he shrugged and then nodded to the gift. “Just make sure you open that, okay?”
“Promise,” I said, feeling brave and wrapping my arms around his middle. He smelled amazing and it took me a moment to remember what I was going to say. “Thank you, and Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” he said, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a big squeeze before we pulled away from each other. “I’m sure I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, grinning. There was some emotion in his eyes, but before I could figure out what it was, he’d pulled the door open and slipped outside.
I watched from the window beside the front door as he walked out to his car. Lost in the beauty that was Jackson, I jumped when someone cleared his or her throat behind me. I spun around and frowned when I saw it was Skylar.
“Who was here?” she asked, leaning to the side to see around me through the window.
“Jackson,” I answered, glancing over my shoulder as his Camaro pulled away from the curb.
“Oh.” Skylar seemed to perk up a bit. “What for?”
“He brought by my Christmas gift,” I answered, waving the present in front of me once. Skylar looked around, her thin brows drawing closer together to form that furrow between them. “Did he leave me anything?”
“No.” My tone was terse as I shook my head. “Like I said, he came to bring me a Christmas gift.”
The frown stayed in place, but I met Skylar’s bright blue eyes and found confusion and hurt there. Instead of feeling guilty about my words, I reminded myself that she was the one who was wrong. Apparently, she still didn’t understand she was wrong about Jackson’s motives. She probably still hadn’t realized how much she’d hurt me by feeding me those lies and purposely shoving her friendship with Jackson in my face, after telling me he had no interest in me as a person, either.
Mom really was right. Skylar was self-absorbed, but she was also mean and thoughtless. Maybe because it was the holidays, I couldn’t find it in myself to be angry with my sister, though. Instead, I could only feel pity for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The last time I could ever remember feeling so giddy about opening a present was when I was eight and begged my parents for a dollhouse for all of my Barbies to live in. I barely slept on Christmas Eve that year, trying to stay awake in hopes I’d hear Santa and his reindeer on the roof. Obviously, I didn’t hear the reindeer, but even though I drifted off to sleep at some point that night, I was still the first one up on Christmas day.
I’d never been so excited in my life as when I came downstairs and saw all of the presents spread out under the tree. I was beside myself with joy when my parent
s brought my last present out from another room. I tore away the wrapping paper to reveal the Barbie dollhouse I’d been asking for what, in my child’s mind, felt like forever. I knew exactly how the kid in A Christmas Story felt when he finally got his Red Rider BB gun.
On my way to my room to open my gift from Jackson, I felt that same excitement once again. I had no idea what the present might be, but, in truth, I knew it really didn’t matter what he got me. His confession that he’d wanted to see me was gift enough. The fact that he’d actually made a trip over to my house in the middle of his Christmas celebration to see me was just the icing on the cake.
Upon entering my room, I noticed my gift for him sitting on my desk. I realized I shouldn’t have let him leave without giving it to him first. I felt so guilty and a bit stupid, but that only lasted a moment. Giving him his gift would be a perfect excuse to see him the next day and thank him for whatever he got me.
I looked at the package he’d given me once again. The depth looked like the equivalent of two CDs put together, and the length was about the size of a DVD. It was definitely much too big to be a gift card. I decided not to analyze it; instead, I ripped away the paper.
It took me a moment to realize I was looking at a mix CD because there, on the cover, was a drawing of my face. It was somewhat in profile with my head turned slightly away, but the corners of my mouth were turned up in a small smile while my cheeks were a rosy pink, as if I were both amused and embarrassed. I’d never seen a picture like this of myself before, which could only mean that Jackson drew it from memory.
Once I was finally able to tear my eyes away from the both flattering and realistic portrait of myself, I took in the rest of the cover. Across the bottom, he’d hand lettered the title, “Strange and Beautiful: Songs About Silly.”
Biting my lip, I removed the CD from the case. Jackson had also hand written the title on it. I realized he was really good at lettering. The writing on the CD and cover were different from the loopy, neat words he’d written on the birthday card he’d made for me, and it was also slightly different from the note I’d found inside The Chronicles of Narnia collection he’d given me. His writing in the last had been just a bit sloppier, so I guessed it was probably his typical handwriting.
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