Holiday Spice & Everything Nice

by Conn, Claudy

  The click of unsnapping the locks sends a wave of hope through my stomach.

  Bummer. The contents bring about a reserved smile. It contains some lipstick, mascara, an eyeliner pencil, and an eyeshadow palette with colors that are only a step above boring. But hey, this is better than the stuff I already have.

  Now that Mom and Dad have turned to check on GranGran, Bailey clears her throat and then nudges her head towards the bottom of the box.

  The outside looks like the inside should be deeper than it is. Actually, the inside bottom looks unstable, and the fabric doesn’t quite match that on the sides.

  I dig at the corner and have to fight off my gasp when I see container upon container of professional-quality eyeshadow forming a rainbow of delight. Tucked into the corners are tubes of lipsticks. The one I slip a peek at is bright, nearly neon, pink. This rules! Bailey has hooked me up, epically!

  How did Bailey afford all of this? Mom and Dad always finance our gifts to each other, but this one is a little heavy handed.

  Mom is peeking over her shoulder. I see what is really happening here. She thinks she is being sly. If this comes from Bailey, Dad can’t get angry at her. That’s why she tossed me extra money to buy my sister something special. I thought it was because Bailey plans to move out soon. While that may have something to do with it, Mom is trying to hide the real agenda.

  Dad turns his head, and I race to conceal the rainbow. He snickers before turning away.

  Snickers? Dad is snickering?

  He knows!

  Does Mom know he knows?

  He turns back with wide eyes and rattles his head, warning me not to say a word. Oh yeah, he knows all right, and he is having fun by letting everyone think they are pulling the wool over his eyes. My family is wacky.

  Bailey eyes Mom and Dad. She sees through the act as much as I do. “That comes with makeup lessons, too,” she says. Sweet! Bailey is studying to be a professional makeup artist. Those lessons may be the main reason why this gift has been parentally approved.

  I thank her, profusely. Oh my God, Rox and Jacqueline are going to be so jealous! They may be the sweetest friends in the universe, but they are hard to stand next to. Rox always looks so funky and fun, while Jacqueline could wear mud and look perfect. I can’t wait for them to get a load of me with some of this on!

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch GranGran smiling. Her too? Well, duh! Of course her too. She was probably the mastermind that got everyone on board with this. I race over to show her the goods—the bright and sparkly stuff that is tucked away. She kisses my head. “Awesome!” She then whispers, “I am totally jealous.” By the way her eyes twinkle, I believe her. She and I are the only ones in the family with green eyes. The more time that passes, the more I see that genetic traits are not all that I have gotten from her. Being like her is an honor.

  I bend in and whisper, “I know that somehow you had a hand in this. Thank you.”

  She winks.

  Yeah, I thought so.

  After getting this haul, now I really can’t wait to give Bailey her gift. I hand her what is obviously a wooden, crate-type box wrapped in Christmas paper. She rips the paper away to find a set of four, small bottles of flavored, balsamic vinegars. The look on her face is priceless. She is too gracious to ask what is up, even though she has got to know there is a joke behind this.

  “Thank you. I’ve wanted to experiment with cooking more.” It takes all I have not to laugh until reality strikes her. “Wait a minute. This crate has been messed with. Why are the seals around the necks of the bottles removed? And why is it that even though some of these say they are flavored things that should be dark, all of the fluids are colorless?”

  “Maybe you should open them and find out.”

  She unscrews a cap and raises the bottle towards her nose. Hesitantly, she inhales. “Intensity,” I say.

  She gasps. “No!”

  “Keep going.” She pulls out another bottle and goes in to smell. “Scentimental Journey,” I tell her.

  “No way! You bought me the perfumes I’ve been wanting? This is incredible.”

  “It was kind of amazing that with all the cool perfume bottles out there, the ones for those were boring. Plus, even though I don’t want to admit it, we all know you are dying to move out of the house. If every morning you look on your vanity and see vinegar bottles, you won’t forget the sister you left all alone and wallowing in misery.”

  Bailey races over to give me a hug that nearly knocks me onto my back. “I love how you never do anything like a normal person would.”

  Her words make my heart sing. I can’t think of a fate worse than being boring.

  GranGran’s semi-bouffant bops as she tosses her hands in the air. “Finally, it’s my turn!” Her youthfulness always seems to amaze everyone but me. Her cane may not suit her personality, but the red highlights that cover the signs of aging seem as natural on her as they would on a woman a quarter of her age. She’s not some elderly great grandmother; she’s GranGran—a force all her own.

  She hands Bailey and I boxes that are tightly wrapped in red, metallic paper and green ribbon that cascades over the edges. Bailey and I exchange smiles. Gifts from GranGran are always sweet and sentimental. We look forward to them more than anything else on Christmas morning; that is, with the exception of what she gives us later in private.

  Bailey and I open our presents in unison, both stopping at the sight of something precious. This year GranGran has given us treasured memories preserved on paper—photos of us taken with her on Thanksgiving. The frames are perfect—red and white cloisonné roses for Bailey—pink and yellow daisies for me. The frame reminds me of the hair clips she gave me for my sixteenth birthday. I love those so much that I fear losing them and only pull them out for special occasions. Daisies are so beautiful. I love how they burst with life and—

  A chill travels up my spine, as if words of horror were whispered in my ear. There is something eerie about this photo. I can’t quite place it but …

  The dining room chandelier is in the background, just below GranGran’s head. The glow of its lights reminds me of a halo. My stomach squeezes. Never before have I thought of GranGran as being mortal. My distorted perception has told me she will always be around. Suddenly reality is swooping in. Eventually life ends for all of us. It is inevitable.

  “Something to always remember our good times by,” she says.

  GranGran’s words strike a chord of sorrow, driving home what my heart is telling me. She knows something. Now I do, too. Judging by the hollowness in Bailey’s eyes, I see that she senses it as well.

  Bailey and I dash to hug her. My words choke out. “I absolutely love it. Thank you, GranGran.”

  I am so grateful that she is here. I pray that I live to be ninety-two years old, and that I do it in the health and style that she has. She is a woman who loves life—a woman who evolves. When she was born, people scarcely had electricity in their homes. Now she is so in love with technology that she bought Bailey and I cell phones with texting plans so we can share our whims. All of my friends are jealous that I have my own cell phone, and while that is awesome, it is not what matters.

  I kiss her cheek, take her hands in mine, and lock eyes with her. My tears flow with the pride of being her descendant. In light of my revelation, fear makes it hard to keep my words steady. “Thank you, GranGran. You are always the best Christmas present I could ever get.”

  Lord, please let me be wrong. Please bless us with more Christmases together.

  Once the official festivities are over, my favorite part of Christmas arrives. Bailey and I each go to our rooms so that GranGran can give us what she considers to be our real Christmas presents. The gift is secondary to how much we cherish this time with her—a time to tell stories, share secrets, and to just be girls.

  Laughter travels through the wall of Bailey’s room and in to mine. Knowing those two, I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that GranGran is telling war stories again
. Not just war time stories, but stories about the men she met during World War II—ones who figured a daring advance on a lady was far less dangerous than what they would soon face on a battlefield. Bailey is fascinated with old movies, Big Band Jazz, Swing dancing, and vintage fashions. Her makeup collection is filled with compacts and lipstick cases that date back to the nineteen thirties and forties, all thanks to GranGran’s love of eBay.

  The laughter subsides, and Bailey’s door closes. Feet, aided by a tapping cane, shuffle down the hall. I surprise GranGran by answering before she can knock. We both laugh. “My gosh,” she says. Her hand flies to her heart like I’ve shocked her. It nearly causes her to drop the long, short box that is tucked under her arm. “You darn near gave me a heart attack. Remember, people claim that at my age I am a little on the fragile side.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Yeah, right. If there is one thing I know, it is that you are anything but fragile.”

  She shakes her cane at me. “I’m the toughest weed in the garden, and don’t you ever forget it! Life has dealt me so much that I’ve become immune to weed killer.”

  Something about her smile says she is telling tales. There is a wobble to her step that didn’t exist at Thanksgiving, and it brings back the ache my heart felt when I opened the picture.

  She drops onto my bed and pats for me to sit. “You are in trouble.”

  I plop down next to her while not buying into her firm tone for a second. “Why?” I ask, although I suspect I know the answer. I just want the whole mess to go away.

  “I’ll give you a hint. Today is Monday. That means I’ve been waiting three whole days!”

  I groan and drop my head. Busted.

  “I’ve talked to you twice since Friday, and not once have you filled me in on what happened. I know that had it been great, you would have told me. If it had been truly bad, you would have been on my doorstep. Silence leaves me to believe that the event didn’t lead to another date, the loss of your virginity, or police involvement.”

  Lord! Again she is my freaking mind reader. “You’re right! I should have told you. If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t filled in anyone but Bailey, and that was purely out of necessity.”

  GranGran raises her brow. “Oh, this sounds bad. Not even Rox or Jacqueline?”

  Time to blurt it out so she can stop worrying. “No, and as I am sure you can tell, I am fine. The real reason that jerk asked me to the Winter Ball was so he could spy on his bimbo ex.”

  “Oh, that bites,” she says.

  “No kidding!”

  GranGran leans back and sizes me up. “There’s more.”

  Gah! I’d ask how she knows, but we can’t seem to keep secrets from each other. Why won’t that night go away?

  Oh shoot, as much as this sucks to admit, she’ll get a kick out of it. I really had planned on telling her the next morning, but my frustration got the best of me. “Long story short, it takes a lot of balls to ignore your date the entire time, and then expect her to spend time alone with you in an empty parking lot.”

  She rolls her head back. “Oh, I’m betting this one has a doozy of an ending.”

  “I spike-heeled him in the junk, and then called Bailey to come get me.”

  GranGran smacks her cane on the floor. Her laugh sounds like a howl. “Oh, that is my girl! You’ve been raised right!” The cane gets tossed aside, and she applauds. I respond by standing to take a bow. The howls lead to a catcall. She then wipes a tear away before the laughter ends. As soon as I take back my seat next to her, she gets serious. “You okay now?”

  I wave my hand at the situation. “Yeah, I always have been. Admitting I was used sucks though.”

  Her hand lands firmly on my knee. “Trust me darling, someday it is going to work out. Not all men are jerks, although sometimes it sure seems that way. You just keep being who you are. The right man will respect that more than you can imagine. Are you sure you are okay?”

  I grumble. “Yeah, the only thing bruised is my ego. I hate when people play mind games.”

  “Me too, and I am glad you are smart enough not to get trapped into one. Okay, you are forgiven for not calling. Here.” The box she places on my lap reminds me of a board game. Boy, wouldn’t it be funny timing if she gave me a copy of the game of Life? Everything she does has meaning of some sort. Right now, that would be a hell of a metaphor.

  “Thank you.” I kiss her cheek and start opening the gift. She stops me.

  “Darla, you know that I never play favorites with you and Bailey. You are both unique individuals and deserve to be treated as such.” GranGran softens her voice. Her words seem to massage their way into me. “Although I know you will figure this out on your own, the gifts you and Bailey are getting are not only different in nature, but also in monetary value. However, the emotional value is just as great. I hope you will see that this says more about you as a person, and what you will need in the future, than anything else. Do you understand that?”

  Wow. She has never thought I would be concerned over money before. Cosmetology school is just the tip of the iceberg for Bailey. She has big dreams. GranGran must be doing something to help her. I think that is great. I wish I had career direction like Bailey does. “Of course I do. You are the one who taught me that things are just things unless sentiment makes them special.”

  She pats my hand and nods toward the gift. “Go on. Open it.”

  I rip away the sparkling images of snowmen while keeping my eyes locked on the box underneath. Quickly the contents become clear. It is a board game all right—or though some claim. “A Ouija board! Wow! Really?”

  GranGran laughs.

  The plastic has already been removed. Maybe the box is a joke. I kind of hope not. I’ve always wanted one of these.

  I whip the lid off as if it were light as air. Just as swiftly, a wave of energy tumbles over me and clogs my thoughts. I shake my head, but I still feel kind of hazy. Am I imagining this?

  I put one hand on the bed to steady myself, and eventually the fog lifts. Something definitely washed over me.

  Inside the box is not only a Ouija board and planchette, but also another present wrapped in blue, metallic paper. A sticker of a daisy sits in place of a bow. When I reach for the second gift, the sensation hits again.

  Did that energy come off of the board or the second gift? The board feels like it is glowing, yet I can’t see the light.

  Another odd vibration creeps its way into me. It is a sense of protection, like a tiger has just run out to save me from a lion. It captures a bit of my breath. There is more here than meets the eye.

  With the touch of her hand, GranGran stops me from opening the package inside. “Save that gift for another day. Remember, this board is not a toy. You’ll know when the time is right to explore its power.” Now the glow I feel is coming off of her. It seeps into my spirit, yet I still can’t take my eyes off of the second gift. Her next words hit my soul so hard, I’m uncertain if they come from her lips or are said by a voice from beyond. “You are a very special girl, Darla. No matter what you do or where you go, carry me with you.” She looks away and swallows hard. Her tone and volume shift. “Well, it is getting late. These eyes don’t like me driving in the dark.”

  “GranGran, did you do something to this? It feels … magical.”

  I turn to her, expecting to see the woman I’ve admired for so long, but something isn’t right. Though a smile is still on her face, the happiness that shines ever-presently has faded. The crackle in her voice makes me feel she wants me to hear the words she is not saying more than the ones she is. “Darling Darla, everything we share is magical.” Water builds in her eyes, and her lower lip slightly quivers. Loss is coming. I’ve been feeling it, and now I am seeing it. God, I have to be wrong. “GranGran, are you okay?”

  Like a snap, she perks up. “Come on. See me to the door.”

  “GranGran?”

  Her rise from the bed is slow yet steady, thanks to the assistance of her cane. I stand
to help her, but she waves me off. “I’m fine, dear. Arthritis ain’t got nothing on me.”

  I touch her arm to stop her. “GranGran?” She keeps trudging ahead like she doesn’t hear me. My heart breaks not only over what is happening, but also how she won’t let us face it together.

  Finally she stops and turns to me. Though her voice is now steady, her eyes weep. “Never, ever, let the circumstances of your body dictate the health of your spirit.” She continues to move on. Just outside my door, she calls to the family that it is getting dark and she needs to go.

  By the time we all see her to the porch, she seems normal as can be. When she kisses me goodbye, she leans in and whispers, “I told your sister to forget about her gift until it is absolutely needed. Bailey will need to lose her way to come home again. Be there for her when that happens. Meanwhile, remember all the things I have given you, and never hesitate to use them. Above all, always follow the daisies.”

  Follow the daisies?

  Before I can ask, she touches a finger to my lips, encouraging my silence. Although I watch Dad walk her to the car, I feel as if she has slipped away into nothing.

  “What did you get?” Bailey asks. Her voice sounds as solemn as my heart feels.

  “Moments that will last a lifetime. You?”

  “The same, plus a modest savings bond. GranGran has never given me money before. Why would she now?”

  My spine shudders, causing me to draw in the winter air that chills my lungs. Bailey and I turn to each other and find we share the same wide-eyed looks of concern. We bolt out the door, down the driveway, and stop GranGran from entering the car for one more hug. “I love you, GranGran.”

  “And I you, dear. Remember, follow those daisies.”

  She drives off into the sun that sets before her. My heart continues to ache, yet I can’t lose sight of her smile, her laugh, and the warmth she brings. Although I know there is something I am missing in its meaning, one thing is certain; between Bailey and I, I got the better gift.