Three Christmas Wishes

by Sheila Roberts

  Aimi set down a wooden bowl full of greens and yes, there were the pomegranate seeds and the bacon bits, along with avocado, tomatoes, finely chopped red onions and fresh dill. “Hey, everyone!” she caroled and doled out hugs and kisses. The party always started when Aimi entered the room.

  “Hey, Squirt,” Dad said and gave her a big kiss. “How was work?”

  Aimi shrugged. “Boring.”

  “At least it’s a job,” Mom pointed out.

  “Yes, but I’m going to need more money now that I’m getting married.”

  “We told you not to worry about wedding expenses,” Mom reminded her. “We’re going to pay.”

  And of course she’d let them, Noel thought with a frown, even though their parents were on a tight budget until Dad found a job. Ever the baby of the family.

  “You guys are the best,” Aimi said, smiling at Mom.

  “How are the wedding plans coming?” Mom asked.

  “Slowly. There’s so much to do. I think we need a wedding planner.”

  “How much does that cost?” Noel asked. Could Mom and Dad afford that?

  “I don’t know, but it’ll be worth every penny,” Aimi said. “A wedding planner can help keep you on track.”

  “I can help keep you on track,” Noel said but Aimi ignored her.

  “The biscuits are done,” Mom announced. “We’re ready to eat.”

  “Remember, Mom and Dad don’t have a lot of money right now,” she whispered as Mom took their biscuits out of the oven and Dad flipped on the radio to his favorite eighties station.

  Aimi whispered back, “I know.”

  Noel wanted to say more, but here was Mom back at the table with the bowl full of biscuits. She settled for giving her little sister a stern look.

  Dinner would’ve been more delicious if it hadn’t been seasoned with Aimi’s selfishness. She rattled on about everything from flowers to her gown, and the dollar signs danced around the table.

  “We need to come up with a budget,” Mom said at last.

  Thank heaven.

  “Budget?” Aimi said suspiciously.

  “Darling, we want to give you a nice wedding but we’re not a bottomless well,” Mom said.

  “And Daddy’s out of work,” Noel added. Her father’s smile fell and she instantly regretted bringing that nasty specter to the table.

  “We’ll come up with the money somehow,” he said.

  It was the same thing he’d said when she’d first talked about needing money for her house. Then he was laid off and she’d been careful not to bring up the subject again.

  “It’s not like I’m planning to spend a lot,” Aimi insisted, “but weddings do cost money.” Her voice was now tinged with the beginnings of panic.

  “I’m sure we can find some ways to cut corners,” Mom said calmly.

  “Where? How?”

  “You can start by bagging the wedding planner,” Noel said and Aimi scowled at her.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Mom assured her. “Now, show us some of the gowns you were looking at.”

  This put Aimi in a happier frame of mind. She took out her phone and pulled up the latest website she’d found, then began scrolling through pictures of women in gorgeous gowns.

  Each wedding dress was beautiful. Aimi would look fabulous in any one of them. Yes, Noel was happy for her sister. And yes, she was also the tiniest bit jealous.

  “They’re lovely,” said Mom. “Have you gone to Old and New yet? I saw a dress similar to that last one you showed us in their window the other day when I was driving past.”

  “A secondhand store?”

  “A boutique that sells wedding gowns at a very reasonable price,” Mom corrected her. “We should at least check it out. You might find the perfect gown there.”

  Aimi’s expression was dubious but she promised to stop in.

  “I can go with you,” Noel offered.

  “I’ll let you know,” Aimi said, which made Noel wonder if she was going to keep her promise. As the youngest she was a little spoiled, but ever since she’d gotten engaged she’d become completely self-absorbed.

  “Are you going to check out Old and New?” Noel asked later as they went down the front walk to their cars.

  Aimi made a face. “I don’t think so.”

  “It would save a ton,” Noel pointed out.

  “I know, but you only get married once.”

  Noel didn’t bother mentioning people who got married twice. Or three times. Or not at all. Riley’s aborted wedding and then her own nonexistent prospects sprang to mind.

  “It’s a good thing because Mom and Dad can hardly afford the one you’re planning.”

  “Jeez, Noel. Can you, like, not ruin my night? We’re just in the early stages. I’m not going to break the bank. Okay?”

  “You’d better not,” Noel said, channeling Marvella.

  “Stop being so mean,” Aimi said. “Just because you’re not getting married doesn’t mean you have to make me feel bad that I am.”

  Good Lord, was that what she was doing? She went home and watched 27 Dresses.

  That night she dreamed she was getting married. On the way to the church she stopped at Old and New and picked up a gown. It had stains on the bodice but the saleswoman gave her a fifty percent discount so she changed into it right there. Then she got on her bicycle (why was she riding a bicycle?) and pedaled off to church. She barely made it in time, hopping off her bike and running up the steps, a reverse Cinderella hurrying to her prince. Aimi served as the world’s oldest flower girl, scattering rose petals everywhere, and Marvella was Noel’s maid of honor, her blue tail sticking out from under her purple bridesmaid’s dress.

  Noel followed them. (Walking herself down the aisle—what was that about?) She got to the front of the church, only to discover there was no groom.

  But there was Santa, together with Mrs. Claus, sitting in the front row next to Mom and Dad. “Don’t worry,” he called. “Your groom will show up.”

  She awakened with one word on her tongue. When?

  Who knew? One thing she did know. She had work to do and a date tonight. All good.

  She spent the morning on her laptop and she and Marvella turned Little Jenny into a confident child who not only boldly raised her hand in class but also won the school jump rope contest and took a shy newcomer under her wing. All in a day’s work.

  And now she had the afternoon free. Time to decorate for the holidays. She fetched her artificial tree and the ornaments from the garage, as well as the lights she always strung around the front windows—fat, old-fashioned, multicolored ones that made her small house look like a jewel box.

  She did her outside decorating first, replacing the burned-out bulbs on her strings of lights and framing her windows with them. The sky was gray and the air smelled like snow. She hoped it would snow. In the temperate Pacific Northwest they didn’t get much of the white stuff, but when they did she made sure to get outside and really enjoy herself, taking long walks and making snowmen with the neighbor children. Her neighbors all lined their houses with lights and hung icicles from the roof, and a couple of inches of snow turned everything magical. She hummed as she worked. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Yes, it was. And her house was always adorable all dressed up for the holidays.

  This could be her last Christmas in it.

  She pushed away the depressing thought and went inside and put up her tree. There. Very festive. A couple of scented candles on the mantel (Bath & Body Works Twisted Peppermint and Fresh Balsam), along with the little porcelain church that had once been Mom’s and the vintage choirboy candles from the fifties that she’d found in an antiques mall. Then, with her stocking hung by the chimney with care, she was ready. The brick fireplace was perfect for those old h
oliday decorations. They wouldn’t look the same with some sleek, new design. She’d point that out to Ben.

  Ben. Dairy Queen. She checked the time and realized her afternoon had evaporated. She had to shower and get changed!

  She hurried through her shower, threw on some of her loaner clothes then applied mascara and lip gloss and rushed out the door. She should’ve taken more time with her hair. It wasn’t fully dry and she could already feel it curling in all directions. Too late now. She didn’t want to keep Ben waiting.

  But he was already waiting there when she arrived, parked at a table near the door. He smiled at the sight of her and rose.

  “Sorry I’m a little late,” she said. “I was decorating. It takes a while.”

  “I bet it looks great.”

  “It does. Maybe you’d like to come and see it after we eat.”

  “Maybe I would,” he agreed.

  Smoothly done, she congratulated herself. When he saw how beautifully she had everything fixed up, he’d have to admit that she and the house were a perfect match. Just like he and she could be...if only he hadn’t bought the place; if only he didn’t have the mother from hell. No, that woman in the store couldn’t—could not—be his mother.

  Never mind his mother. Make conversation, Marvella commanded.

  Oh, yeah. That. “Do you decorate for Christmas?”

  “I put up a tree, but that’s it. Not much point bothering when you’re in an apartment.”

  She could feel her eyebrows shooting up. “You live in an apartment?”

  “I buy houses to resell, not to live in.”

  That seemed so...cold. “Wouldn’t you rather live in a house?”

  “Yeah. Someday. Right now where I am works fine.”

  Of course, a single man didn’t need a big old house, not when he was busy going out with beautiful women. Who had acrylic nails. Ben Fordham and other women wasn’t something she wanted to think about. She asked him what he’d like to eat.

  “Tell me what you want first,” he said, pulling out his wallet.

  “No. I’m paying,” she insisted and laid a hand on his arm. His hard, solid arm. Her tummy fluttered.

  She drew back her hand.

  “Okay,” he said. “How about a cheeseburger and a Coke?”

  “How about a cheeseburger, onion rings and a peppermint Blizzard?” she countered.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  They settled at a table with their burgers and Blizzards and while he dug into his, Noel tried to think of some witty banter. Nothing came to mind and Marvella was irritatingly silent.

  “It might snow tonight,” she finally said. Wow, that was a sparkling bit of conversation.

  “I hope so. I like the snow.”

  “Do you? Me, too.”

  “What do you like about it? Do you ski?”

  She shook her head. Skiing was not a cheap sport. Her dad was never the high-powered variety of businessman, and her parents hadn’t really had the money to afford ski lessons and the ski bus for two kids. “I’d like to learn someday.” The idea of being up there in the mountains, whooshing down a hill with the wind in her face sounded so romantic.

  “Nothing like it,” he said and took a slurp of his Blizzard.

  She could see him filling out a ski parka with that massive chest, those powerful legs working as he zigzagged down a craggy mountain. The image left her spellbound. And speechless. Okay, she needed to say something. She gulped down some of her drink and willed the peppermint to bring her brain to life.

  Finally she asked, “Did you buy any houses today?”

  “Not today. I probably won’t be buying any more now until I sell one. Unless I find a great place at auction.”

  “How many houses do you have?”

  “Well, that one in Bremerton. And yours.”

  Maybe he’d sell the Bremerton house first. “Does the Bremerton one need a lot of work?”

  “Not really. Mostly cosmetic stuff—some paint inside and a new hardwood floor in the living room, updated appliances in the kitchen.”

  “If you sold that, then you wouldn’t need to sell my, er, the other house right away.” And she’d have more time to come up with the money. Her agent was negotiating a new contract with her publisher. If they gave her a contract for two more Marvella books, surely she could pull together enough money for a down payment. Of course, December was nap time for the publishing business. Even if a deal was struck, she wouldn’t get her contract until well into the New Year. And then, after that was signed, she’d have to wait several more weeks for her advance money. If she could just stall Ben... “I’ll have money in the New Year,” she added, thinking positive.

  “Oh?” He looked interested and almost...hopeful?

  “I should be able to come up with enough for you to make a profit if you didn’t do a lot of remodeling in my, er, your house. It doesn’t actually need that much work.”

  “If I flip it, it does.”

  Flip. There was that four-letter word.

  “Could you show me again what you’d do?” she asked. With luck, she could talk him out of it.”

  He didn’t look happy at the prospect of doing that, but he popped the last of his onion rings into his mouth then crumpled the bag. “Let’s go.”

  They drove to Noel’s house, with him following her in his truck. It was snowing now and settling on the lawns and roofs, showing off the lights decorating the houses, making them sparkle like jewels. Her house wasn’t as elaborately done as many of her neighbors’, but it was still festive with its lights and the tree standing in the window.

  “Did you do all that yourself?” he asked.

  “I did. I’d love to hang icicles from the roof, too, but I don’t like going up on ladders.”

  “They can be dangerous,” he said.

  Good, send him up on one, said Marvella.

  She told Marvella to shut up, let him inside and took his coat then watched as he checked out her decorations.

  “Nice job.”

  “The old-fashioned fireplace is perfect for vintage Christmas decorations.”

  “I know,” he said. “You don’t want it modernized. You already told me that.”

  “You have to admit, it looks really sweet.”

  He nodded. “It does.”

  He smiled at her—a killer smile. His coat smelled of the outdoors and some spicy cologne. She suddenly thought of the guy in the Old Spice commercials. Ben Fordham would make a great Old Spice man. An image of him in a towel appeared in her mind, and she told herself to quit fantasizing about impossible things. She turned abruptly and hung his coat in the closet.

  “So, what else would you not change about the house?” he asked. “I know you want to keep that built-in china cabinet.”

  “Of course. It’s unique. And charming.”

  “The kitchen floor. At least tell me you’d get rid of that scabby old vinyl,” he said, starting for the kitchen.

  She followed him. He turned on the light and yes, the floor was pretty pathetic. “Okay, yes, that,” she agreed.

  “And the counters. They should be updated.”

  “Granite,” she said in disgust. Why did people like granite so much? “That ugly orange spotty stuff—my friend Riley has it in her kitchen. So does her sister.”

  “It’s not all ugly. A soft gray would look really nice in here. Or you could put in a maple butcher-block counter.”

  “What would all that cost?”

  “Not too much,” he said vaguely.

  She could see the price on her house rising steadily, like a river about to flood. She bit her lip.

  “Come on, let’s look around.”

  They did, wandering through the upstairs rooms. “This bathroom will have to be redone,
” he said. “There’s no getting around it.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Noel said. She tried to see it from his viewpoint. Yes, the floor had old, chipped tile that even her bathroom area rugs couldn’t dress up. But the claw-foot tub was charming. “That tub is great for bubble baths.”

  “There’s no walk-in shower anywhere in this house. Most people want a shower.”

  “I guess I’m not most people,” she said.

  He smiled at that. “I guess not. You know, there’s probably room in here for a tub and a shower.”

  “How much would all that cost?” Of course he’d tack that amount on to the price when he resold the house.

  “Not that much,” came the stock answer.

  “If you sell it to me as is, you won’t have to do anything,” she said.

  He said nothing to that, just moved on to her bedroom. His standing next to her bed made it hard for her to concentrate. She kept getting distracted by visions of two bodies in that bed, one of them a big, strong man with big, clever hands.

  “Probably don’t need to do much in here,” he said.

  She could think of plenty. Stop it, she scolded herself. What is wrong with you?

  Back downstairs they examined the small bathroom. “I wanted to put a pedestal sink in here someday,” she said wistfully. “Maybe a small, vintage dresser for towels.”

  “That’d look good,” he said.

  Yes, he’d take her idea and run with it. And the price would continue to soar.

  “I suppose you’ll bring in someone to stage it,” she said. So he could get top dollar. Ugh.

  “That’s what I usually do. I have an excellent stager,” he added with a grin.

  Oh, who cares? muttered Marvella.

  The one in the office across from him, obviously, but she still asked, “Who?”

  “My mother, actually.”

  I need you to fix that leak under the sink. The conversation she’d overheard in the grocery store came back to her. Oh, no. The lizard from the store was his mom and his stager? Surely this couldn’t be. Coincidence. It had to be coincidence.