How to Host a Holiday (The Prequel to Ivy Stratton & the Time Machine)

by Kathleen Kitson

  “It’s a lot of fun,” I say, agreeing with her. “Stella and Giuseppe help me find new ideas for the activities and decor.”

  “How did you decide to do that theme?” Grant asks.

  “My mom did, actually,” I tell him, and pause while considering how much more to say. It’s always a little awkward to tell the story of my adoption, because people either try really hard to not make a big deal of it, or they pepper me with lots of exhausting questions I can’t answer.

  But it’s Christmas, I’m in a good mood, and I feel relatively safe in this group of people. “I don’t actually know what day I was born,” I explain. “But I ended up on my mom’s doorstep on July 25, and she always said that walking outside and finding a baby on her doorstep was like Christmas in July. Because of that, it’s always been the theme of my birthday parties.”

  “Wow,” says Evangeline.

  “And you don’t know anything about where you came from?” asks Grant.

  I shake my head. “Not really. But whoever left me there wanted my mom to be the one to take care of me. There was a letter in the basket asking her specifically to look after me.”

  Evangeline shudders. “This story sends chills down my spine. You’re a modern day Moses.”

  I laugh. “I guess so. But I obviously haven’t gotten to the part of my life where I do anything fantastic, like save a bunch of people from disaster.”

  “Who knows what the future holds?” says M3. “You never know!”

  “I have a cousin who was adopted,” Grant offers. “He went through a phase where he was focused on nothing else but finding out who his birth parents were. Do you ever wonder?”

  The question makes me feel vulnerable, and I fix my gaze across the room at a spot on the wall. “Never…and every day. Even when I think I’m not thinking about it, I am. It’s a strange feeling. And my mom helped me search, but we never came across anything concrete.”

  “So do you have any other family? Besides your adoptive mom?” asks Evangeline.

  “Not that I know of. Mom had distant family in Alaska, but we were never that close, and after she died, we drifted apart. It was always just me and her, for the most part, anyway.”

  “Well Giuseppe and I are like family to you,” Stella chimes in.

  “And us,” says Mindy. “You know we’re always here for you.”

  “Me too,” adds Sy.

  For the second time this evening, I feel overcome with a secure sense of warmth and happiness. “Aw, thanks, you guys.”

  “Uh-oh,” I think Ivy’s about to start crying,” says Giuseppe. “Quick, somebody change the subject.”

  Of course, as soon as he suggests changing the subject, no one seems to be able to think of anything to say and we all spend a few moments looking at each other, completely silent.

  Finally Giuseppe blurts out, “Ivy asked me to be her boyfriend at her 21st birthday party.” He looks at me. “Remember that? You kissed me under the mistletoe.”

  Everyone turns their attention to me, waiting for me to answer. Giuseppe really knows how to change the subject.

  I reply with a slow, deliberate pace. “I remember that you asked me out. And you kissed me.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “That’s not the way I remember it at all.”

  I feel my face turning red, and even though I know he’s lying, I feel compelled to set the record straight and make sure everyone else knows the truth as well.

  “Ivy, the truth will set you free,” G says, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s ok for you to admit that you think I’m irresistible.”

  “Thought.” I retort.

  “What?” G asks.

  “I said, ‘thought,’ not think. As in past tense. And even if I did like you back then, I didn’t make the first move.”

  Giuseppe arches an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve never been one of the women in your harem who throw themselves at you and swoon at every little thing you do.”

  As the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a colossal mistake. Giuseppe glances at Evangeline, who has a mortified expression on her face.

  A silence settles over the room, and I feel terrible. As I search my brain for an earnest apology, the power comes back on.

  The sudden roar of television, lights, and music provides everyone with a welcome distraction from my argument with G.

  With the sudden return of electricity, Stella and Mindy busy themselves with turning down the music, blowing out the candles, and consoling the babies who were jolted awake with loud sounds. And Sy, Grant, Cooper and M3 are very interested in seeing what’s on TV.

  Meanwhile, Evangeline clears the empty cups and saucers from dessert. I join her and we carry the dishes into the kitchen.

  My pulse pounds in my ears as I work up the nerve to break the silence, but none of the words that float through my brain seem adequate enough to erase the damage I’ve inflicted.

  As we place the last of the dishes in the sink, Evangeline speaks first. “Ivy, I’m really sorry if I’m intruding here.”

  She seems so sad, and I feel like a heel as I shake my head.

  “No, I promise, you’re not intruding. That was just me being…I don’t even know why I said that.”

  “Well, I had no idea there was anything between the two of you, and I’m not here to get in the middle of anything.”

  “There’s nothing to get in the middle of,” says Giuseppe, interrupting from the doorway.

  “G, I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I wasn’t trying to say anything negative about Evangeline.”

  “Then why’d you say it?” Giuseppe steps into the kitchen, and Evangeline silently exits the room.

  “You lied,” I tell him. “You asked me out and you kissed me.”

  Giuseppe looks confused. “Ivy, I was just telling a good story. And I was just teasing. I thought you, of all people, would know me well enough to realize I was joking.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, even though my words sound empty.

  Giuseppe crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I only changed the subject because I know you well enough to know that you don’t like a lot of questions about being adopted. But what I don’t get is why you would say something to make my friend feel bad.”

  “Friend? Or girlfriend?”

  Giuseppe rolls his eyes. “Ivy, aren’t we almost 10 years past liking each other? Why does it suddenly matter if I’m dating someone?”

  “I didn’t ask if you were dating ‘someone.’ I asked if you were dating her,” I say, standing my ground. “Because I think I kind of deserve to know if you’re bringing a date to my party.”

  “So that’s what this is about? Me bringing her without asking? I didn’t think you’d mind. In fact, three, four hours ago, you were ok with it. And you definitely didn’t mind when you were cuddled up with the lawyer in there,” he says.

  “I wasn’t cuddling, I was sleeping.”

  Giuseppe nods, a skeptical look on his face. “Yeah. Same difference. So what’s changed between us that I need to report my dates to you? Is there something I’m missing?”

  He looks me in the eye, and I realize this is the chance I’ve been waiting for. I finally have the opportunity to talk about ‘us’ with G, but the timing couldn’t be worse. Not only do I have a house full of guests, but he’s on a date, and we’re in the middle of a disagreement.

  I read a spark of challenge in his eyes, but I don’t know what the challenge is. I can’t tell if he wants me to say that I like him because he likes me too, or if he wants me to say that I like him so he can tell me that he only wants be friends.

  The uncertainty is too great and I feel my resolve wavering. It’s been a roller coaster of a day, and at the moment, I’m not brave enough to deal with being stuck as ‘just friends’ for the rest of eternity with G.

  And I chicken out.

  “How about we call a truce?” I suggest. “I apologized to your girlfriend, and I do
n’t think she’s upset. So can we just drop this for now and go back to the living room? We’re just making everyone uncomfortable the longer we argue about this.”

  He uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer. We stare at each other for several moments, and I’m not sure if he wants to kiss me or never speak to me again.

  I take a step closer.

  G takes a step back.

  I guess I have my answer.

  Giuseppe sighs heavily. “Fine, let’s just forget it.”

  My feelings are beyond hurt, but I can’t run to my room and shut the door. Instead, I nod, determined to keep a brave face.

  “Good. We probably just need to take a break from each other for a while.”

  Giuseppe nods in agreement, but I detect a glimmer of hurt in his eyes, and I feel a new surge of guilt.

  Why did I even say that?

  I should be mature enough to still be a good friend, even if he doesn’t want to be anything more than friends.

  “I wonder if the roads are clear,” he says, heading back into the living room.

  As Giuseppe strides through the living room, I take a moment to compose myself before following him.

  When I reach the living room, I’m grateful to find that the rest of my guests are working overtime to pretend nothing has just happened. The overhead lights have been dimmed, and the living room and dining room are aglow with the warmth of Christmas lights.

  A generic holiday movie is on the television, and everyone seems to be watching it, except for Giuseppe, who is intently staring out of the front window.

  I return to my seat on the loveseat, but sit as far away from M3 as I can, remembering how Giuseppe accused me of cuddling with Milton.

  After several moments, Giuseppe announces that he’s going to check the roads. Before anyone can react, he grabs his coat and keys. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says, instructing Evangeline to stay put.

  No one says anything, and moments later, we hear the sound of G’s car door slam, and his engine turning over.

  Less than ten minutes later, Giuseppe returns, looking a bit sheepish.

  “The roads aren’t quite safe yet,” he announces as he removes his coat and sits down next to Evangeline.

  I can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s no longer angry, and within moments, he’s back to his usual charming, congenial self, chatting with everyone and laughing at the movie.

  From this point, the entire party seems to relax, and the awkwardness of our argument is pushed to the background.

  The next few hours are relaxed and easy. In the absence of any set agenda or itinerary, everyone seems to truly relax and get comfortable. We alternate between playing cards, checking our phones, snoozing, watching TV and drinking coffee and eating leftovers.

  By sunrise, I’m engrossed in watching the endless cycle of early morning infomercials, and M3 is leaning on my shoulder, asleep.

  Mindy and the babies are in my room, also asleep, while Cooper and Sy are deeply focused on the game of chess they’ve been playing for the last hour.

  Stella and Evangeline are asleep on opposite ends of the large sofa, while G and Grant are sprawled out on the living room floor, sleeping.

  I sigh with content, savoring the fullness of this very moment.

  Despite the ice storm, the power outage, the uncooked turkey, the surprise guest and an argument with Giuseppe, I’ve dreamed of a Christmas like this my entire life.

  Growing up with just my mother, the concept of a full house at Christmas was something I could only imagine.

  Though we were often invited to friends’ homes for the holidays, we rarely hosted big events at our place. We lived in a small house, which, I’m sure, contributed to my mother’s reluctance to host large parties. Then again, she wasn’t really the type of person to feel limited by space or finances.

  The bigger portion of the reason was likely because she felt suffocated by her own grief. Even though she did her best to keep it hidden from me, there were times, during the holiday season, that I could sense sadness creeping up on her, and I put most of my energy into finding ways to cheer her up.

  So this moment right here, regardless of all of the hiccups along the way, feels absolutely perfect. Even my shoulder, numb from M3 leaning on it, doesn’t really bother me.

  Grant sits straight up, and looks around the room, with an expression of confusion. As he surveys his surroundings, the confusion gives way to recognition.

  He looks at me and smiles sheepishly.

  “I didn’t know where I was for a minute.”

  I laugh. “I’m sure everyone will have that same reaction when they wake up.”

  He stands up, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time since I slept on the floor.”

  “Sorry about that. I wish I had beds for everyone.”

  Grant chuckles. “I’ll be fine.” He grabs the remote and changes the channel to one of the local morning news reports, just in time for the weather report.

  As we watch, the meteorologist assures the viewers that the ice has stopped, the temperature is rising, and the road crews have been successful in making the main roads drivable.

  I want to get up and make coffee for everyone, but I don’t want to disturb M3.

  As I’m trying to determine what to do next, Mindy comes out of my room and asks Cooper if he’s been down to their apartment to check the heat.

  Still deeply concentrating on his chess game with Sy, Cooper nods. “I went down about an hour ago, and it was almost back to normal temperatures down there. Should be fine now.”

  Mindy looks at me, “Ivy, thanks so much for letting us crash here last night. I just couldn’t imagine taking the babies down to a freezing house.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you leave,” I tell her. At that moment, M3 shifts in his sleep and leans his head against the arm of the seat, away from my shoulder. “I’ll make some us coffee,” I say, standing up.

  Mindy yawns and shakes her head. “I’m going to take the babies downstairs and get a few more hours of sleep. But it looks like you may have Cooper on your hands for a while longer.”

  “As soon as I finish this game, I’ll be downstairs, honey,” Cooper says, not looking away from the chess board.

  “Coffee sounds fantastic to me,” says Stella, who is awake and stretching on her end of the sofa. “Do you need help carrying the babies?” she asks Mindy.

  I head into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee while Stella helps Mindy.

  A few minutes later, as I’m rummaging through the refrigerator, trying to decide what to serve for breakfast along with the coffee, Evangeline comes in, looking quite chipper and not at all as tired as I feel.

  “Oh, coffee,” she says, inhaling deeply.

  “It’s almost ready. You can have the first cup of the morning,” I say, handing her a mug.

  “Thanks. Do you have any more of those frosted sugar cookies?” she asks. “They were delicious.”

  I nod and hand her the cookie jar. Despite the awkwardness of what happened last night, I can tell she’s not upset, and I actually don’t want us to be enemies. I mean, anyone who compliments my baking is off to a good start in my book.

  Over fresh cups of coffee, Evangeline and I brainstorm menu ideas. By the time everyone is awake and milling around, the two of us are industriously cooking up breakfast for the entire party.

  Once again, Grant’s ham proves to be a lifesaver as Evangeline slices it thinly and heats it in a hot skillet. To round out the menu, we serve lots of scrambled eggs, leftover green beans and rolls, along with some juicy tangerines that were in the gift basket Stella re-gifted me.

  When the meal is ready, we all gather in the dining room. Even though the morning sun is streaming in the windows, someone has lit the candles again, and turned on soft music as the backdrop to our meal.

  Though we’re all in various stages of waking up, and we’re wearing an assortment of clothes that are far less formal than what we
wore for Christmas dinner, this meal is more comfortable.

  Considering the events of the last fourteen-ish hours, it’s no wonder that we’ve all dropped the pretense of formality, and it almost feels like we’re a big family.

  An hour later, with everyone fortified and fully awake, my dinner party starts breaking up as Grant and Stella are the first to leave.

  Evangeline and Giuseppe are next, and even though he hugs me before he leaves, I can sense a remnant of tension between us. I don’t want to think about arguing with him because my mood is too happy overall. I’m sure we’re overdue for a break, and maybe after some time apart we’ll be able to talk everything through.

  Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow, I think, staring out the living room window, watching G’s car drive away.

  As soon as I process this thought, I laugh out loud, realizing that I’ve listened to so much Christmas music that my internal thoughts are starting to mesh with song lyrics.

  “What’s so funny?” asks M3, who’s is wearing his hat and coat and is putting out the last embers of the fire. Cooper and Sy are just finalizing their game, and M3 and I are the only two in the living room.

  I shake my head, not wanting to put the energy into explaining. Instead, I sit on the couch and smile. “I think I just need to sleep because I’m deliriously happy.”

  M3 tilts his head to the side and gives me a curious look. “Are you sure you’re ok? Sy and I can stick around if you need us to.”

  “I’m fine. And Sy needs to get some sleep.”

  “Checkmate!” exclaims Sy from the dining room table. “And don’t worry about me, Ivy. I don’t need as much sleep as you young people.”

  Cooper and Sy congratulate each other on a game well played and discuss strategy, as M3 decides to warm up his car so it will be warm when Sy is ready to leave.

  I walk downstairs with him and tell him to be careful on the roads.

  “Sy’s the only boss I have and if anything happens to him, I’m out of a job,” I say jokingly.

  And even though he is just my boss, after almost 10 years of working alongside him, I do feel responsible for him sometimes. Though he doesn’t pry into my life, he is a good friend, and in some ways, I consider him to be the father I never had.