I emerge from the bathroom feeling the delicious fizz of anticipation. The girls are dressed in their Christmas best. Rory is wearing an emerald gown and Margo has a crimson red-and-cream gown. Both girls have identical red bows in their hair and look like presents themselves.
“Are you finally ready, Lane? You’re giddy, by the way,” Billy says, his eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, Lane. Your good humor is most un-characteristic,” Liam says, with a lopsided grin.
“Yes, I am ready,” I say, ignoring their teasing.
We all head down to George’s living room. When I push the door open, Juliet puts her finger to her lips, and I can see George in his arm chair sleeping.
“We’ll be out here; I’ll come back when everyone’s in place,” I whisper. She grins and gives me the thumbs up.
I head down the corridor and—this is my favorite part—when I open the double doors to the grand hall, I feel like a princess arriving at the ball. The ballroom is ready, in all her glory, and I gaze in silent amazement for a few minutes, until I spot a cab outside the window.
At the door, we all greet John Childs, who is wearing a massive white fur coat. I’m half expecting someone from PETA to jump out of the bush with a can of red paint.
“That’s…quite the coat,” is all I can say when he bends down to air kiss me.
“Darling, it is positively glorious. So warm and luxurious.”
I hide a smile, recognizing John’s flamboyant and dramatic side—the one he uses in his acting class—has emerged. I half wonder if he’s going to ask all of us to get naked. I glance at Liam and blush.
Dad is last to arrive, with Louisa and Riley (of course). Riley is wearing some cheese-bag, black suit that looks like it was salvaged from a puppet thrift shop.
“You likin’ the tuxedo, Elaine? It’s genuine French Correction,” Riley screams when he sees me, and does some weird hip gyration move, which mortifies all of us.
“Come on in, Dad,” I say, moving aside. For a beat, I stare transfixed at Louisa, always taken aback by seeing her. I think of my mom and how she isn’t with me for yet another Christmas.
“Merry Christmas, Lane,” Louisa says, leaning in to kiss my cheek. I let her and can’t help myself from inhaling her scent, noting the comforting similarities she shares with Mom. “Billy baby, Merry Christmas.”
Billy’s eyes light up and he wraps her in a warm hug. “Mom, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, John.”
John rushes forward, does a little bow, and kisses Louisa’s hand. “Enchanté, ma belle.” Everyone rolls their eyes and laughs, except Louisa, who gives him a warm smile and pulls him into a hug as well.
Like sister, like sister.
“Okay, places everyone. I’ll get George and Juliet,” I say. After the group follows Billy to the ballroom, I bite my lip in expectation and go to fetch George. I can’t resist popping my head out the front door, just in case Micky is there; but he isn’t.
Anyway, it’s okay. He’ll be here soon, I can feel it.
George pretends to doze in his chair, partly because he really is so weak and tired, and partly so he can eavesdrop on the conversation between Juliet and Lane. He’d be able to actually listen if his damn hearing hadn’t abandoned him along with the rest of his functioning body a decade ago. He can, however, open one eye ever so slightly and try to read the girls’ lips. Problem is he can’t really see very well either.
But what really interests him are the scents drifting down from the attic kitchen, aromas that could drive an old man batty with ravenous hunger and yearning. He isn’t sure exactly if he’s been included, as he never received an invitation for Christmas Eve dinner and… Bejabbers, if he could only hear what they were saying, maybe he would have a clue. He squints open his left eye to see Lane and Juliet, still huddled by the door, as they convene in hushed tones.
Finally, Lane leaves, and George feels Juliet approach and hover over him, before she retreats out the door. He sighs and closes his eyes all the way. He might as well try to get some shut-eye because all this anticipation is bound to give his heart a wallop.
The door opens once more, and this time he hears someone—no, two people—tiptoe in.
“George, wake up,” Lane says. She isn’t as sensitive as Juliet would be. Lane sounds more like she’s barking an order. “George!”
“George,” Juliet tries softly. “It’s about Piper. Lane can hear him meowing from somewhere, but she’s not sure where he went.”
This gets his attention. He opens his eyes and takes a moment to focus. Lane and Juliet are both dressed up. His heart falls in disappointment when he realizes he really hasn’t been included.
“Since when does Lane give a damn about Piper?” he asks, his voice sounding like sandpaper on a chalkboard, all scratchy and still foreign to his own ears. There once was a day when he’d prided himself on his smooth, debonair speaking voice. His current voice sounds like a cantankerous stranger’s.
“I don’t give a damn about your cat, George,” Lane snaps. “It’s annoying as hell though. Can you just come and find her?”
“You’re like two bitching bettys. Why can’t you? Don’t you see I’m resting?”
“Sure, George. I’d love to be resting too. Come on, we’ll have you back to your chair in two minutes, tops. Just come get Piper. He’s driving me mad!”
Unbelievable. He thought Lane had changed, softened somehow. Obviously not. He allows them to pull him to his feet, then he gingerly lumbers across the room to the hall.
“Piper?” he calls, then strains to listen. “I don’t hear a damn thing.”
“It’s not coming from here; it’s from down the corridor,” Lane says. “But I can also hear it in the attic for some reason.”
Lane and Juliet lead the way down the great hall; the hall he hasn’t set foot in for years. “The meowing is coming from there,” Lane says, stopping in front of the double doors that lead to his late wife’s beloved ballroom.
George’s wife had the ballroom built specially for social occasions—celebrations and dances. Her favorite was always Christmas; everything was magical with Marie at Christmas. Standing outside the room right now stirs a conflicting mix of both deep sorrow and comfort.
Somehow he finds his voice. “Piper wouldn’t be in there. The doors have been closed for years.”
“Well, he is. I don’t want to go snooping through your house. If you can just get your cat out… Rory can’t even nap, it’s so loud.”
“I don’t hear a goddamn thing.”
“Well, I heard it too, George. It was coming from this room,” Juliet says, laying a comforting hand on his back. But he hasn’t opened this door in so long. And on Christmas…it’s too painful. “Piper might be trapped,” Juliet says in a soft voice.
And that pushes him to react. He takes a breath, places his gnarly hands on the very brass handles his beloved wife had chosen, and swings open the doors.
“SURPRISE!”
At first he thinks he must be dreaming. This can’t be real, this is all a dream. But as he looks at the smiling faces—the new faces, not the ones from his past, except for Liam—part of him understands this must be real. But, it’s surreal.
“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” is playing on the sound system, he realizes, and the roaring fire in the grand fireplace is crackling away, flames dancing like uninhibited joy. Standing to the side is a majestic sixteen-foot Christmas tree, delicately decorated and twinkling like a fantasy. The banquet table is laden with dishes, silverware, and an abundance of candles, holly, and garlands. Fairy lights are twinkling just about everywhere he looks. Even the grand chandelier has been shined and seems to be glowing with jubilation.
Margo rushes forward and throws herself at his side, stretching her little arms to hug him close. She’s the only one who hasn’t treated him like some fragile, untouchable creature since his hospitalization. He turns in awe and his eyes meet Lane’s. Her face is glowing with apparent happiness.
> But, he just doesn’t understand.
And, to be in this very space on Christmas without his darling Marie…it’s too much.
It’s too much.
He peers again at the smiling, eager faces and at the tree. The tree is in the exact spot it always used to be. How did they know?
“George.” Lane comes forward and takes his hand. This is all so much. This is absolutely wrong, to have a Christmas celebration in his wife’s ballroom, but without her.
“What gave you the right?” is all he can choke, before shrugging away from Margo and Lane and brushing past Juliet and out of the ballroom. His step is swift, and he fights at the bloody tears that are welling up. It’s like being catapulted back into time, into a scene that was so precious and dear to his heart, only to find the characters he knew so well and loved with all his might have all been replaced, and there’s nothing he can do to get them back.
“That wasn’t exactly the reaction I was going for,” I say with dismay. Everyone is crowding around me, offering comforting words and saying it was such a nice gesture—blah, blah. But, I can’t leave things like this. George is obviously distraught and probably feeling lonelier than ever. Besides, Liam wants to serve dinner soon.
What a mess.
“Why don’t you have a drink, Lane,” Juliet suggests, but I shake my head, brooding.
“No. I’m going to talk to George,” I say. I leave the ballroom and sprint down the hall in time to hear the front door close. Shit! I yank off my heels, pull on a pair of flats, and race outside into the night.
The air is crisp, and I fly down the front steps two at a time. When I reach the sidewalk, I see a figure walking east. For someone who just came out of the hospital, he sure can book it when he wants to.
“George!” I yell, but he continues. “George, wait!”
I reach him, and to my astonishment I see that his face is damp from…tears? “George, what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, a hard look of determination etched in his face. I realize Piper is stuffed into his jacket. Either that or he’s pregnant.
“George, why are you so upset?”
He stops and whirls to face me. “That…that was my wife’s ballroom. Her special room.”
“Oh, I didn’t—”
“I haven’t been in there for years. Aside from arranging to have it cleaned once every few years so the cobwebs don’t take over, I don’t think of that space. That part of me died along with my wife over thirty years ago.”
“I understand,” I say. I turn toward home, walking slowly; and to my relief, George follows.
“How…how did you even find it? And what possessed you to do this?”
George’s eyebrows shoot up as I recount the story of how I actually did hear Piper meowing and how Piper really was in the ballroom.
“But…why go to all the effort? Why not just leave the great room alone? How did you even do all that?”
“Don’t you see, George?” Now it’s my turn to stop and face him. “It wasn’t just something I did. Every person in that ballroom helped out. We cleaned it and decorated it as a special Christmas surprise for you. And Liam made a feast.” We continue walking. I just want to get George back inside before he collapses from fatigue.
“What do you want, Lane?”
“What?” I practically yell. “This isn’t about me, George. I wanted to do something nice for you. We all did. For Christmas."
An array of emotions, from bewilderment, to confusion, to gratitude, crosses George’s face. “I miss her,” he says, his eyes welling up.
“I know,” I whisper, thinking of my mom. I take his hand again, and smile through my tears as I lead him back home.
When we get there, I slowly and carefully lead him up the stairs and down the hall. He must be exhausted. “Try again,” I say, giving him a nod of encouragement.
He takes in a quivering breath and, giving me a sad little wink, opens the doors to the ballroom and surveys it once again, this time while holding my hand.
His eyes light up slowly as he gazes around the room. And if I’m not mistaken, he appears to be in a bit of a trance, like he’s seeing images from times past.
I let him have his moment before leading him to the head of the banquet table. I sit at his side, surveying the magic. Margo is laughing hysterically at something John Childs is saying. Billy is taking pictures of them. Juliet is deep in conversation with Louisa. And Dad, well, Dad is bouncing Rory on one knee and Riley on the other. Liam is nowhere to be found, so I imagine he’s putting the final touches on the food.
“What can I get you to drink, George?” I ask, leaning in.
George turns to me with a contented look on his face and shakes his head. “I have everything I need, Lane.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to help Liam with the plating,” I say.
Oh, what the hell. I lean forward, and brush a peck on his cheek. George surveys me with a look of wonder, and I laugh at myself for letting the warm and fuzzies get the better of me. Time to serve that duck.
Upstairs, Liam is carving the duck, and I have to admit, it smells heavenly. “George is back,” I announce.
“I know.”
“How did you know?”
“Lane, if there’s one thing I’ve learned since meeting you, it’s that you always find a way. And, you’re remarkably efficient. So I knew you’d have him to the table in no time.”
I grin at him and he grins back. We hold eye contact for a few beats longer than necessary, and then he motions me over. So this is Liam’s duck a l’orange. My mouth waters as I survey the four succulent birds, roasted to perfection and drizzled with an orange glaze.
Liam serves the food onto a plate for George. It’s garnished with gingered oranges and releasing the most amazing aroma. I carry the dish downstairs, eager for George’s reaction. I think of the braided halibut dinner he was never able to enjoy. Well, he’s a crispy old man, but he deserves some happiness. His son is a loser for not being in touch.
In the ballroom, George is still seated at the head of the table and Margo is speaking with him. I motion for her to step back, and then I place the plate on the table. George’s eyes widen with obvious delight, and he regards me, shaking his head in amazement.
“Duck a l’orange,” he cries. “You remembered.”
“This was all Liam’s doing, really.” I confess.
George doesn’t respond and instead dives his fork into the duck and lifts a forkful to his mouth. He chews the sweet, roasted meat and breaks into the biggest smile, and then seems to slip into pure bliss for the rest of the meal.
“You’re supposed to wait to say grace,” I say.
“I already did.”
Christmas dinner is magical—with the music tinkering away, and laughter, and shared stories—that I almost don’t think of Micky. The food is out-of-this-world amazing. Liam is one of the most talented chef’s I’ve ever come across; and he’s not even a proper chef!
After dinner, George chokes up as he thanks all of us. Then Liam delights all of us at the piano, and we raise our glasses to toast such an extraordinary talent. George appears to be in his element, laughing and engaging with everyone. Riley even gets a chance to hammer on the piano with Rory and Margo.
As I survey the breathtaking room and all the happy faces, I feel a deep sense of gratitude and the all-encompassing feeling of peace.
This is what Christmas is about.
“Having a good night, Lane?” Billy asks, taking a seat next to me.
“The best.”
“Did you think Micky was going to show?”
I pause, taken aback. “How did you know?”
“You had that gleam in your eye; I figured it had to be more than just excitement to surprise George.”
I laugh at his intuitiveness. “You know me well, Billy.”
“Well, I am your best friend slash cousin, and soon-to-be slash stepbrother.”
Now we both giggle, for it really is absurd.
“And don’t forget, cousins who share identical twin mothers are considered half siblings because they share so much DNA!” I add.
“Well then, I’d say I couldn’t have a better best friend-cousin-half sister-stepsister.”
“Thanks, that’s some compliment. You know,” I say, “you didn’t have to go all the way to Haiti to look for your family; you only need to look here.”
Billy leans back in his chair, a hint of sadness crossing his face. “I know, Laney. I know.”
“I should take my own advice too,” I say. “I should stop waiting for Micky and move on.”
“I’m glad you’re saying this, Lane. I feel like this is what you need to do too.”
I nod and stare into the flickering candle flame.
I don’t know where the hell Micky is, but if he can’t be bothered to even wish his kids a Merry Christmas, than he doesn’t deserve them.
He doesn’t deserve us.
27
It’s New Year’s Eve, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Dad has the girls for the night, and Liam is going to pick me up at seven, which is just less than three hours away. Yes, I probably shouldn’t be going on a “date” when I’m technically married, but I couldn’t really care less, to be honest. I have this anger that’s been simmering away since Christmas Eve—and no—he never bothered to call or connect whatsoever over the holidays. Margo was crushed when she realized he was MIA, and I didn’t even bother sticking up for him or pretending he sent word, like on her birthday. I’m disgusted and pissed!
Anyway, tonight is not about Micky! It’s about welcoming a new year with open arms, celebrating my girls, good friends, and a new business, and just being alive. I really feel like for once I’m living my life to the fullest.
I’m adding the final coat to my nails, when a soft knock interrupts me. “It’s open,” I yell.
Juliet pops her head in. “Laney, there’s some guy downstairs for you.”
Riches & Rags: Things are seldom as they seem. Page 23