Christmas Melody: a romance for the holidays

by Alyssa Jefferson

  He cocked his head to the side. “No. I don’t.”

  “My whole family is in town. Parents, sisters, niece and nephew. We have room for more. Want to join us?” Mel’s heart pounded in her chest as she gave the invitation. It wasn’t the most normal thing to do, inviting your doctor to your house for a major holiday dinner. But she felt so very sorry for him, and the thought of him being alone for the holiday made her truly sympathetic. She knew what it was like to be lonely. “You could keep an eye on the old knee that way,” she added, giving him an inviting smile.

  Dr. Westicott shook his head, but he was smiling—a disbelieving, amused look on his face. “You know what? Sure. I’d love to.”

  Chapter 2

  It was the best kind of Thanksgiving table. The Parish family had a special holiday tradition they called “Everybody’s Most Thankful.” In addition to the golden turkey, crunchy green bean casserole, creamy potatoes, and apple-cinnamon stuffing, everybody in the family contributed one of their favorite foods to share. With two preschool-aged children at the table, this made for some interesting dishes. This year, the table included seafood enchiladas (Adam), French fries (Caleb, age 5), salmon fillets with broccoli (Liz), dirt pudding (Riley, age 3), sirloin steaks (Brent), macaroni and cheese (Francy—pregnancy cravings must have been kicking in, because it was the first year she hadn’t chosen sushi), pork loin sandwiches (Gary), fruit salad (Annie), and sweet potato frittata (Mel). Dr. Westicott had texted Mel and asked if there was anything she’d like him to bring before he came by, and because there wasn’t time to whip up whatever his favorite dish might be, Mel suggested the only thing she could think of— rolls. His bag of grocery-packaged snowflake rolls was clearly the only dish not homemade at the table. It was four o’clock, and the family had taken turns in Mel’s huge kitchen all day, creating a feast that was as colorful as it was eclectic.

  Mel had given Dr. Westicott her address and phone number after the race had ended. He’d texted several times, making Mel suspect he was indeed lonely today. What a surprising thing to have in common with somebody like him. He had truly seemed like he had everything going for him when they’d met.

  What would possess any woman to leave a sexy, smart, handsome man like him was totally beyond Mel’s wildest imaginings—especially when they were engaged and had a child together. Mel was just experienced and worldly enough to know, though, that things were often not how they seemed.

  The family seemed very inclined to believe Dr. Westicott was a boyfriend, and while they were too considerate in general to say anything embarrassing in front of him, Mel knew she would have to endure lots of teasing both before and after his visit. And honestly, that was fine with her. While the idea of her being a lesbian truly didn’t offend her in the least, it still wasn’t true, and anything that stopped her mother from making false assumptions about her was A-okay in Mel’s book.

  “Aiden would love this spread,” Dr. Westicott said appreciatingly as he took his seat across from Mel. Her dining table was gigantic—selected with this very holiday meal in mind—and even though she was technically the hostess, she still saved the seats of honor at the head and foot of the table for Mom and Dad. She was sitting somewhere near the middle, surrounded by little people who probably had too much pudding and too little of everything else on their plates.

  Mel smiled and said, “How old is your son?”

  “He’s five.”

  “I’m five!” Caleb announced. “Is Aiden in my class?”

  “Probably not,” Mel said. “You live in Minnesota, and Aiden lives in Iowa.”

  “What’s Iowa?” Riley asked.

  “It’s where Auntie Mel lives,” Caleb said, leaning forward in his chair so he could see his sister. “It’s where we are right now, you dummy.”

  Mel swallowed her bite of food and prepared to run interference. The kids had been fighting a lot today, and Mel had seated herself between them hoping separation would make their little hearts grow fonder. “Don’t call your sister a dummy,” she said. She took that opportunity to add, “Riley, you have to eat real food, too.”

  “But I don’t like real food. I like pudding!” Riley smiled and stuffed some gummy worms in her mouth. Mel couldn’t keep herself from smiling back. Riley and Caleb both looked just like their dad—warm brown complexions and sparkling brown eyes. They were too cute to say no to.

  Mel glanced up across the table, where Dr. Westicott grabbed a spoon and scooped some mashed potatoes onto Riley’s plate. “There,” he said. “Finish your potatoes and turkey, and you can eat as much pudding as you want.” He flashed her that charming smile that Mel now observed worked equally well on women of all ages.

  Riley giggled. “Okay.”

  Meanwhile, on Mel’s other side, Caleb sat up taller in his chair. “Dr. Westit?” he said.

  Dr. Westicott smiled and said, “Yeah, buddy?”

  “How come you aren’t with your son for Thanksgiving?”

  It was clear he hadn’t been expecting that question. Mel frowned at him apologetically, then turned to Caleb. “It isn’t polite to ask questions like that, buddy.”

  “Questions like what?”

  Mel glanced toward Liz for a little help, but she was chatting with Dad at the head of the table. Meanwhile, Adam was laughing loudly at something Brent had said, and Francy was talking all things baby with Mom. Mel was on her own.

  “Personal questions,” she said, “when you just met somebody. It’s better to just make small talk.” That was a good answer—good job, Mel, she thought.

  “What’s small talk?”

  “Oh, just…it’s when you discuss things that aren’t too personal, like what’s happening at school and who your friends are.”

  “Those aren’t personal?”

  “No, I guess they are personal. Just, not, like, sensitive things.” Mel was really grasping for straws here. She finally glanced up at Dr. Westicott, who was smiling with amusement across the table.

  “What’s a sensitive thing?” Caleb asked.

  Mel huffed in defeat, and Dr. Westicott laughed out loud. “I wondered how long you could keep going,” he said. “That wasn’t bad. Aiden always has a million questions, too.” Then he turned to Caleb and said, “It’s okay, kiddo. Your question didn’t bother me. And you can call me Mitch.” He nodded toward Mel. “You both can. Aiden is with his mom in Nebraska for Thanksgiving.”

  “Why aren’t you there?” Caleb said. Mel had to hand it to him—the little guy didn’t miss a beat.

  “We aren’t together,” he said, then added quickly, “I mean, we aren’t married. We aren’t really friends anymore.”

  Caleb tilted his head, frowning. “But why?”

  Dr. Westicott—Mitch—laughed and said, “Oh, we’ve reached the ‘but whys!’ That means I win!” Both children laughed, too, in that silly, contagious way that children do when they don’t actually understand what’s funny. But Mel began to feel concerned. She hadn’t invited Mitch here so that he could help babysit. He deserved some adult conversation, too.

  Mel finally succeeded in getting Adam’s attention—he was on the other side of Riley—and they traded seats so he could keep a better eye on the kids. Mel thought it was about time; she didn’t know what it was about being the single aunt that made everybody assume she wouldn’t mind non-stop kid-duty. She loved those little stinkers, but she also loved her siblings. She would have enjoyed time with them even more, without the added pressure of wondering whether she was doing something wrong with the kids. In fact, she suspected she already had done something wrong; Adam was now busily loading both kids’ plates with fruit salad, macaroni, and turkey.

  Mitch and Brent started chatting, and Mel was too far away to join the conversation. She was closer to Mom and Francy now, but they were still immersed in baby talk. It was understandable, but nonetheless, Mel felt a little left out. She was the only really, truly single person at this table. At least Mitch had a family, even if it was a broken one. What did
she have? A long wooden table that was only full on Thanksgiving and a bum knee that was throbbing more and more as the day wore on. It took more than a little bit of energy for Mel to pull herself out of her self-pitying thoughts.

  Mel rose from the table to get pie ready—in addition to the creative pudding dessert, they would eat a more traditional pumpkin and pecan pie with their coffee—but she found it difficult to move around. Her leg was getting stiff, and the stinging in her knee had morphed into a sharp, stabbing pain. She leaned on the wall a little as she tried to balance enough to leave the dining room without anybody noticing her. She really wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from her mom about taking better care of herself.

  She had finally made it around the corner to the kitchen when she felt a hand on her back.

  “Easy,” Mitch said, holding her by the elbow. “Let me take a look at that knee. I don’t like the way you’re limping.”

  Mel smiled at him over her shoulder. “I don’t love it either, but what can you do?”

  Mitch didn’t seem amused. “Do you have a sofa, or…?”

  “In the living room,” Mel said. Then she called, “Mom? Can you get the pie ready? Dr. Mitch—I mean, Dr. Westicott, Mitch, is going to look at my leg again.”

  From the dining room, Annie called, “You shouldn’t have gone running this morning, dear. I told you to take it easy! I don’t know what you’ll do all alone in this house when you can’t even walk around!”

  Mel should have seen that coming. She grimaced and shrugged at Mitch. “Moms.”

  Mel tried to keep walking, but the sharp paid made her yelp.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Mitch said. “You can’t walk.”

  Mel hopped a couple times on her good leg, and Mitch put his arm around her.

  “Stop trying to walk,” he ordered. “Where are you trying to go? I’ll take you.”

  “Couch in the living room,” she said, gesturing with resignation toward the door opposite them.

  “Great.” Mitch swung her up into his arms, carefully cradling the bum knee so that it didn’t swing or dangle. Even so, it hurt. Mel leaned closer to him so she was carrying as little of her own weight as possible. “I got you,” he said. Yes, he certainly did.

  Sore knee or no, this was not a bad way to travel. Warm, strong arms and skin that smelled vaguely like fall spices. A strong, hard chest. Mitch was tall and strong, and being carried by him made Mel feel as light as a feather. Mel knew her own body was pretty average—she was about 5’5” and wore a size 6. Well, she used to wear a size 6. Now it was an 8. Sometimes a 10. Sometimes sweats. Anyway, she didn’t have any body image issues, but it was still nice to know a guy like Mitch could lift her off her feet with no trouble.

  It had been a while since she had been this close to a man—at least a couple of months. Mel wasn’t a prude, but she didn’t do a ton of dating, what with her busy work schedule and all, and the last guy she had gone out with had been a graduate student at the university. After he graduated in May, he’d moved away and that was that.

  Anyway, the bottom line was, a woman would have to be totally crazy to dump a man like this. No wonder Mitch was so torn up about it; he’d probably never been dumped before at all, let alone by the person he thought he would marry, the mother of his son.

  Mitch settled Mel on the couch and began to examine her knee, and while he was looking down, he said, “I’m glad you invited me. It’s hard to be away from Aiden and Ashleigh on the holidays.”

  Mitch wasn’t turning out to be anything like Mel had thought he was in the doctor’s office. Now that she knew a little bit of what he was going through, she didn’t feel as annoyed with him as she had before. Especially knowing he had a son that he had to be away from because of all this—Mel’s heart ached for him. If she could make this better for that whole family, she genuinely wanted to do it. It would take some planning, though. She would need to get him to open up a little bit more, but that shouldn’t be too hard. The singing would be the tricky part. She began to think about how she might sing a carol for him in a way that would seem at all natural.

  “I’m sure it’s hard,” she said. “Our family loves having as many people as possible at the holidays, so really, the more the merrier. In fact, we think of ourselves as a family choir, because we’re always singing—Ouch!” Mel yelped in pain.

  Mitch frowned as he felt her knee, rubbing to help alleviate some of the pain. “Oh.”

  “What?”

  “This tear. It might have gotten worse.”

  Mel’s heart jumped into her throat. Since she owned the yoga studio, she bought her own medical insurance—and it wasn’t great. She couldn’t afford for it to be too bad. “Well…you said ‘might.’ How likely is it?”

  “It definitely got worse.”

  Mitch needed a lot of work on his bedside manner. “How much worse?”

  “You need surgery, Mel.”

  So, about as bad as it could be. Wonderful. Mel leaned forward to rub her knee. “You said I wouldn’t need surgery, since I’m not an athlete!”

  “It was just an opinion, based on range of motion without an X-ray. Now that I’ve seen the tear, and after running on it today, there isn’t much of a choice anymore. If I don’t repair it, I’m afraid it’ll just keep tearing. If you keep doing things you shouldn’t on it, it definitely will.”

  Mel groaned. “I own a business, I walk to work every day. I can’t take time off for surgery.”

  “You only need a couple of weeks off,” Mitch said. “And if you could bring home a laptop with some work on it, you should even be able to do some work. What do you do?”

  “I own a yoga studio.”

  “I thought you weren’t an athlete.”

  “I’m not an instructor. Ow!”

  “Okay, you need ice,” Mitch said, standing. “Is it in the freezer?”

  “Yes,” said Mel miserably. This was not the happiest Thanksgiving she’d ever had. Mitch disappeared into the kitchen, and Mel could hear her mother’s and his voices.

  “How’s our little patient?”

  “What?”

  “Mel. How’s her knee?”

  “Oh. Not good. I’m looking for some ice now.”

  “I’ll get it. Now, you’re her doctor, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you told her she could run in this asinine race?”

  Mel chuckled. Mitch had had no idea what he was walking into.

  “Um…no, I didn’t exactly. I mean, I told her to take it easy, but it wasn’t a situation where clearance from a doctor is required, so—”

  “So you made her think it was safe to run, and now she’s a cripple?”

  “She isn’t a cripple, she just needs a little bit of surgery to repair the—”

  “A little bit of surgery? A little bit? What does that mean, a little bit? Just a butter knife to slice her open and a band-aid to glue her shut?”

  “No, Mrs. Parish. Look, I can’t discuss her medical information with you, but it isn’t that—”

  “Oh, really? You can’t? You can’t tell her own mother whether or not she’ll be okay?”

  “I can’t discuss anything without her permission, but Mrs. Parish, I have no doubt that she will be absolutely fine. The surgery is the best way to ensure that the knee is able to heal fully, and quickly.”

  “How quickly?”

  “She should be running races again by summer.”

  “Summer? That’s more than six months from now!”

  “Yes.”

  There was silence for a moment, and Mel hoped and prayed her mother would let Mitch go. Her knee was still throbbing, and Mom was pretty scary with doctors ever since Francy had been sick—and much more so as she’d aged.

  Mel was still listening for their voices when she heard a set of little feet pitter-pattering toward her.

  “Auntie Melly!” Riley ran to the couch and launched herself up onto her Aunt’s lap. Mel had to hide her cringe as she hurrie
dly swung her leg out of the path of the bouncing three-year-old.

  “Hey there, Riley bug.”

  “I wanna watch the football.”

  Mel smiled and shook her head, amused. She could hear the sound of the basement TV blaring, and she guessed her brothers-in-law had excused themselves, sans kids, to watch the second half of the Cowboys’ game.

  “Where’d your dad go? He’s probably watching it.”

  “He said I stay upstairs. Will you play with me?”

  “Sure. What do you want to play?”

  “Pony ride!” The little girl bounced and rocked on her heels, pulling on Mel’s hand. She sighed. She couldn’t say no to that face; nobody could.

  “Alright, but I have to do it one-legged,” she said. Hobbling off the couch, she was about to attempt to swing Riley onto her back when Mitch came back in the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mel brushed a long strand of hair out of her face and smiled. “Pony ride.”

  “Not today, pony,” he said, lifting Riley out of her arms and placing her on the floor, where she crossed her arms and proceeded to pout. “You can’t give any rides on that knee. Now let’s get this ice on there.”

  Mel smiled apologetically at her niece and settled back down on the couch. “Sorry, bug.”

  Riley’s eyes filled with tears—usually exactly the way to get what she wanted from Auntie Mel. “But you say yes!”

  “I can play quiet games here on the couch,” she offered as Mitch propped her knee up on a pillow.

  “I no want to play on a couch!” Riley wailed. Mel sighed. Her niece and nephew would never understand a bum knee.

  “I’ll give you a pony ride,” Mitch offered.

  Riley stopped crying and cocked her head at him. Though she had been perfectly brave during dinner, he was now apparently earning some stranger-danger treatment from her.

  Mel laughed. “Run and find Grandpa, Riley Bug. He’ll be a pony for you.”

  “Okay!” Riley grinned and darted off.

  “What?” Mitch said. “I would have given her a ride. Would have been fun.”