by Jiffy Kate
IT’S A WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS and the restaurant is almost ready. I can’t believe we’re getting so close to opening this place. My dream restaurant. We still have to do the hiring and training of the staff, but that won’t happen until after the holidays. Still, when I walk around the building, I have to watch where I’m going so I don’t run into the tables and chairs that are now set up.
I’ve been so used to this place being completely empty, it catches me off guard sometimes to see it fully decorated. It’s exactly the way I envisioned it . . . a little modern, a little rustic, trendy but still rough around the edges and absolutely perfect. People of all backgrounds and bank accounts should feel comfortable and welcome here and, hopefully, they will.
“Hey, boss. We got more silverware in today and it’s all been washed, but I sure could use some help organizin’ it.”
“You got it, Randy. Be right there.”
Randall Leger is known as one of the best up and coming chefs in New Orleans and was earning quite the reputation while working at a well-known restaurant a couple blocks down the road. That is, until I offered him more money, along with some creative freedom with the menu. Of course, it also helped that I’ve known Randy since he and his family moved to The Settlement while we were in junior high and have been friends ever since.
“Sorry I’m making you do physical labor, boss. Try not to break a sweat or anything, I’d hate for you to pass out,” Randall says with a crooked smile.
“Hey, now, don’t make me send you back to your old place or even worse, I could send you to work with Deacon at Grinders. We both know what a joy he is to work with.” It’s the first time in a while I’ve said my brother’s name and it’s been even longer since I said it in a joking manner. Over the past few weeks, my anger with Deacon has slowly morphed into something else—sadness, a little regret, frustration. I’m not ready to apologize, nothing to apologize for. I mean, look at this place. But I do miss him. “Besides,” I continue, trying to ignore the twist in my gut when I think of Deacon, “I told you not to call me ‘boss’. ‘Micah’ is just fine.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Randy gives me another one of his goofy grins, and then begins showing me where he’d like to store the silverware.
Thirty minutes into the job, Alex strolls into the kitchen, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder—always making her presence known. There’s really no reason for her to be here, so I’m immediately on edge, even more so than usual.
“What are you doin’ here?” I ask, not really caring how rude I sound.
“To be honest, I was kinda bored,” she hums, leaning over the stainless steel countertop. “So, I decided to come down here and see if you needed my help for anything.”
I don’t trust this woman as far as I can throw her, but if she’s actually offering to help, I’m gonna put her to work. Too bad the toilets have already been cleaned.
The three of us settle into a nice routine of cleaning, sorting, and storing various items in and around the kitchen while having brief but pleasant conversation. When Alex asks about Dani, though, I’m reluctant to answer.
“So, what does Sheridan do all day while you’re away?” she asks. When I don’t answer, she jumps straight into another question. “Did she move here permanently?” Then, “New York is so different, she must get bored here.”
I don’t like that last statement. It plays on fears I’ve had creeping in lately. What if Dani gets bored with me working so much? What if she feels like moving to Baton Rouge was a mistake?
“Dani has her own things going,” I finally reply. “She stays busy.” I leave it at that.
But Alex doesn’t need to know things are still rocky between me and Dani. She doesn’t need to know we seem to fight more than anything else these days. So much so, make-up sex isn’t as exciting as it used to be anymore. Dealing with the restaurant and Alex, while also trying to salvage my relationship with Dani, and feeling guilty over the tension between me and Deacon, has me exhausted and stressed the fuck out. I’m so ready for the week-long break we have coming to us for Christmas.
When I don’t indulge Alex with a full-blown conversation about Dani, she eventually changes the subject and asks Randall about his family. I have to admit, she’s actually being quite decent today. Maybe she got hit on the head before coming here. Or, maybe she realized Santa is going to leave coal in her stocking if she doesn’t start being nice. Whatever it is, I’m going to silently appreciate it. If I bring up a change in her attitude, I’m sure it’d backfire on me and cause the bitchy part of her personality to come back in full force.
“So, what are you and your family doing for Christmas, Micah? Your parents still put Christmas lights on all those trees in front of your house?” Randy asks, switching the conversation back to me. He’s not a big fan of Alex either.
“Now, you know my mama, Randy. Do you really think she’d ever stop decorating for the holidays? I’m pretty sure they can see the house from the International Space Station this year, with all the lights she has up.”
“I’d forgotten how beautiful the plantation is at Christmas,” Alex adds. “Oh, and the hot chocolate! Your mama makes the best hot chocolate in all of Louisiana, I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty damn good. Maybe I can get her recipe and we can sell it here when it gets cold.”
“That would be amazing,” Alex gushes, giving me a genuine smile.
Getting caught up in the moment, I ask “What are your plans for the holidays?”
Her smile fades and is replaced with a stoic stare.
“Oh, nothing much,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant. “My parents are going on another cruise this year, so that leaves me here by myself again. It’s not too bad, though. I can stay in my pajamas and eat ice cream all day, if I want.” Her voice gets small and I can tell even she’s not convinced by her reasoning.
I feel a pang in my chest and it’s directed toward Alex. The sensation almost causes me to stumble as I walk across the kitchen and toss an empty box onto the growing pile.
No, no, no, Micah. Don’t you fucking fall for it. Your entire family will hate your guts if you invite Alex to spend Christmas with them.
I watch her for a moment, trying to find any sign that she’s full of shit. It’s very possible that her parents will be gone. They’re well-off and tend to travel a lot, but that doesn’t mean Alex will be alone. Surely she has friends, people she can spend time with if she gets lonely. People other than me and my family.
She glances at me, then quickly looks down, sniffing.
Dammit to hell. Is she crying? What am I supposed to do?
On one hand, I can hear my mama scolding me for even thinking about letting someone be alone on Christmas Day, even if that person is Alex Collins. On the other hand, I have that orange dude from Star Wars telling me over and over, “It’s a trap!”
“Hey, boss, I think I’m gonna call it a day. Everything is pretty much ready to go for training next week,” Randy says, saving me from what I was about to offer. “Wife’s at home cooking today. We’ve got so many places to be, our first Christmas is tomorrow and we’ve got two more before the actual day.” He chuckles.
I laugh with him, but feel the knife turn in my chest when I catch a glimpse of Alex over his shoulder as I lean in for a manly hug.
She puts up a nice front when he turns and shakes her hand, but even as rehearsed as Alex is at putting up a front, I see right through it.
I know I’m going to regret what I’m about to say, but damnit, Santa is watching.
And it’s almost Jesus’ birthday. With all the shit going on, I’m feeling benevolent, like I need to do more good deeds. I haven’t been to church in a month of Sundays. So, maybe this is my way of getting back on the Big Guy’s good side.
“If you really are going to be alone on Christmas, you’re welcome to stop by the house. You know we always has room for one more.”
Alex smiles again, and again it’s genuine.
“Thank you, Micah. That’s a very sweet offer.”
Maybe she is human after all.
“I’ll have to see what the day presents. I really was thinking about a spa day. The hotel next to my apartment has wonderful services. I thought it’d be a great Christmas present to myself . . .”
She fills the rest of our time working with mindless chatter about spa treatments and how she deserves them. I grab onto the glimmer of hope she follows through with her plans and doesn’t take me up on my offer.
Dear Santa,
I’ve been a good boy, mostly. And all I want for Christmas is world peace. Or at least peace at the Landry Plantation. So my mama doesn’t murder us all.
Amen.
CHRISTMAS IN LOUISIANA. IT’S KINDA like how Forrest Gump explains life, it’s like a box of chocolates, because you really never know what you’re gonna get. Weather-wise, at least. Sometimes it’s cold, meaning you can wear a thin sweater or jacket and not die of heatstroke. Other times, you might die of heatstroke no matter what you wear, thanks to the heat and humidity, and then there are days like today—perfectly mild. The humidity isn’t stifling, making you feel like you’re walking through syrup, and there’s even a slight breeze blowing around.
I’ve heard some people—Yankees, mostly—say it’s just not Christmas without snow or freezing temperatures but this is how it is down south. Yeah, it may look silly to decorate our houses with snowmen and such, but knowing there’s not a snowball’s chance in, well, Louisiana that we’ll get the real stuff on Christmas day, we have to pretend a little.
It’s mid-morning by the time Dani and I make it to my parents’ house. With it being our first Christmas together, naturally, we slept in as much as we could before exchanging gifts and having a little private holiday loving. I would’ve been perfectly fine spending the day wrapped up in Dani and nothing else, but I know my mama would never let that happen. She’d show up and drag me out by my ear, fussing about how you’re supposed to be with your family on Jesus’ birthday and, of course, she’d be right. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about testing her, though.
Sure enough, as soon as we walk inside the house, Mama lets out a relieved sigh like she’s been waiting for us for hours, which she probably has been.
“There you two are!” She greets us with even tighter hugs than usual and leads us into the family room.
Because it’s a Landry Christmas tradition, regardless of the outdoor temperature, the fireplace that’s rarely used is lit, giving the room an extra cozy feeling. But because it is Louisiana, the back door is opened a bit so the heat doesn’t overwhelm the cozy.
“Merry Christmas, Annie,” Dani says. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long for us to get here. Micah said we could show up whenever we wanted.”
Dani lets out a yelp when I poke her in the ribs, which is my way of thanking her for throwing me under the bus. In turn, she sticks her tongue out at me before she places the presents we brought under the Christmas tree. It’s there and then I silently thank Baby Jesus for bringing her into my life. Despite our arguing lately, I still feel like the luckiest guy on earth that she’s with me.
“In my defense,” I start, “you didn’t tell us when to get here. You said it was, and I quote, casual.” I mimic quotation marks to further defend myself.
“Boy, you know your mother doesn’t know how to have a casual Christmas celebration. Just be thankful I stopped her from callin’ and wakin’ your ass up at seven this morning,” my dad says.
I laugh, knowing he’s telling the truth, and give him a hug. “Merry Christmas and to show my appreciation for your actions this morning, you get your gift early.” His smile widens as he takes the purple velvet pouch from my hands, holding it up in the air. My dad is a simple man, asking for the same gift every year since I could buy liquor legally: a big-ass bottle of Crown Royal whisky.
“It’s too early for drinkin’, you two,” my mama scolds. “Besides, you shouldn’t be drinkin’ period. It’s Jesus’ birthday.” She gives the two of us her no-nonsense arched eyebrow, letting us know how serious she is. “And, Micah, when you’re a parent, you’ll understand my impatience. Before you grew up and moved out, we spent every Christmas morning together, opening presents and baking cinnamon rolls. Now you expect me to just sit around and wait for you to finally waltz in whenever you feel like it and be okay with that?”
“Honey, how about I fix you another cup of coffee?” My dad kisses her temple before heading to the kitchen, skillfully getting out of her firing zone. He’s had a lot more practice than I have, but don’t doubt that I’m always taking notes.
When he reaches the door, he turns around and points to her then mimics pouring his beloved whisky into a cup for her. I have to stifle my laughter so I don’t give him away.
“Now, if your brother and Cami will show up with my grandbaby, we can get this show on the road.”
Carter definitely added a new element to the Landry family Christmas. Before he came along, we’d fallen into a rather subdued morning tradition—late breakfast, followed by an exchanging of gifts and then lazy naps on the couches. Now, it’s back to full-tilt. My dad pulls out the old Santa hat he wore when Deacon and I were little and even drags Carter’s gifts into the living room in a bright red sack, rimmed in fake fur.
My mama goes as far as placing soot-covered boot tracks on the front porch and leaves Carter a note every year, telling him how good he’s been all year and to keep up the nice work.
I can only imagine what things will be like when the new baby is added to the mix.
Or mine and Dani’s.
“Micah,” my mama says, a little louder than necessary.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head at the vision of tiny people running around with Dani’s red hair and my green eyes.
“Can you help your father carry in some extra wood for the fire place?”
“Oh, sure.”
As I leave the room, Mama and Dani start gushing over the cute toy Santa left the new baby. You know, the one still cooking. I roll my eyes and laugh to myself. Dani fits right in. She’s just as crazy about Christmas as my mama is, and don’t even get me started about the baby. Between her and my mama, the two of them have bought enough clothes and diapers to dress him or her for the first two years of its life.
Walking around the corner toward the wood pile, I catch my dad with the Crown Royal bottle tipped up. When I clear my throat, he nearly chokes on the swig he was taking.
“Uh, you’re gonna have to share that if you want me to keep quiet,” I say, motioning for him to hand it over.
“That’s coercion.”
“Yep,” I add with a smile, happily taking a nice long pull off the bottle. The heat moves quickly down my throat and into my stomach. “Shit.”
My dad pats me on the back and takes the bottle from me. “Here,” he says, offering me a piece of gum. “If your mama finds out, we’re dead men.”
The now open bottle of liquor goes in a hiding spot beside the stacks of wood. We both pop the gum in our mouths and grab a few logs each, heading back into the house.
As we enter through the back door, I hear commotion in the front and about that time my brother walks into the living room, arms laden with packages. Carter is bouncing behind him, literally.
“Merry Christmas,” my mama exclaims.
“Hey, buddy.” Putting the logs down in the basket beside the hearth, I dust off my hands before lifting Carter up and tossing him over my shoulder. “Look what I found! A sack of coal. Looks like someone was bad.”
“Yeah, you and Dad,” Carter yells, laughing and whacking me on my butt.
“What?” I ask, taking him off my shoulder and bringing him back face to face with me.
“Mom and Nana said you and Dad are the ones gettin’ coal this year,” he says with a grin, out of breath from hanging upside down. “Ain’t that right, Nana?”
The smile my mama is fighting says it all. Apparently, me and Deke have b
een the talk of the house when we’re not around.
“Well, I like coal,” I tell him.
“Nobody likes coal,” he laughs. “That’s silly. That’s why Santa brings it, because nobody likes it.”
I shrug, setting him back on his feet. “He obviously hasn’t considered it’s uses. Right, Deke?”
My brother looks at me and for the first time in forever, he doesn’t look like he wants to kill me. In fact, there’s a hint of a smile on his face.
“Yeah, like fuel and electricity,” he says, playing along.
“Oh, and your mama uses it for those fancy pictures she draws sometimes,” I tell him.
Carter pauses, looking up at Cami who’s laughing as she rests her hand on her now-small protruding belly. The way she looks is very reminiscent of when she first moved back home from New Orleans, pregnant with Carter, but so much happier and content. That’s all due to my brother. I forget sometimes that he’s under a lot of pressure himself—wife, kid, baby on the way. I’m not the only one experiencing a lot of changes and stresses in life.
Maybe, at least for today, we can have a truce.
“Cami, are Clay and Kay comin’ over?” Mama asks as she brings a tray of warm cinnamon rolls into the family room.
“Yeah, they should be here any minute.”
“And Tucker?”
“Of course,” Cami says with a chuckle. “Wild horses couldn’t keep him away from your cinnamon rolls.”
For someone so skinny and fit, Tucker eats a shit ton of food. I swear, on most days, he eats more than Deacon.
About that time, there’s a knock on the door, followed by multiple greetings and well wishes as the room begins to fill up with everyone I love, even my brother.
I know the past few months haven’t been easy, but we’re still brothers. We’ve been through a lot over the years—disagreements, disappointments, and broken promises—but given time, and often a swift kick in the pants by our parents, we’ve always come out stronger in the end.
This thing going on between us now is different because it’s the first time we’ve disagreed so passionately about something since we’ve been grown. As we’ve gotten older, we’ve also gotten more stubborn and set in our ways. But we’ll come around. We always do.