by Lisa Jackson
“Preschool fun,” Shandry said, throwing her little hands in the air. “I let animals free. Bye-bye, hamster!”
“I like to paint kids at the painting time,” Lizzy said. “Rainbow. You want me paint you, Aunt Laurel?”
The kids ran around the house to pet Zelda, Thomas, and James. “Keep their teeth on when they’re around the cat,” I told Camellia. “It’s a safe bet Zelda will bite back.”
Camellia looked worried and took off after the boys, dropping her pecan pie, which she knew was better than Velvet’s, and a chocolate silk pie, on the counter, followed by Violet’s eggplant lasagna for her Italian husband and banana bread because she likes it.
I went back out to the front porch. An elegant car came next, and Chantrea stepped out. She had her fourth son, David, with her, who was actually carrying what appeared to be a four-foot-tall galaxy with him. There were colorful wires, marshmallows, and something that looked suspiciously like a large firework. “Hi, David.” I gave him a hug.
“Greetings, from a scientist.” He bowed, then adjusted his large glasses. Some scientific table fell out of his front pocket and he tucked it back in.
Chantrea was dressed in silk and high heels, even in the snow. She doesn’t dress like that when it’s only she and I. I think she’s threatened by Velvet.
She was carrying her Christmas Eve Cambodian ginger catfish and Beef Lok Lak dishes.
I grabbed the catfish dish, then hugged her. I had remembered to put the Goodwill butter plate at her table setting so we didn’t lose one of Grandma’s if she threw it. The Goodwill plate was quite pretty. China. Blue flowers. I hoped it lasted the dinner.
“You see my boobs?” she asked. “Bigger now.”
I eyed her chest. Whoa. Boob job. “They are splendid.”
“Yes. Splendid. See?” She put the Beef Lok Lak on the ground and flashed me. “Ya. Much better. No one call me flat pancake girl Chantrea no more.”
“I’ve never heard anyone say that about you, Chantrea.” I saw beneath the bravado. She was scared. She was coming to Christmas dinner with two ex wives and a current wife. The current wife was younger and had two children with her ex.
“I got the big knockers like Velvet,” Chantrea said. “But mine better. I show her tonight at dinner. Mine better.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Ya. Me, too. You keep that Amy away from me, too. She say my good boys not good. They good. I learn to fight in Cambodia and I can do here in America.”
“I understand. But no plate throwing.”
She gasped, outraged. “No, not a plate I throw. That wrong. Butter dish. I throw butter dish.”
“Keep it safe. It’s Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas. You my angel.”
“Merry Christmas. You’re mine, too, Chantrea. I love you.”
“I love you more, heart daughter.”
She headed to the house as my father, Velvet with her controversial chest, and their two little kids, Daisy and Banyan, arrived, along with Velvet’s boy, William Robert Rhodes II, the son of the governor who had the affair with Velvet. I am told that the governor, William Robert Rhodes, senior, pays $3,000 a month in child support from the Alaskan village in which he lives with his long beard.
I don’t know Velvet well, but my father is totally in love with her.
“Hello, Velvet,” I said.
“Merry Christmas, insane one.” She hugged me. She was carrying the carrots and slew made with the recipe from the strip joint, heavy with brandy, and the pecan pie. I knew she believed it to be better than Camellia’s.
“I don’t want my fine butt handed to me in a sling tonight, Laurel, if you know what I mean with this family of yours, but I’m happy we’re here with the loose cannons anyhow.”
“Merry Christmas. I’m glad you’re here, too.” I think she still had Chantrea beat in the chest department. Chantrea would not be pleased. However, Aspen, Redwood, and Oakie would be, which would irritate Chantrea.
“You look lovely, Laurel, as always.” My father hobbled over, his left leg dragging a bit, the left side of his smile up higher than the right. My guilt rushed straight at me, hard and fast, as usual, but then he wrapped me in a hug. When he pulled back, he wiped his eyes. “It lifts my soul to see you. Every time. Never changes. Merry Christmas. I love you.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad. I love you, too.”
I hugged my half siblings Daisy and Banyan. Daisy, four years old, was wearing a princess dress, the shark-tooth necklace I gave her, and an army helmet. She jumped up and down when I said “Merry Christmas” and told me that Santa had brought her a doll for Christmas Eve. “I take doll head off, like this.” She turned around and dug in her pink backpack. “See now doll head a baseball.” She threw the doll head baseball, then ran after it, army helmet bopping.
Banyan, three years old, was wearing a miniature hunting outfit, the stuffed snake I gave him around his neck, and he was carrying a plastic spatula and a wooden fork.
“Are you going to cook?” I asked him.
He seemed confused, then he grinned and waved his utensils. “New toys!”
“He likes to play in the kitchen,” my father said.
Banyan banged the spatula and spoon together. “Bang, bang, bang!”
William Robert Rhodes II, eleven years old, stuck his hand out and shook mine. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you, too.”
He was wearing a suit. “I like to dress for the occasion.”
“You look very handsome.”
“Thank you. Do you have a chessboard here? Or backgammon?”
“I don’t think so. We usually play poker on Christmas. Don’t be afraid if people get angry when they lose.”
“Poker?” He arched an eyebrow. “That’s acceptable. Your father taught me. No one can ever read my expression, so I do have some expertise in that area. It can be a gentleman’s game, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“I’m aware. And a ladies’ game. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors tonight.”
He adjusted his tie. “Do you like the symphony, Laurel? If you had to choose between Beethoven, Dvorak, or Strauss, who would be your favorite? Mine would be Dvorak.”
“William!” David, Chantrea’s son, called from the front deck, holding his science experiment up. “I brought it. Come on in, I need you to look at some of the wiring and routing systems.”
“Excellent. I’ll be up straightaway.”
My father sighed.
You can always tell which children are not biologically related to him.
When I was boiling the gravy on the stove, Josh walked in, to much fanfare. My family hugged him, told him it was “the best” to see him. He finally made his way over to me and gave me a hug and a kiss in my red ruffled Christmas apron. Everyone clapped. I blushed.
“The accident we were in was such a blessing for me, Laurel. I felt terrible about the impact on you, terrible, but for me, it was a blessing.”
“Dad. What?” A blessing?
“I realized”—he wiped his eyes—“that I was an incredibly selfish man who ran away at the first sign of adversity, of trouble. I left Amy and your mother when they made reasonable demands on me as a father and husband. When we were in the car together that evening, and you told me how you felt, I was devastated. You were so young, yet you knew more about life, loyalty, and love than I did. In the months that followed I understood, finally, the emotional damage I had done to you kids and to your mothers. I was a self-centered donkey’s butt.”
I felt the beginnings of forgiveness. Forgiveness for myself. Finally.
“After my stroke, I had time to think about how I was as a man and a husband and father. On all counts, I failed. It broke me down, I’m telling you, honey, it did. It’s odd, isn’t it, how sometimes the best lessons in life come at the worst times. Family is what’s most important to me. You kids, your mothers.” He sniffled, he blustered, he wiped away
tears. “Twelve years ago I had a second chance to make things right, and look at our family now.”
It was actually funny, and ironic, what came next.
Chantrea asked my mother, “You think my good boys go jail because that funny joke snowman in town with plastic private? I think no.”
Oakie put a beer can on his head and shouted, “Shoot it off my head, someone, I dare you!”
Daisy and Banyan streaked in without their clothes and yelled, “See, Daddy! We naked mice!”
William Robert Rhodes II stood on a chair in his suit and said, “Let’s take a moment to turn on Mozart and be quiet within our own spirits.”
I heard an explosion in the backyard. I figured it was David’s science experiment. Yep, it was. I heard a whoop of glee.
Tad took off his vampire teeth and bit his brother, who bit him back. They both screamed, outraged.
Camellia and Violet clinked their champagne glasses too hard together and they shattered.
Velvet said, “This carrots and slew will make your tongue hang out.”
Zelda the cat screeched, paws scratching the air, as the dogs tried to sneak down the stairs. They scampered back up. Ah, family.
What a mess.
I turned and saw Josh wink at me. He smiled, sweet and loose. I smiled back.
Ah, Josh.
He was Plan J.
What a love.
We drove to Josh’s house in his truck after I helped clean up the kitchen. We did not arrive until after midnight.
When we turned the corner onto his private lane, I gasped. “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe it. It’s gorgeous!”
The trees on both sides were decorated with white lights, the glow glistening off the white sparkle of snow.
“I thought you might like a few lights since it will be our first Christmas together in twelve years.”
“A few lights? Josh . . .” As we made the last turn, his home came into view. “You outdid yourself, Santa.”
He laughed.
“Mr. Claus will not have a hard time finding your house.”
“I haven’t been in the Christmas spirit for a long time, Laurel, but you’ve definitely brought it back.”
“You’ve done the same for me, cowboy.”
When I stepped into his house I had another surprise. Josh had a towering tree in his living room. It, too, was covered in lights. There were only four ornaments.
I stepped closer. “These are the ornaments I gave you when we were dating.”
“Yes, they are.”
One ornament was Mr. and Mrs. Claus holding hands. Another was two reindeer kissing. A third was of two polar bears on ice skates, and the fourth was a boy and girl elf, the girl elf perched on the boy’s back. “I’m so glad you kept them, Josh. I kept mine, too.”
“Then we’ll have to hang them up. Merry Christmas, Laurel.”
“Merry Christmas to you. Sit down. I have presents for you.”
He lit a fire, we turned off the lights, except for the lights on the Christmas tree, and he opened his gifts. I bought him an ornament with two moose, male and female, on skis. I gave him two aprons, matching, so we could wear them together while we cooked, a cool cowboy hat, a box of Christmas cookies, and a fishing pole.
He seemed to love the gifts. I got a long kiss for the fishing pole. “I can’t wait until we can fish together again.”
He had bought me a Christmas ornament, too. It was two bears in Santa and Mrs. Claus outfits. He bought me a box of lingerie, a new ski jacket, and a pink ski hat.
Then he handed me a ring box. “Will you marry me, Laurel?”
I sniffled and snuffled and couldn’t talk, those darn tears getting to me again.
“I love you,” he said, threading our fingers together. “I want to be with you my whole life. I don’t want us to be apart again. I promise I will do everything to make sure that you’re happy, that we’re happy, that our family is happy.”
“Yes. I will, Josh Reed. Yes.” I kissed him, wiped my tears. “This is the happiest moment of my life. I love you so much.”
“Me too, baby.” He leaned over and kissed me, put the sparkling diamond on my trembling finger, and we started the smiling and stripping routine.
“You are the best Santa Claus in the world,” I told him, my breathing heavy, as usual during our naked antics.
“Ho ho ho. And Santa wants to take you up to bed for a special gift, Mrs. Claus.”
“Sounds perfect, Santa. Mrs. Claus says yes.”
And it was.
Perfect, that is.
UNDER THE MISTLETOE
LISA JACKSON
Chapter 1
Christmas Season
Don’t ruin the holidays. Whatever you do, Meg, wait. It’s Christmas. The kids will be home. You need to be patient.
Megan Johnson fingered the divorce papers she’d helped prepare. For herself. To end a marriage of over twenty years. Tossing her car keys onto the counter and leaving her briefcase on one of the kitchen chairs, she walked into the living room of the house she’d lived in most of her life. She couldn’t say she was happy about the idea of divorce, not at all. Never had she thought she’d be single again. Never would she have believed that she’d pull the trigger on the divorce. Never had she thought it would be she to break up their once-happy family. But there it was. Despite the heartache and, yes, the fear of an unsteady future, she was relieved. She and Chris had been separated for months and, really, had been drifting apart for the past two years, ever since Lindy, their youngest, had taken off for college.
Chris had said he’d meet her here. After work. But he was late. And that ticked her off. He couldn’t even show up on time to this, their final meeting before she actually did the deed. Typical. She checked her phone again, expecting that she’d missed a call or text, but no, he hadn’t tried to contact her.
That was part of the problem: communication.
Yanking off her gloves, Megan stepped through the archway to the living room, where stairs ran up to the second story and the house had been decorated for the holidays.
It was as if she and Chris were adrift, that the kids had been their anchor. When Brody had left home, Megan had sensed the tides of her marriage turning. Two years later, while Brody was still serving in Afghanistan, Lindy had decided to go to school in New York, and, once their son had been discharged from the army, he’d returned home briefly. His stay was short-lived. Brody was now in Boston, also in college, and Megan and Chris had been left alone. Their marriage had faltered, neither partner understanding the sudden change in their relationship.
And, if she were truthful with herself, Megan would admit that when Adam Newell had joined the staff of her law firm as a senior partner, things had gotten worse. That not-so-little complication had been her fault, of course, and she had to fight a crushing guilt.
Now, it seemed, as she snapped on a couple of table lamps, her marriage was over. Not finishing the paperwork had just been putting off the inevitable, which, all things considered, was unlike her. She’d always been organized, a doer, and couldn’t stand lack of decision-making on anyone’s part, especially her own.
But divorce. That was different. So final.
Eyeing the Christmas tree positioned in the bay window she felt an overwhelming sadness. Trimmed in white, silver, and bloodred, a few of the old hand-me-down ornaments from her parents adding spots of color, this tree stood where one had during the winter holidays for all of her thirty-nine years. She’d grown up here, in this part of Connecticut, in this very house, only moving away for college when she and Chris were first married. In this Cape Cod–style house, her parents had raised their two daughters, and they probably would have lived here forever, had things been different. Megan’s mother’s struggle with and loss to cancer had changed all that.
When Carol Simmons had passed, everything had changed. Everything. The cluttered rooms filled with a lifetime of memorabilia, the echoing, empty hallways, and the lack of life had proved too much
for Megan’s father. No longer was there the sound of Carol’s off-key humming as she baked, or her deep laughter, or even the scent of her perfume underlaid with the odor of a cigarette to waft through the rooms. Barely six months after laying his wife of a quarter of a century to rest, Jim Simmons had packed up and moved to Arizona where, to Megan’s mortification, he’d found a woman twenty years his junior. He’d married Lara after a whirlwind courtship of less than three months. In less than a year from the time he’d buried her mother, her father had started a new life.
Meg had met Lara several times, of course, over the years. Still, she couldn’t say she was a fan of her stepmother, and though she tried to “get over it” and “be happy” that her father wasn’t grieving any longer, it had seemed false and taken her years to accept.
Who are you to judge, Meg? What do you think your own children will think when you tell them that you’re filing?
Something within her withered, and she told herself it wasn’t as if she wanted to make such a final, irrevocable move, but she felt she had to.
The upshot of her father’s move to Arizona, other than his giddiness at his May-December marriage, was that he’d sold this house to Chris and Megan, so they as a young couple had returned to the one place in the universe she considered home. And she still did. She flipped a switch and hundreds of tiny, clear lights, like stars in a dark sky, winked on. She should have felt that same tingle of anticipation she’d always experienced when the tree was lighted, but tonight . . . nothing.
She stared through the window. Outside, snow was falling, the late evening seeming serene and peaceful, the lawn covered in a thin blanket of snow beneath which was a slick layer of ice, from last night’s storm. The area was supposed to be blessed with a white Christmas if the weatherman was to be believed, and a dangerous one as the roads had yet to be cleared. On her way home, she’d slid a couple of times, narrowly missing a struggling minivan as it tried to climb the hill leading to this street.