By Invitation Only

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “They are? They didn’t say anything about this.”

  The call ended on that note and I thought, You rotten stinker, you’re not sorry one bit. You’re disappointed you couldn’t have Barnum and Bailey host the wedding and the reception. Period.

  “So what did she have to say for herself?” Mom asked.

  “I think she’s never had to apologize for much, because she’s not very good at it. And I’d bet real money that she told her husband what she said to me, looking for support. He probably told her she was wrong and to make things right.”

  “You think so?”

  “She’d never make that phone call on her own. I suspect he has a much higher sense of right and wrong.”

  My mother just looked at me with a blank expression.

  “What? What are you thinking, Miss Virnell?”

  “I’m thinking Fred’s marrying into a mess. That’s what.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I just have a funny feeling.”

  When Virnell had a funny feeling, nobody wound up laughing.

  “Probably because you’ve been sleeping with Gus,” I said and gave her a hug.

  “That’s what the world needs more of. Sassy-mouth daughters.”

  “Oh, you know I’m teasing you.”

  “I know, but you mark my words.”

  “Okay, we’ll see what we see. I’m going to go on down to work and get last of the pies in the ovens.”

  “I’ll be there soon.”

  I opened the farm stand for the day, and soon there were so many cars in the parking lot, we were running out of space. Mom came in and was handling the cash register so that BJ and Floyd, on board for the holiday, could help customers. I still had pies going in and out of the ovens, as I would all day until all of our orders were filled.

  “This is the last batch of pecan pies,” I said to Mom when I came back out front and put four pies on the counter.

  “Good. The sooner this holiday ends, the happier I’ll be,” she said, looking at Pop’s empty recliner.

  “If you want, I can ask Floyd to get rid of it,” I said. “It’s pretty beaten up anyway.”

  “I’ll let you know about that another time.”

  I knew what she was thinking, that as long as Pop’s recliner stood in its familiar place, maybe he had just stepped away.

  “You know, we really should put up a tree,” I said. “Even just a little one.”

  “I just don’t feel the Christmas spirit,” she said.

  Perhaps that would be my excuse to call Alden, to help me get a little bit of Christmas cheer in the air. He had stopped by on other holidays in the past.

  Pine garland and wreaths with big red bows were hung all around the store, inside and out. Of course the wreaths were for sale, along with more garland, mistletoe balls, and red or white poinsettias. At that time of year, we had fewer vegetables to offer, so selling holiday decorations helped our bottom line, as did pies, jellies, pickles, and relishes.

  “Oh! Look at this, Roberta!” one customer said to her friend.

  “What is it?”

  “Peach preserves. It’s a perfect kitchen Santa for my neighbors!”

  “You can taste it if you’d like,” BJ said. “There’s an open jar and some crackers on the counter. Help yourselves!”

  Mom and I, and anyone else we could commandeer, would cut out red and green calico or gingham circles with pinking shears and tie them over the tops of the jars with twine, making them look like a gift. It worked. Especially when the uninitiated sampled the peach preserves. I kept a stack of paper napkins by the register for that very reason. People just loved free samples. I could put out squirrel hash and if it was free, people would eat it. That always amazed me.

  Soon the last pie had been picked up and almost all our wreaths and greens were sold. It was six o’clock and the parking lot was empty.

  “Time to call it a day,” Floyd said. “We’re closed tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Your camo pants are tired?”

  “They are. Good we’re closed. I need to go get BJ something. You think she’d like a cordless drill? I have to go to Lowe’s anyway. Maybe a set of wrenches?”

  “Wouldn’t every woman? You big jerk. I just love it that you’re going shopping on Christmas Eve.”

  “To be honest, I didn’t think she’d still be around.”

  “I didn’t either,” I said. “But she seems perfectly happy. She sure was a help today.”

  “Well, school’s out. You want to eat, you have to help.”

  “No, but I mean, she seems really happy.”

  “Di, of course she’s happy. She’s living with me. She seems to have gotten over her moodiness.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Fifty-one,” he said. “At least that’s what she says.”

  I shook my head. Had Floyd never heard of women and perimenopause?

  “Fifty-one. Floyd? It’s mother nature messing with her estrogen.”

  “Oh, yeah! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Charming as you are to live with, I’m guessing she probably got something from her doctor to squelch the blues.”

  “Whatever. Why don’t we take the leftover wreaths and hang them on our doors?”

  “Why not?”

  My brother and I closed the store for the holiday and took the wreaths home with us. The nail on our front door was still there from last year. I simply put the wreath in its place and turned to Floyd.

  “Mom insists she doesn’t want a Christmas tree. What do you think about that?”

  “I can understand it, but I don’t necessarily agree,” he said.

  “Humph. We’ve been so busy, I haven’t had the chance to ask you what you think about Fred and Shelby getting married next month.”

  “I think the sooner the better. Weddings bring out the crazy in everyone.”

  “That, dear brother, might be the understatement of the year.”

  “How are you doing, sister?”

  “What do you mean?” I looked at him. Did he mean the wedding or about Pop being gone and our first Christmas without him?

  “I mean, without Pretty Boy scratching at the door.”

  “Oh, Alden?”

  “Yeah. Him. I mean, maybe we should hook you up with Match or OurTime or one of those matchmaking sites. I hear they work pretty well.”

  “Oh, I’m too old for all that nonsense. You know how I am.”

  “Yeah, I do. You’re lonely. I can see it in your face. You don’t want Alden, but you don’t want anybody else to have him either. You know what?”

  I hated pep talks.

  “I think I’m about to hear,” I said.

  “I understand being afraid of getting involved and all that. But it’s not right to be alone if it makes you lonely. There’s more to life than this farm.”

  “You think so?” I said.

  “Yeah. I think so. Anyway, I gotta get moving. I promised BJ I’d take her for a ride tonight to go see all the Christmas lights. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay. You kids have fun.”

  I went inside and put a kettle on to boil water. I was feeling like a cup of tea.

  “I’m going to get a sweater,” Mom said. “Pork chops sound good?”

  They were already cooked and resting in the cast-iron skillet. What if I didn’t feel like pork chops? I’d be eating them anyway.

  “Anything’s fine. Thanks.”

  “Be right back.”

  She left me there staring at the kettle. I thought about what Floyd said. Did I seem a little sad? I really didn’t know how I was feeling. Since when was Floyd such a genius about my feelings, or about women in general? He probably was going to buy some terrible gift for BJ. In any case, this was not going to be a great Christmas. I looked at my watch. It was nearly eight o’clock. Maybe I was just mourning my father’s death. Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself. One thing was certain, having my parents i
n my life into middle age had given me a false sense of security about my own future.

  I was almost too tired to eat. Dinner passed with little conversation. I couldn’t tell you if it was delicious or not. But I thanked my mother anyway.

  “Very good, Mom. Thanks. I’ll get the dishes.”

  “Well, thank you, Diane. I’ve been longing for a good soak in my tub to get the funeral out of my bones. Won’t seem like Christmas without him, you know?”

  “It sure won’t,” I said.

  “It’s just that I can’t figure out how to be in this world without him. I just can’t be the same.”

  “I know, Momma. I know.”

  We were not given to weeping and wailing, but we weren’t beyond a solid hug when it was called for. So I put the plate I was scraping on the counter and took my mother in my arms. I could feel her heavy sigh and I could feel her shoulder blades through her thin sweater. She wrapped her arms around my waist and sighed again, deeply, a sigh of resignation and sadness. She seemed so tiny.

  “We’re going to be all right.” I rubbed her back. “Remember Christmas is only one day. And everyone says the first year is the worst.”

  She stood back and looked at me.

  “I know that. BJ’s cooking Christmas dinner. God save us.”

  “Oh, I imagine she can cook a turkey, don’t you? Now, go get your bath.”

  “She can always call the Butterball hotline.”

  “Go on now. I don’t want to be in this kitchen all night.”

  She looked at me with her eyes all squinted as though she knew this was the night I had decided to call Alden. She nodded, as the answer must’ve been all over my face, and left.

  “I’m going!” she called over her shoulder, and I knew she was smiling.

  That woman has ESP, I said to myself.

  I waited until I could hear the water running in her bathroom to get my phone. I called Alden, and after four or five rings, he answered.

  “Hey, Diane! Merry Christmas!”

  “Alden, it’s so nice to hear your voice. Merry Christmas to you too.”

  There was an awkward pause. I knew right then it was a huge mistake to have called him. I cleared my throat and spoke.

  “Are you planning anything special for the holidays?”

  “Miss Betsy and I are just staying at home and cooking a prime rib, but we’re going on a cruise for New Year’s. How about you?”

  “Well, you know, with Pop just gone and all that, we’re just staying close to home. Miss Virnell is really bummed out. She won’t even put up a tree.”

  “Oh, gosh. That’s terrible. Any of the kids coming?”

  “No, they were all just here for the funeral. It’s okay. We’ll get through it. So where are you going on your cruise?”

  “It’s one of those cruise-to-nowhere things. Basically, we float around the Caribbean for three nights and drink champagne and eat our heads off. But I’m happy to have the break.”

  “Well, I hope y’all have a wonderful time. And Merry Christmas, Alden, and, um . . .”

  “I know you, Diane. You don’t have to say it. If I can, I’ll swing around and try to cheer up Miss Virnell.”

  “You’re the best, Alden. Thank you.”

  We hung up and I knew he knew exactly why I was calling. It wasn’t just on my mother’s behalf. Another man might not have been so understanding. Any other man might have said, Sorry, sister, this train has left the station. But he didn’t. Why did I let him go? Because I might be a damn fool, that’s why. And maybe I’m a bit of a coward too. And maybe it was seeing him hot for somebody else that made me want him to come back. I’d be a little more assertive and we could see where it might lead.

  Morning came. Winter’s blue light spilled across the heart pine floor of my bedroom. The sun was sneaking in under my shade that didn’t quite reach the sill. Christmas Eve was here.

  As soon as the roosters started crowing, I rolled over and looked at my alarm. It was just after six. Actually, the darned roosters crowed all day and night and when the mood struck, because that’s what they do. But when they sang in the middle of the night, like last night, it drove me crazy. Maybe they were trying to scare the coyotes away. Or maybe Floyd left the light on in the barn again and the roosters thought it was daybreak. I’d have to check.

  I got out of bed, showered, and dressed. Alden crossed my mind. I was a little bit mortified by our conversation last night. If he was taking Betsy on a cruise, he was definitely sleeping with her. Now I was deeply jealous and doubly angry with myself. My next thought was, How can he do that? Of course, in the next breath I realized I’d done everything but put a gift tag on him and stuff him into Betsy Beyer’s Christmas stocking. How stupid could I have been?

  I pulled out a chambray shirt and a pair of khakis from my closet and laid them across the foot of my bed. Then I thought, what if Alden came by, as he said he might? He wouldn’t exactly fall to his knees at the sight of me dressed like that. I exchanged them for a fuchsia cotton blouse with black capris and twisted my hair up into a messy bun so it wouldn’t look deliberate. And yes, I put on some makeup. And lipstick. I put the lipstick tube in my pants pocket so I could reapply between the time I might hear his car door close and when he might reach the door. I was ready to face him, but first I needed breakfast or something to fortify me. Why was I so nervous?

  “Well, don’t you look nice,” Mom said, giving me the eye as I came into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Good morning! Merry Christmas Eve!”

  I said this with a smile, but inside I was a little concerned. She had on her bathrobe. Like my father, she never appeared for the day in her bathrobe unless she was ill. She put a mug at my place on the table.

  “I’m going to go and dress for the day,” she said. “I’ll try to appear to be in deep mourning.” Then she winked at me and left the room.

  So much for me reading something into what she was wearing. Maybe she just felt like getting a cup of coffee to have while she dressed.

  She had me. My mother really did know every hair on my head. And her being in her bathrobe meant nothing.

  After breakfast I went over to Floyd’s trailer to see if I could do anything to help BJ put tomorrow’s dinner together. Naturally, Floyd had strung lights the entire length of his portable home. And there was a fake wreath on every window but a real one on the door. Ah, Floyd. God love you, I thought.

  “Come in! It’s open!” she called out.

  She was at her kitchen counter, weeping.

  “BJ! Whatever is the matter?”

  “Onions. I can’t cut them up without crying my eyes out.” She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose with vigor.

  Please wash your hands, I thought and did not say.

  “Girl, give me that knife. Let me show you a trick.” She handed me her chef’s knife. I took another onion from the vegetable basket and set it on the cutting board. “Okay, see this root end?”

  “Yep.”

  “That thing is filled with a chemical like tear gas, the stuff that makes you cry. Ya gotta give it some respect.”

  “I never heard that.”

  “Yeah, true story. Okay, so see this other end?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re gonna give it a nice slice to give us a flat end.” I cut a bit off the end and stood the onion up. “Now we’re going to slice through the root like this.” I divided the onion in two. “Now we quickly peel.” I threw the peels in the compost bucket. “Now see all these little lines? We just follow them down the body and then across. Look at that!”

  In less than two minutes there was a mound of perfectly chopped onion pieces on the cutting board.

  “That’s the best trick ever! And no tears!” BJ was impressed.

  “So, what else can I do to help?”

  “Not a darn thing. I was saving the onions for last because they always wipe me out. The sweet potatoes are cooked, the bird’s thawed out, rutabagas are c
hopped, beans are snapped. I think I’m in good shape.”

  And Floyd loved to say she couldn’t boil water? Men.

  I looked at the folding card table she had set up for tomorrow. It looked pretty nice for what it was. It was covered with a deep red cloth, and a small white poinsettia wrapped in red foil stood in the center. There were votive candles in beaded holders and red goblets, and the plates had sprigs of holly with red berries painted on the rims. It wasn’t anywhere near what Susan’s club would be offering up to her family, but it was a display of loving sincerity.

  “Your table is so pretty,” I said, and meant it. I mean, it wasn’t out of Southern Living magazine, but for BJ? This was out of Southern Living magazine.

  “I went a little crazy over at the Pier One, but they have such pretty things. I never had any Christmas china, but Floyd said go on ahead and buy it, so I did.”

  Even Floyd was a soft touch when it came to Christmas. Well, for decorations, that is.

  “I don’t have holiday china either. Maybe I’ll go over there one night this week and see what’s left.”

  “I’ll go with you. I have a coupon. I’d like to have a platter. It will all be half price.”

  “Okay, sounds good. So we’re bringing fruitcake and sands and rum balls tomorrow. And listen, BJ, you and Floyd are so good to host Christmas dinner. I don’t think ol’ Virnell could take it this year, sitting at the table with a big hole where Dad used to sit. We don’t even have a tree.”

  “That’s exactly why we offered. I couldn’t agree more. No tree?”

  “She said she just can’t get into the Christmas spirit this year. I didn’t want to argue about it. I’m not feeling it so much either.”

  “I think none of us are, but we’re trying to make the best of it.”

  “Is Floyd still cooking fish tonight?”

  “Yes. He says he’s making some new thing, like a seafood stew or something.”

  “Well, I’m sure it will be delicious. Maybe I’ll make a lemon meringue pie.”

  “Gosh! I haven’t had lemon meringue anything in ages!”

  I heard a car door slam and I knew it was Alden. I recognized the clunk.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said. “I think we have company.”

  BJ followed me to the door and looked outside. Then she turned to me and smiled.