by Scott, Lisa
“And thank you for helping me find it for the first time.” He leaned over and kissed her again, slow and soft this time. On cue, the snow started to swirl down in big, downy flakes. “I hope this means you’re resigning,” he said.
“It’ll be hard to give up the employee discount, but I’m going to have to go.” She smiled at him, happier than she could remember. It’d only taken Santa twenty years, but two days before Christmas, he’d come though with another miracle for her—wrapped up in a six-foot tall blond bow and a gorgeous Armani winter coat.
“Missing Christmas”
By Lisa Scott
Before dashing off for work, Ryan came back to the bedroom and kissed me goodbye. “Two days until Christmas, Ginny. Are you excited?”
Normally when the holiday was that close I’d be up early, wearing musical antlers and doing improvised ballet moves to The Nutcracker while baking cookies. Instead, I was snoozing in bed. I sat up. “Yeah, really excited,” I lied.
It might as well have been two hundred days until Christmas. Living in Florida after spending my whole life up north, the days down here all seemed the same. But, I’d only been here a month. Maybe that feeling would change.
“I’m looking forward to it, too. These sixty-hour weeks are killing me. Can’t wait to take the day off and just hang out with you. Have a great day, babe.” He kissed me again and left.
The house was empty and quiet without Ryan, and I faced another long day alone. I’d already unpacked our things, cleaned the house and the garage, and rearranged our furniture three times. I was running out of things to do until I found a job.
I fell back asleep and the doorbell rang, which was strange. I hadn’t made any new friends here yet. Every time I told my girlfriends back home things were just awesome, I was lying. I couldn’t tell them I might have made the biggest mistake of my life moving away from Rochester and everything—and everyone—I knew.
I peeked out the front window to see who was there. A delivery truck idled in my driveway. Hopefully it wasn’t baked goods from my mother; that was possibly the only good thing about moving down here—avoiding her cooking.
“Hi, there,” I said, opening the door.
“Good morning. Are you Ginny McDonald?
I nodded.
“I’ve got a delivery for you. Sign here, please.” The deliveryman handed me a clipboard and I scrawled my signature before taking the cardboard box from him that, sadly, was just the right size for a few fruitcakes and a bunch of unpalatable cookies. I crossed my fingers, hoping for cute shoes instead. “Thanks!”
My neighbor next door saw me and waved. She stopped watering her flowers and wandered over to my porch. “Beautiful day, huh? Aren’t you two going to decorate for Christmas?” I noticed she was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of a glowing Christmas light on front and the caption ‘Christmas Turns Me On.’
She saw me inspecting her shirt and looked down at it. “You like it? It glows in the dark. The gentlemen down at the senior center think it’s a hoot.”
“It’s great.” I’d only talked with Edna twice, but in those short visits she’d informed me she was a widow from Michigan who’d moved down to Florida after her husband died, thrilled to make their winter home her permanent residence. Oh, and she didn’t have children, but she did have two little Shih Tzus who yapped at the mourning doves that roosted in our backyard and we were to pay them no mind, unless they got into our garbage, in which case we were allowed to squirt them with the hose.
Holding my box, I forced a smile. “It just seems weird to decorate when there’s no snow.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. I put out more decorations down here because there’s no snow. My husband and I never got up all our lights since it was always too darn cold outside. This is just lovely.” She smiled up at the sun, and then looked at me. “So, you haven’t found a job yet?”
Great. She was one of those kinds of neighbors. “Um, no. You know how bad the economy is.” I’d applied to four bakeries in town, but no one was hiring. I’d even looked for a seasonal position at the local Save Land, but they’d finished all their Christmas hiring already. So, I kept myself busy unpacking and setting up our new house. I’d moved around the pictures in the family room four times. Ryan hadn’t noticed when I showed him. “Just decorate however you want, Gin. I’ll leave that up to you. You do a real good job with that.”
Edna planted her hands on her hips. “Well, you must be glad you aren’t up in Rochester. Heard on TV a big storm’s headed that way.” She made a disapproving face, like the residents had voted on having a holiday blizzard.
“Really? I better check that out.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Must’ve been tough moving away from your family. I would’ve missed my Mama too much. Good for you, you brave thing.”
I plastered on a great big smile. “Yep. That’s me. Brave Ginny. Well, have a Merry Christmas if I don’t see you.”
“Oh, I’ll see you. I’m stopping by tomorrow with a fruitcake for you.” She nodded after delivering that bit of good news.
I gulped. “Awesome.”
She started back toward her house, then turned around. “I didn’t notice a ring on your finger. Aren’t you two engaged?”
Out came another fake smile. “Not yet. We’ve been together less than a year.”
Her eyes widened. “And you moved all the way down here with him?”
I hugged the box against me. “Love will do that to you, right?”
“I suppose it does. Well, I’ll see you kids later.” With a wave, she returned to her house.
I stood on the porch, staring at my package. I’d spent three minutes with the woman and she’d picked up on one of the things niggling at my heart. Ryan and I had talked about getting married, but he’d told me, “I’m not ready yet.”
That was reasonable, I’d thought. We hadn’t been together that long, but my friend Harper had warned me not to move down here without a ring. “I’ve read some statistics about the percentage of women who get married after living with a guy, and the numbers aren’t pretty.”
“We’ve only been dating ten months!” I’d argued. “Maybe I’m not ready.”
“I’m just sharing the research,” Harper had said.
I reminded myself that studies weren’t always right and went inside, setting the box on the kitchen table. I ran a knife through the tape on each side. The scent of pine hit me, and for a moment I worried Mom had come up with some new crazy cookie recipe. Then I pulled out the tissue paper wrapped around a gorgeous holiday arrangement. Boughs of pine formed a cute little basket, and it was filled with pinecones, cinnamon sticks, clementines, and berries. I opened the card nestled inside.
“Dear Ginny,
Hope Florida is treating you well. Your moving down South to chase love got me to pluck up my courage and take a few chances of my own. I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you. Just wanted to send along one of the new arrangements I’m making at the florist shop to say thanks. These have been a big hit. Chelsea and I will be missing you at your mom’s party. Love and kisses, Marnie.”
I set the basket on the kitchen table and admired Marnie’s work. It was great she was finally getting over her divorce. I’d somehow inspired her? That was shocking. Good thing she didn’t know how uncertain I was feeling now. Then, remembering Edna’s news about the storm, I hustled over to the TV and turned on the Weather Channel.
“The snow is flying in Rochester, New York, and folks here can expect a foot or more of the white stuff in the next twenty-four hours. A winter storm watch is in effect until Christmas Eve.” The forecaster sounded way too chirpy to be delivering news of a holiday storm. Her snowflake earrings swung like pendulums as she turned to the camera with a grin. “Looks like they won’t have to dream of a white Christmas—they’ll have one, guaranteed.”
I flicked off the TV and went out into the backyard. Truthfully, I was jealous. I loved hunkering down and wai
ting for a storm to cover the ground in a fresh coat of white while I nestled inside under a blanket with a mug of cocoa and a good book. Howling wind and driving snow only made me feel that much cozier. Even better was snuggling up with Ryan during a storm. It just wasn’t the same in an air-conditioned room on a balmy night. After so much complaining about shoveling and bundling up in the winter, I’d had no idea how much I would miss it.
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine I was back home, but a bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face, bringing me back to face the eighty-five-degree day. I padded across the lawn, the thick grass rough on my feet, and sat down under the shade of our big orange tree. No oranges yet, but the realtor had promised it always yielded a bumper crop. Maybe I could make marmalade. Fresh-squeezed orange juice would be nice, too, right?
Ryan wouldn’t be home from work for another five hours. Sure, it was two days until Christmas and most everyone else had the day off, but he was the newbie, so he got stuck working the holiday week. His job as a lineman for the electric company had brought us down here from Rochester. We’d moved the day after Thanksgiving. He’d made a bunch of new friends at work and was completely in love with the Sunshine State. I hated complaining, ruining his happiness with his new situation.
“Why are you so quiet, honey?” he’d asked me more than once in the past few weeks. I’d tried telling him I was having a hard time adjusting, but he dismissed the idea, telling me to be patient since we’d just gotten here.
I whistled for Hershey, Ryan’s chocolate Lab, who was rooting around in the corner of our yard. Her ears perked up and she bounded over with something dangling from her mouth.
I leaned forward for a closer look and screamed; it was a snake. “Hershey, drop it!” No way was she bringing that thing inside.
She looked at me and cocked her head.
“Drop it!”
Like a reluctant kid, she released it, then batted it around with her paw. For a moment, I thought it was dead, but then it slithered away. I wasn’t going to wait around for it to come back, so I dashed back inside, Hershey hot on my heels, and locked the door behind me. I was breathing hard, trying to convince myself I’d get used to all the critters down here. I’d grown fond of the little lizards that crept along the side of our house, but all the snakes and bugs? Not so much.
I flung open the freezer door to get a container of ice cream, but we were out. Hadn’t I just bought four pints earlier this week? They were disappearing quickly these days. Hopefully, Ryan wouldn’t be looking for one when he came home. It’d be embarrassing having to explain that. Well, it was that or cookies—pick your poison.
A big black bug scuttled across the kitchen floor and I reminded myself to call the exterminator. Palmetto bugs, that’s what Ryan told me they were, and apparently as common as house flies. Oh, so much adjusting for me to do.
I slipped on my flip-flops, because stepping on one of those things barefoot would put me over the edge. After scooting out of the kitchen, I started unloading the clothes from the dryer, wondering how to pass the rest of the day until Ryan finished work. Back home, Mom and my older sister, Gretchen, were probably humming along to holiday music while they pulled out and cleaned the fancy china and crystal pieces for the Christmas blowout my parents hosted every year. Usually it took the entire score of The Nutcracker Suite to finish the job.
I wondered who’d string the fresh garland on the staircase. That was always my job. Every year, we’d go to the Christmas tree farm and pick out an eight-foot tree, chop it down, and drag it through the woods. Then we’d cut off the bottom two feet and use the boughs for the garland. Later, we’d congratulate ourselves with board games and eggnog. I was the reigning queen of Monopoly in our family. Gretchen always insisted I cheated—she suspected I smuggled in Monopoly money from another game set to pad my bank account—but she was just a sore loser. I’m sure my elaborate victory dances didn’t help her mood, either.
I folded the last of the towels from the dryer and opened the storage closet in the hall, where I’d stashed the Christmas village pieces I’d collected over the years. I’d been enchanted with my grandmother’s set when I was a little girl, so every year she’d given me a new piece for Christmas. Mom picked up the tradition after Grandma died. I had a good-sized village by now, and I’d been meaning to put them on the banquet table Ryan had bought just for the occasion. So far, I hadn’t been motivated to set it all up.
I pulled out the box with my favorite Victorian building: the toyshop with a big bay window in front and little toys on a workbench. Santa and his elves were at work inside, swinging hammers and slinging saws. Ryan had been bugging me to put out the village since we’d hauled it down with us. But I put the toyshop back in the box; I still wasn’t in the mood.
I wandered out to the family room and flopped on the couch, hugging a pillow on my lap. The neighbor’s yard across the street caught my eye. They’d decorated their two palm trees with white lights, and had even brought in a crane so they could string the lights all the way to the top. It looked beautiful at night, but it felt more like I was staying at a tropical resort than counting down to the holidays.
Ryan had bought us an artificial tree and put it up one night after work. He’d even handled the lights since I hated doing that, but I’d only hung up half the new ornaments we’d bought. I’d been waiting for it to feel like the holidays, but that hadn’t happened so far.
My cell rang and I answered it. My niece, Isabelle, was crying. “Aunt Ginny? We need you! Grandma burned our gingerbread men.” She was nine and took our holiday baking very seriously. Every year we made gingerbread men—one for each person in the family, decorated to look like them more or less—and distributed them on Christmas day. “The outsides of the people are all crispy black and the insides are still gooey.” Isabelle sniffed on the other end of the line. “They’re not like yours.”
That brought an instant lump to my throat. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. You can make another batch, can’t you? Let me talk to Grandma.”
“Okay. Tell her how to make them the right way.”
I heard rustling as Isabelle handed the phone off to my mother.
“How are you, darling?” Mom asked. “You lucky thing. It’s probably hot and sunny down there and we’re getting a boatload of snow.”
My throat tightened at the sound of her voice and I tried hard not to sound emotional. “I’m good. Great.” I faked a smile for my own benefit. “It’s real nice here today.”
I couldn’t let her know how sad I was feeling. Ryan and I had only been together ten months, and she’d warned me it was too soon to move across the country with him. My job at the bakery in town hadn’t been reason enough to stay in Rochester, so when he asked me if I would come with him, I said yes right away. I was worried a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work. I loved him and didn’t want to lose him.
But so far Ryan and I had bickered more than we ever had back home. The only time we’d ever fought when we were still in Rochester was standing in front of a Red Box kiosk, trying to decide what to rent. My friends had refused to double date with us because we were “too perfect.” We’d finish each other’s sentences and come up with a new pet name every week. I’d leave love notes on the front seat of his car. He’d bring me a treat every time he came to see me: a gourmet cookie from a rival bakery so I could check out the competition, a new herbal tea to try, a sweet card.
But so far down in Florida there’d been no treats or notes in the bustle of getting settled in. It seemed like we’d left some of the magic back up north. I guess it was the stress of living together for the first time—in an entirely new place.
Mom grumbled on the end of the line. “I’m not sure what I did wrong, but the kitchen’s filled with smoke. Poor Rudy’s been barking her head off with the fire alarm blaring.” On cue, the dog let out a pitiful howl.
I knew exactly what she’d done wrong. Mom always thought you could cook things faster by raising the tempera
ture and baking it for a shorter time. Needless to say, Dad or I cooked most of the meals at home, and everyone else brought dishes to pass on the holidays. But Mom was good at other things, as she liked to remind us.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Mom, what temperature did you bake them at?”
Silence. Then, “Four hundred fifty degrees for ten minutes.”
I groaned. “Mom, you have to bake them at three hundred fifty degrees for twenty minutes.”
“I thought this way would be quicker.” She sounded offended that her reasoning hadn’t worked. Then she sighed. “It’s just that we have so many to make. And the girls are so impatient.” Another sigh. “I wish you were here.”
I looked up at the ceiling, hoping to stop my tears. “Me, too. I heard a storm’s on the way. I hope everyone will be able to make it to the party.” Everyone except for me, that is.
“Nonsense, everyone will be here. It’s nothing that a four-wheel drive can’t handle. Here, Brooke wants to talk to you now. Love you and miss you like crazy, kiddo.”
“You too, Mom.”
More shuffling of the phone, then Brooke got on the line, with her syrupy sweet, seven-year-old voice and her adorable lisp. “Aunt Ginny, what should we do with your cookie? We’re going to make one for Ryan, too. Should we mail it? Or maybe Santa could deliver it to you. I could leave it out for him with a note.”
Now I couldn’t keep the tears back. “Save it for me, honey. Put it in a container so I can see it next time I’m home.” I scrubbed the back of my hand along my cheek.
“And when will that be? Every time I come to Grandma’s, I forget you’re not going to be here. It’s so sad. Christmas is not going to be fun without you. I bet no one else will give us piggyback rides.”
I held the phone away from my mouth and let out a shuddering sob. Then I took a deep breath. “Now don’t go on like that sweetie. I’m sure someone else will. You’re going to have a great Christmas. And I’ll see you real soon.”