Christmas Cliché

by Tara Sivec

  “You miss them,” Jason notes, looking at the smile on my face as I think about all the good times I’ve had with my sisters over the years.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I do.” I laugh. “But then I think about your family and how… normal they are. And how normal this Christmas is going to be. As much as I miss my family, good God, it would be a disaster if they were here right now.”

  “I don’t think it would be that bad,” he argues.

  “There you are!”

  Jason and I look away from each other as Millie steps between a few tables to get to ours.

  “Can we be done now? It’s way past my naptime. Jen needed to make one more stop, and she said she’d meet us at the truck.”

  “Who’s that guy?” I nod to the tall, balding gentleman standing a few feet behind Millie, who looks to be in his mid-to-late-sixties, holding an armful of shopping bags from all of Millie’s favorite stores. He smiles at me and waves before I look back at my friend.

  “Oh, that’s Ken. Look, he bought me a bracelet from Tiffany,” she says, pulling up the sleeve of her sweater and holding her wrist out.

  It’s a diamond-studded tennis bracelet I’m fairly certain costs more than most people’s yearly salary.

  “You’ve been away from us for less than forty-five minutes,” Jason says, a look of awe on his face.

  “I know. He’s pretty cheap,” Millie complains, looking back over her shoulder and giving Ken a wave before turning back to us. “I need to cut him loose. Jason, I just need for you to pretend like you’re my fiancé and you’re going to kick his ass. I’ll need about thirteen seconds to drum up some tears.”

  Millie turns away from us to step over and chat with Ken as Jason lets go of my hand and pushes his chair back from the table.

  “Sorry, but I don’t think having a normal Christmas is in the cards for you this year,” he says, right before he aggressively jumps up from the table, points an accusing finger at poor Ken, and tells him he better step away from his fiancée, before things get messy.

  “Do you want me to kick my mom’s ass?”

  “I know you’re probably exhausted from shopping, but Millie, I need to borrow you for a little bit,” Joy says as soon as the four of us walk into The Redinger House. “I’m shorthanded today, and I have got to get things organized for our cookie decorating party later. Millie, you are just the person I need, with a good eye for color and design. I’m putting you to work.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand the words that are coming out of your mouth,” Millie replies seriously, making Joy throw her head back and laugh before wrapping her hand around Millie’s arm and tugging her through the entryway.

  “Work is something you do that involves mental or physical activity to achieve a desired result,” Joy explains to her like a toddler, wrapping her arm around Millie’s shoulders as she leads her toward the kitchen.

  “So, what you’re saying is, this is like… a job. And you’re going to pay me a lot of money to do it.”

  “I am not. You will just get the joy of knowing you helped me achieve my desired result of having a well-organized cookie decorating party,” Joy says with a pat on Millie’s back as they walk by the front desk and into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

  “Well… that sounds just as fun. Yay for me!”

  After they’re gone and Jen goes in search of her husband, who kept an eye on Maddy while she was shopping, Jason and I stow our packages in our bedrooms and spend the next hour and half making out like teenagers on my Grinch-covered bedspread, killing time before the cookie decorating party.

  According to Jason, Joy starts holiday baking right after Thanksgiving, and it’s tradition that the last cookie finished is always the frosted cut-outs. She bakes at least fifty different kinds of cookies, candy, and fudge, and every guest, friend, and business owner on this side of the mountain gets a very large cookie tray for Christmas from Joy each year. Unfortunately, we all get to smell the delicious cookies baking in the kitchen at all times, but Joy does not let one single person touch or taste anything until all the trays are set up and passed out on Christmas Eve. Jason said Joy has even put him, his dad, and Jen in charge of helping her set up the trays over the years, and they weren’t even allowed one sample while they assisted.

  When we finally went back down to the dining room, we saw Joy and Millie had transformed the room for the cookie decorating session. The tables had all been rearranged so they were pushed together in one long line, and bowls of frosting, sprinkles, and undecorated, cut-out sugar cookies in every Christmas shape you could imagine lined the middle. As soon as we sat down, Millie passed out a binder to everyone, complete with colored photos of what each cookie should look like, even giving us exact measurements for what colors we needed to mix to get the right shade of Chanel foundation for Mrs. Claus. There was even a comparison photo of a model wearing the Gucci pants she frosted on the elves, so we wouldn’t mess those up. Joy didn’t really think her plan through very well when she asked Millie to help out with the cookie decorating.

  For the next few hours, Millie proceeded to walk around the table, barking orders like a drill sergeant, smacking people’s hands if they used too many sprinkles, and threatening to quit every time someone screwed up the elf pant design. Which just made Jason and me laugh and want to annoy her. He frosted little, bloody frogs in Santa’s sack instead of Cartier watches, and I put a bullseye on Rudolph, instead of an Hermes scarf around his neck. I mean, come on, it’s West Virginia. The hunters around here will appreciate my joke. Millie did not. Millie put me in cookie decorating time-out and made me sit in a chair in the corner for fifteen minutes.

  I’m pretty sure I have never laughed so hard in my life. Jason laughed so hard at one point he fell out of his chair, and then Millie screamed something about taking this job and shoving it and wanting to know who she could speak to in HR before storming out of the room to call her therapist. In the end, all thirty dozen Christmas cut-outs were frosted and packed away until tomorrow when they will be put on the cookie trays.

  After enjoying a delicious dinner of Mississippi pot roast and potatoes I gave Missy the recipe for yesterday, and showering all the cookie crumbles and frosting off of us, Jason and I are now sitting on the floor of the living room in our pajamas, with all our shopping bags from today spread out around us, as well as rolls and rolls of Christmas wrapping paper, tape, gift tags, and ribbon. The fire is crackling in the fireplace. The big-screen television hanging above it has another one of those Christmas movies Millie won’t shut up about playing on a low volume, and the mismatched ornament tree is brightly lit right next to it in front of the built-ins on either side of the fireplace. We’ve moved the coffee table with our mugs of hot chocolate over against the wall and ignored the leather sectional behind us to spread out, taking advantage of having this room all to ourselves. The rest of the house is out in the barn, watching A Christmas Carol from 1951, and Peg made sure to pop inside and say hello and thank me before she went out there with everyone else, with a huge smile on her face, wrapped up in a fuzzy green Christmas robe and a Santa hat on her head.

  “Don’t mind me, just popping in really quick before I head out to the movie,” Joy says, walking into the room carrying a small cookie tin with a winter scene on it in her hand.

  She leans down, handing me the tin, and I take it from her with a questioning look on my face. I know the rules. No one gets cookies until tomorrow afternoon.

  “Are those what I think they are?” Jason asks his mom as I start to pry the lid off.

  “They are! At least, I think they are. I googled, and I asked a few friends, and everyone was pretty sure I had the right recipe,” Joy tells him.

  Both of them have excited, expectant looks on their faces watching me open the tin, and I laugh…. until the lid finally pops off and I look down inside.

  “I did not anticipate how many apple pecan shortbread recipes there would be out there, but my friends
all said this one is the same one their grannies made, so I really hope it’s the same one yours did, since she was from around these parts as well,” Joy explains, tears clouding my vision as I slowly reach into the tin and pull out one of the green-frosted cookies with red, white, and green sprinkle balls decorating the top.

  I remember Jason randomly asked me what my favorite Christmas cookie was the other night when he took me to movie night, but I had no idea Joy would actually hunt down the recipe and make them for me. I take a bite, and I’m immediately transported back in time, in the kitchen with Granny and my dad, helping them slice the chilled cookie dough from the roll and placing them on cookie sheets. Normally, all the cousins piled in and out of the kitchen throughout the day to help her with the Christmas baking, but she always shooed everyone else out when she made these, and I got to help her with my dad all by myself, because we were the only two who loved those cookies.

  “This is it.” I laugh through my tears as I finish chewing, shaking my head up at Joy. “I can’t believe you found this recipe and went through all this trouble for me.”

  “It was no trouble,” she brushes me off with a wave of her hand as I pop the rest of the cookie in my mouth, wondering how much it would turn Jason off if I stuck my head in this tin and ate them Cookie Monster style. “I’m not sure if Jason told you this about the yearly Christmas cookie trays, but everyone in my family has an absolute favorite cookie I make. Jason’s are the pecan delights, Jen’s are the almond candy cane cookies, and John’s are the jelly thumbprints. Along with their regular cookie tray with everything on it, they also get a special tin filled with just their personal favorite. So, now you have your tin. Jason, yours is on the kitchen counter. I already gave Jen hers.”

  With that, Joy kisses the tops of our heads, tells us not to get too many paper cuts from wrapping, and also reminding us not to disappear into any bathrooms and murder anymore of her snowmen. She says that with a cheeky wink before leaving the room, making Jason laugh and me cover my face with my hands. Not only am I covering my face out of complete mortification that Joy must have figured out there wasn’t some sort of burglary or medical emergency in the snowman bathroom last night, but because I’m a little overcome with emotion.

  Joy made me my own tin of my favorite cookies, just like she does for her family. She just lumped me right in as a member of her family after five days. It’s been thirty years, and I’m still waiting for my own family to help me feel like a member.

  I feel Jason’s hand on top of my head, and he gently runs it down the back until his hand is cradling the back of my neck. I drop my hands and look up at him.

  “Cookies shouldn’t make you cry. Do you want me to kick my mom’s ass?”

  I bark out a laugh, Jason reaching up with his free hand to swipe away a tear from my cheek with the tips of his fingers.

  “I just really like your family,” I whisper.

  “And they really like you.”

  He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss on my lips before pulling back. Not wanting to turn this amazing day into a depressing sob fest, I start tugging a few of my shopping bags toward me and get to work picking out what wrapping paper I want to use.

  “How come you decided to go out on your own for work, instead of just working here at the bed-and-breakfast?” I ask, as Jason pulls a stuffed unicorn out of a shopping bag that he bought for Maddy.

  “It was never something I dreamed about. I mean, I love it here, don’t get me wrong. And I really have been happier taking a little break from work and helping out here more,” Jason explains, cursing when the piece of wrapping paper he cut doesn’t fit around the unicorn. “I guess I always wanted something just for me. Something separate from my family. I’m pretty handy when something needs fixed around here, but it just doesn’t keep me busy enough. I love what I do. I love being in charge of a project and helping people create the vision they see in their head. And I know you’re going to laugh at me, but who knows? Maybe I will do something more with my furniture pieces someday. Right now, I’m just doing what makes me happy.”

  It sounds so simple when he says it like that. Just do what makes you happy.

  “I really, really want to cook,” I tell him, saying it out loud for the first time. “It makes me happy. I’ve never had something just for me. I’ve always had to consider how it would affect my sisters or how it would interrupt their life if I did something that had nothing to do with them. It always seemed selfish, and I always pushed what I wanted aside, but now, saying it out loud, it just sounds sad. Especially when I listen to you, and you have everything you’ve ever wanted in life.”

  Jason laughs, shaking his head at me as he curses again when he gets a piece of extra tape stuck to the paper partially covering the unicorn, ripping a giant hole in the wrapping when he tries to pull it off. I lean over and grab the stuffed unicorn out of his hand, putting Jason out of his misery and wrapping it for him.

  “I don’t have everything I want,” he informs me as I make quick work of wrapping the unicorn in a sheet of red paper with glittery Santa faces on it.

  “Really? What exactly is missing?” I smile back, handing him the perfectly wrapped present to stick under the tree. “You have a great job that you love, a hobby-slash-other job you’re very talented at, which could turn into another wonderful career if you wanted, you’re disgustingly attractive, and your family is warm, loving, supportive, and amazing.”

  “I’m going to want to swing back around to the disgustingly attractive comment.” Jason smirks as I smack him with the roll of reindeer paper I just picked to wrap the Christmas sweater I bought Joy. “I happen to be missing someone to share everything with. If you see a single, beautiful woman who makes me smile, fits in with my family like no one I’ve ever seen before, is extremely limber and adventurous in bed, and makes me forget my own name when she walks in the room, send her my way.”

  My heart melts and the lower half of my body starts screaming for me to take my pants off.

  “I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for someone matching that description,” I tell him, biting down on my smile as I wrap Joy’s sweater.

  We spend the next hour talking about our favorite Christmas presents when we were kids and how we found out Santa wasn’t real, and Jason puts in a good effort trying to get me to answer his “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?” question a few more times. We talk, we laugh, we make out every so often, and, before I know it, I’ve wrapped all of mine and Jason’s presents. They’re neatly stacked in two separate piles under his family’s mismatched tree.

  We’re now curled up on the couch under a Christmas throw, Jason’s arm around me while I’m snuggled into his side, with my head on his shoulder. His phone has been going off every few minutes since we sat down, and he finally silences it with a muttered comment about work before tossing it onto the couch cushion next to him.

  “Anyway, as I was saying, it’s always fun, because we celebrate in the morning, and then we still have another Christmas to celebrate later that night,” Jason finishes his explanation, after I asked him how his family celebrates Christmas Day.

  I think it’s sweet that John, Joy, Jen and her family, and Jason always spend the night here at The Redinger House on Christmas Eve and wake up with the guests so they aren’t alone. After exchanging presents with them, having breakfast, and making sure they have everything they’ll need for the rest of the day, including a fully-cooked Christmas dinner Missy will pop by, heat up, and set out for them, Jason and his family will head over to Joy and John’s house, where they open all their presents for each other and have their own quiet, private Christmas celebration.

  “We never really celebrate or do anything on actual Christmas Day,” I tell Jason, as he reaches over and turns off the lamp on the end table, shrouding the room in darkness, aside from the glow of the Christmas tree, the embers from the dying fire, and the television. “That stupid Christmas Eve party would never end until close to four in the morning. My mom,
my sisters, and I would wake up for a few minutes after the sun came up, quickly exchange presents, and then go back to sleep for the rest of the day to recover.”

  “Tomorrow is going to be the best Christmas Eve, followed by the best Christmas Day of your life,” he says.

  “Mostly because my family won’t be here to ruin everything.” I laugh, even though a small pang of sadness goes through me.

  “Seriously, I don’t think it would be that bad,” Jason argues before kissing the top of my head, and we watch the town vet try to woo the big-city woman who came to town to bulldoze his family’s inn and build a strip mall.

  “This whole thing is cliché.”

  “If we ruin another snowman bathroom, it’s going to be your fault this time,” Jason whispers in my ear, coming to stand on one side of me, next to the tree in the living room.

  “Who said anything about ruining another snowman bathroom?” I ask, looking away from Jen, Brian, and Maddy sitting together on the floor on the other side of the room and playing with a new toy she got from one of her relatives earlier, to glance up at him with a smile.

  “You did, when you walked in here wearing a dress.”

  I laugh against his lips when he dips his head and gives me a quick kiss. For dinner, I threw on a clingy, dark blue sweater dress with white snowflakes and reindeer stitched onto it that stops midthigh. Millie got it for me at the boutique earlier in the week. I’m also wearing a pair of Millie’s knee-high, light-brown suede boots. She made me pull my hair out of my usual messy bun, and I left my long, brown hair hanging down around my shoulders in waves.