by Annie Adams
I was responsible for making sure this holiday celebration was a success and now I didn’t have a Santa. I couldn’t let Aunt Rosie or my shop down. I didn’t want to be known as the one who ruined Rosie’s reputation.
Alex kissed my cheek. “Are you okay?”
"I'm a little nauseous."
“Maybe you should go home. I bet K.C. and Daphne wouldn’t mind staying. Would you?” He looked at them with his amazing eyes and that strong chin. How could they say no to that?
“Oh, they owe me big time now,” I said. “But, I haven’t quite decided when paybacks will come around.” I narrowed my eyes at K.C. who stuck her tongue out at me. “I can’t leave, anyway. I’ve got to finish un-packing a thousand Christmas tree ornaments and figure out why the pre-lit tree over there isn’t lit up. Not to mention all the phone invitations to our VIP guests.” And not to mention his parents coming to visit, which was the actual cause of my malaise.
“Could you use some help?” he asked.
“My knight to the rescue.”
CHAPTER THREE
I pulled into my driveway after work, so preoccupied with worry, I’d actually forgotten all about stopping at Bulgy Burger for dinner. I’d driven right past the restaurant on the way home. Unthinkable.
There are three main areas of life for me—I’ve gotta keep things simple. They are in no particular order: Family, Work and Social. Two out of the three principles of my life trifecta had major issues. First, ninety percent of the glass keepsake ornaments I had opened earlier in the day were broken. And second, Alex’s parents were coming to town.
The ornaments were collectibles that came out every year. They were part of a series which were only available one time and the company only sold the line to a limited number of vendors in the country. Rosie had been with the gift company for years and they’d let me take over her preferred vendor status. People would come from all over Utah on the day of the open house, many just for the collectible ornament. Some customers came in from Wyoming and Idaho to carry on their Christmas traditions which were started by my aunt Rosie.
Now they were coming with their grandchildren, who had received an ornament for their first Christmas, and those grandchildren were now coming to collect them for their own children. I’d contacted the supplier earlier in the day, who said they were going to “let me know” what they found out about getting replacements to me. Whether it would be in time for the open house or not was “Something they’d have to research.” Code for not very likely.
And then there was Alex’s news. Yes, I was worried about the ornaments and everything else involved with the open house, but those concerns paled in comparison to the ominous visit from Alex’s parents. Not only was he going to bring his parents into my little corner of Crazy Town, but our first face to face meeting would also be with my family at the annual McKay Christmas party.
This was where crazy was invented.
Once my great aunt Sadie shared a glimpse of the scar from her extra toe, after she’d described her latest mole removal procedure, Alex’s parents would turn to me and wonder what part of the gene pool I had inherited.
And then my mother, in an attempt to sound congenial and accepting, would ask something along the lines of whether they drank wine or not and then she would say something judgmental. All the time being well-meaning, of course. It’s always well-meaning. And that would only be within the first five minutes after their arrival.
We didn’t have the annual party during the years where my parents were separated, but this year the old tradition would be renewed. Distant relatives would be there along with their food specialties. This was the occasion where ghost recipes of Family “Favorites” Past, which should have been left to rest in their sweet marshmallow hereafter, would be resurrected for all to pretend to enjoy.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm for Christmas decorating and lack of overall holiday cheer, there were certain aspects of Christmastime that I truly looked forward to. As soon as I’d turned the corner onto my street, I’d taken a moment from my worry over ruining everyone’s Christmas and showing the Coopers how unworthy I was of their son, to think about what might be awaiting me at home.
Usually, once I pulled into my driveway, I would enter through the gate leading to the backyard. But not at this time of year. This time, I went to my front gate instead. Because on my front porch would be my favorite Christmas tradition, homemade treats from Santa’s Elves. I lived in a neighborhood infested with Christmas Elves who handmade and delivered all manner of delights to the palate, always in complete anonymity. Of course, I always ended up knowing who had sent what, because everybody had their specialties. And occasionally I would accidently see one of the elves or their assistants leaving the gifts on my porch.
My next-door neighbor, Sarah made the best fudge. Before my grandmother died and I inherited her house, she’d shared her fudge recipe with Sarah. Elves also brought divinity, white chocolate covered pretzels, nasty squares made with candied fruits, caramels, toffee and oh, the peanut brittle. It didn’t stop with candy. There were baked goods, like whole wheat bread, cinnamon rolls, brownies (mint brownies that were rumored to be from the top secret recipe of the BYU bakery), chocolate chip cookies and sugar cookies decorated with great panache and an artful hand. The gifts started sometimes before December even commenced, clear until New Year’s Eve.
I approached the front porch salivating, nearly trembling with anticipation and I wasn’t disappointed. Two packages had been left at the top of my stairs. One was a paper plate adorned with a smiling snowman, piled with a mixture of candies, the majority being the jellied fruit things. Fortunately my dad loved them, so I wouldn’t have to throw them out. The second was a beautiful lime green and Christmas red striped gift bag with tissue paper stuffed in the top. Inside was a pretty aubergine colored box tied with gold string and sealed with a gold foil label. I took it inside with the other goodies to get out of the cold evening air.
I set my treasures down on the coffee table in the living room and searched for some scissors to open the seal. The phone rang before I could delve into the mysterious and ornate package.
“Quincy, I don’t believe it,” Allie’s frantic voice came through the phone.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m so excited. I just talked to my program advisor at school and she told me I got in.”
“Got in? To what?”
“I’m going to be on a TV reality show for interior designers.”
“What? Like for a group project?” I asked.
“No, like a real show. I didn’t tell anyone I sent in an audition tape. I didn’t think they’d take me in a million years. I just did it because my advisor said I should. But she just called me and I got in.”
“Oh my gosh, Allie. This is great! Have you told Mom yet?”
There was a pause. “Um…not yet. I wanted to tell you first because I knew you wouldn’t freak out like she might.”
“Why would she freak out? And thanks, for telling me first. It makes me feel special.”
She laughed her musical laugh. “There’s just one little problem I think Mom might not like. The show will be filmed in L.A. It’s eleven weeks long potentially, if I don’t get voted off the show.”
“Mom is not going to be happy about you leaving the nest to live in L.A. for three months. In her mind you’re still a teenager.”
“I know. I’ll have to break it to her in just the right way.”
“When do you leave?” I asked.
“Well…” another long pause. “That’s the other reason I called you right away. It’s soon. I’ll have to rearrange some of my classes for the next semester, but my advisor is going to help me with that, and I’ll get credit for being on the show. The thing is—I’m leaving right after our Christmas party.”
I’ll admit I’m a selfish person. The first thing I thought of was the open house. Allie had become my right hand on the project. I was truly excited
for her though, and I couldn’t let my voice betray me. “Wow, that’s so soon. You have a lot to do. Do you want me to be there when you tell Mom?”
“Would you? It seems childish of me, but I’m really worried about how she’ll react.”
“I totally understand. This is so great, Allie. I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be the best designer on that show.”
“Thanks, sis. You’re the best. I love you.”
Hearing my sweet sister’s voice calmed my stressed out soul. I was so proud of her for stepping out of her comfort zone and trying something new. But now I had something new to worry about too. I was afraid my sheltered sister would be eaten alive by the sharks in L.A. But I didn’t worry long. Knowing her, she’d get through it with a smile on her face and some good stories to tell. And she was right. Our mother was going to freak out.
***
My curiosity couldn’t be tamed any longer. I had to see what was inside that fancy box. The gold foil seal was imprinted with a beautiful company logo of two initials intertwining to make a heart.
I opened the lid and found at least a dozen uniquely designed chocolates. These weren’t your run of the mill box of turtles and chocolate covered cherries. These were little pieces of art created with different colors and probably a variety of flavors. A little parchment scroll inside affirmed that each piece had been lovingly handcrafted at a chocolatier’s boutique in Salt Lake. This was a pricey elf gift. I couldn’t imagine any of my neighbors buying these for everyone else in the neighborhood. I delved into the gift bag again and found a little note card. “Each of these is sweet and unique, just like you. From your Secret Santa.” The words had been written in tiny, careful handwriting. I smiled and my heart fluttered.
There was only one person who would do such a thing. My thoughtful Secret Santa boyfriend.
I took the treats into my kitchen to eat after dinner. I wouldn’t usually mind having chocolates for dinner, but these were—for the first time in my history with food—too pretty to eat. At least for dinner.
As I foraged for something edible in my kitchen, the pots and pans hanging on the rack, gathering dust, reminded me I would be cooking a dish for everyone at the dinner party. And not just any dish and not for just any guests. The anxiety caused my stomach to burn like the time I swallowed a whole pepper from the Szechwan chicken. I’d felt the burn for twelve long, painful hours that time. This time threatened to be worse. I wanted to crawl under the table, curl up in a ball and not emerge until after New Year’s Eve.
I found a box of macaroni and cheese—no name brand (the best!)—and checked the fridge for the necessary ingredients. I opened the bottle of milk and took a sniff. The gag propelled me backwards into the kitchen table.
I was debating milk alternatives when my cell phone rang. Alex’s name came up on the ID.
“You called just in time,” I said. “Which sounds better to make mac-and-cheese with, Mountain Dew or Coke?”
“I’m coming over. I’ll bring groceries.”
“If you make dinner you can have your way with me,” I said.
“Sorry, Mrs. Robinson. You’re a married woman.”
I was glad he could joke about it.
He came over with a few things to stock my fridge, the ingredients to make our stuffing, and a carryout pizza. His eyes cut to the open box of chocolate delights on the table.
“Ooh, what’s this?” He stared at the box, his face all aglow, like a little boy peering into a toy shop window.
“That’s from my Secret Santa,” I said expectantly.
“What’s that?” he said with no hint of recognition in his voice. He’s very skilled with the poker face and not giving up secrets. That’s why he’s a good undercover cop.
“You mean who? I was just going to ask you that very question.” I batted my eyelashes.
“I have no idea. Can we have one after dinner?”
“Sure,” I said.
He wasn’t budging. I wasn’t going to either. We could just let things play out and see what else the Secret Santa would bring. I helped him unload the grocery bags. “So why are you bringing all this here? I mean, besides the pizza. You’re the guy with the recipe right?”
“My parents will be here a couple of days before the party. I thought maybe you’d want to make the stuffing here while I’m with them. I’ll write the recipe down and go over it with you. Unless you want to come over to my place while they’re there and we can make it together.”
“No! I mean—no, I don’t want to interrupt your time with them.”
I reached into the cupboard to grab a couple of plates. His hands slipped around my waist. He pulled me back against him and nestled his chin on my neck. “Was inviting my parents a bad idea?”
I was a horrible human being. He’d been so excited for them to meet me. I was sure they were lovely, wonderful people. How could they not be with such an amazing son? A son who, for some reason, didn’t see any of my glaring faults. His parents would see them though. Of that I was certain.
I slowly turned to face him. “No, it was a great idea,” I said softly. “I’m just a little—nervous about meeting them.” I wasn’t nervous. I was terrified.
“You don’t have anything to be nervous about. They’re gonna love you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” He stared down at me with the melting chocolate drops and I started to melt too. He smiled and I felt my heart race. He kissed me softly and it felt so sweet. I kissed him back a little harder. His hand moved into my hair and cradled the back of my head. I slid my arms around him and felt a wave of heat come over me as I explored his tight muscles with my hands.
His cell phone rang and he let loose of me and leaned back. “That’s my mom’s ring.”
I fought off a sigh. His mother’s phone calls at the worst possible times were becoming a thing. I let go of him and stepped back, but he held on and pulled me into him again.
“This won’t take long.” He swiped at the phone screen then held the end up to his mouth. “How’s the best mom in the world?”
I’d found such a keeper. I grinned up at him.
“Hi, Leaky!” Alex cringed. He’d put the phone on speaker, probably wishing better of it now.
“Leaky?” I whispered, then filed that little bit of info for later torture.
He held a finger to his lips and shushed me, but with a smile. Adorable.
“I just wanted to let you know I emailed you our flight information. We’ll be there on Monday.”
“Okay, I’ll print it off when I get home.”
“Your dad and I are so excited to come.”
“We’re excited too.” He winked at me. “Hey, Mom, Quincy’s gonna make the stuffing for her family’s Christmas party and I’m giving her your recipe. Anything she should know?”
“Oh.” The atmosphere in the kitchen changed as if a wind from the tundra had come through the phone. After what felt like a five minute pause she replied. “Well, honey that was your Grandma Pat’s recipe.”
“Yeah, I know. I love it, it’s my favorite,” he said.
“I don’t even know this girl, Alex. If I gave my family recipes to every girl that streamed through the revolving door you had here, they’d be in every household in America by now.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, Ma, don’t exaggerate.”
“Well you told me she works all the time. Honey, that kind of girl doesn’t know how to cook. I don’t want her to mess it up. I’ll just make it when I get there.”
That kind of girl? After my jaw made impact on my chest I looked up at Alex’s reddened face. He was wide-eyed. I ducked out of his embrace. He grabbed my wrist as I tried to make my escape.
“Mom! She’s not going to…Hang on a second.” He tugged on my wrist and I turned to face him. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“Babe!” she said tersely. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“No, not you, Mom, gross. Quincy, hang on.”
“Alex Cooper, am I on speaker phone?” his mother shouted.
“I’ve got to go, I’ll call you later.”
I slunk into the living room with my plate of pizza, wondering just how many revolutions Alex’s girlfriend door had taken before me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Shortly after my divorce (or what I thought had been my divorce at the time), I inherited my grandmother’s little red-brick cottage. Originally it had been a grand Victorian home, but after my grandma was widowed, she’d had the second level of the house removed for frugality’s sake. I don’t know how my teenaged dad and his eight siblings all lived in this little house, but they made it work.
That’s what my family does. They make things work no matter the circumstances. Someday, I’ll make enough money to restore the house to its original grandeur, like I’ve seen in the old photos. Right now, I make enough to keep the lights and the heat on. Thank goodness for that on days like this.
I hated leaving my cozy cottage that morning. A glance out the front window showed the still-dark sky and the lawn covered with crunchy frost. I had an early meeting before work with the planning committee for the community celebration. I jumped into the Zombie van, turned the key and cringed when she hesitated. Sue came roaring to life after a few seconds and I gave her an apologetic pat with my mittened hand. I should never have doubted her. Zombie Sue was named so because she should have quit running years ago. She’s the undead delivery van who runs on fumes like a champ.
The meeting was being held at Skinny’s diner, named after the ironically nicknamed owner. His rotund belly protruded under his black and white striped cook’s apron, his ham hock upper arms testing the willpower of the thread holding together the sleeves of his white t-shirt. This uniform was all I had ever seen him wear until he’d come to K.C.’s wedding wearing an actual suit.