by Kate Stewart
“Agreed,” I say, warming from the slight buzz of rum.
“It’s an old recipe, y’all like it?” Clarissa beams with pride.
“Which girlfriend was this?” Parker asks.
“Girlfriend?” I ask, ping-ponging between the two of them.
Parker gives me a devilish smirk. “You didn’t know about Clarissa’s college phase?”
“Shut up,” Clarissa rolls her eyes. “That’s one hundred percent not true.”
“Awww, look at him,” Parker says, studying my expression. “I think you just shot down his little elf’s hopes.”
“You have a little elf?” Dante asks.
“Yeah, bud. But he’s hiding. He’s afraid of Parker because she likes to play target practice with him.”
“You want to shoot Troy’s little elf? That’s not nice, Auntie Parker.” Dante scolds.
Parker glares at me, and I reply with a slow wink.
“Which girlfriend means,” Clarissa says, giving us both warning looks, “that my dad was a fan of variety.”
“You and your little elf know all about that, don’t you, Troy?” Parker adds smartly before she hiccups.
I roll my eyes. “Parker, go choke on a reindeer—”
Dante speaks up, schooling us both. “Y’all are interrupting Mommy, and that’s rude.”
“Get ‘em, baby,” Clarissa beams with pride.
Parker stands and takes my cup. “Sorry, Troy. Allow me to get you some more.”
“Sure, thanks.” I turn to Clarissa. “So, the girlfriends?”
“Forget it,” Clarissa says, shaking her head.
I move toward her and grab the lights she’s trying to separate and nudge her shoulder. “Tell me.”
She glances up at the tree as I study her exposed neck. “My dad loved a woman who knew her way around the kitchen, and when they stuck around, meaning for more than a few weeks, they’d show me how to cook. So that eggnog recipe came from Beth. She was in interior design.”
“So, what are we having tonight?” I ask.
“Carol’s Goulash. She was an ex-con turned church secretary from Jersey, who gave up her criminal ways for Jesus and was determined to save my father and me from eternal damnation.”
“What’s eternal damnation?” Dante asks.
“Parker’s cooking,” Clarissa jokes.
“Oh, shut it,” Parker says through a hiccup.
“Sorry, it’s the truth. When we lived together, you burnt broth.”
“That was a ploy to get you to cook for me, sucker!”
“Goulash, huh? Never had it.”
“It’s sooo good.” Dante gives me big eyes. “You will love it.”
“Can’t wait.” I lift the lid off a new box, my chest tightening when I see it’s a mix of Dante’s baby ornaments. I pull them out, studying them carefully, sensing Clarissa’s eyes on me.
“That was last year.” She lifts an ornament, unwrapping it from the tissue. “And this one was his first.”
We both chuckle as I hold it up.
“Jesus, that breast milk did him good.”
“And now he’s so small,” she whispers.
“I’m not small!” Dante yells, offended. “I’m bigger.”
“Don’t worry, I was small too, bud.”
“How did you get big?”
I chuckle. “Big boy breast milk.”
“Mommy, can I have some of that?”
“In twenty years,” Parker answers.
“I’m going to tear your little elf off,” Clarissa grumbles as I open another box, and she moves to take it from me. “Not that one.”
“No way,” I slap her hand. When I open it, I see the contents of what I know is Clarissa’s childhood.
Parker passes me my refreshed cup of eggnog while I sort through pictures. In the one I hold, Clarissa’s smiling, toothless, and wearing an NSYNC T-shirt.
“Awesome,” I say, chuckling as she rips it from my hand, trying to steal the box back. I swat her hand again.
“Ouch,” she says, withdrawing.
“Then leave me alone.”
“You two play nice,” Dante scolds, hanging a wreath ornament. “Santa is watching.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, studying the pictures. I flip through them, stilling on one of Clarissa and a beautiful woman, who is, without a doubt, her mother. They’re doing dishes.
“That’s the only one I have of the two of us.”
I flip it over and read the scribbling on the back.
My baby & me, AG 5
She lifts another picture from the box.
“This was her headshot. She’s like Julia Roberts beautiful, right?”
“Yeah,” I agree readily. “So are you. You look just like her.”
“Aww, well damn, now I feel guilty,” Parker says as I lift my mug. “Uh, Troy, I may or may not have slipped an Ambien into your eggnog. The buzz choice is up to you from here on, my friend.”
“Parker!”
“Sorry. You said he never gets any sleep. I was just trying to be helpful.”
“You worry about my sleep too?” I ask Clarissa, who casts her eyes down, grabbing the box from my hands.
“I just don’t see how you do it.”
I lean in with a “Hey,” and she finally looks up at me through her lashes. “Don’t worry about me, pretty woman.”
“You’re pushing so hard.”
“I’ve got this,” I say softly. “And thanks for having my back. You too, Parker, but I think I’ll toss this out.”
“Good thinking.” Clarissa glares at Parker over her shoulder. “Not cool.”
“Sorry, babe. I thought it would be funny to watch him faceplant in your goulash.” She sheepishly flashes all her teeth. “Are we not in revenge mode anymore? I must have missed the memo.”
Dante speaks up next. “What’s a memo?”
“Do you want to read his Christmas story tonight?” Clarissa asks as I shovel in my third bowl of goulash.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get it,” Dante says, pushing away from the table. “Mommy, which day is it?”
“Day eight.”
“Okay!” He shouts before running toward his room.
“Will you text me the next time you make this?” I ask around a mouthful of macaroni. Clarissa laughs as she retrieves my bowl, and I stop her, spooning the last of the goulash in my mouth. “That’s not an answer,” I say, poking her side as she stacks our bowls in her hands.
“Okay, okay,” she says, jerking away from my fingers, “I p-p-promise.”
“I forgot you are ticklish.” I begin to work her sides as Parker chimes in.
“This is so…” she rests her chin in her hand with a sigh, her eyes hooded as she looks between the two of us. “It’s like watching a Hallmark movie, but I can read the bow chicka wow wow going on in your filthy minds, which makes it so much better.”
Clarissa knocks Parker’s arm from beneath her. “Would you stop making things weird?” She hauls the dishes to the sink, and I stand, gathering the glasses.
“I’ll help.”
Clarissa shakes her head. “You sit.”
“I wasn’t raised that way.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, snagging the glasses from my hands, “no one else in this house today ran a thirty-five-yard touchdown and slam dunked a ball through the goal post.”
“You saw that, huh?”
She smiles. “So did Dante. Pretty awesome.”
“Did you tell your good neighbor you dumped Mr. Tighty Whities?” Parker bellows from the table just as Clarissa snatches her mug away.
“No more eggnog for you.”
Clarissa nervously darts her gaze away from the question in my eyes as Dante comes running back to the table with his book.
“I’ll read it to Troy, Mommy!”
“Oh, yeah,” she taps his nose. “I forgot you can read.”
“Duh.” Dante slaps his forehead. “Oh, poop. I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to say t
hat no more.”
“Anymore. You aren’t supposed to say that anymore. I’ll let it slide this once,” Clarissa says breezily, and I know it has everything to do with the help of Captain Morgan and the carb coma we’re all succumbing to. Sink filling, she pushes up her sleeves, glancing over at me while I study the book. “It’s a set I got him last year. One book for every day before Christmas. He’s doing great with his vocabulary and comprehension, but we’re working on his—”
“Tenses, I know.”
We share a smile just as Parker’s starts sputtering out porn music.
“Parker!” Clarissa hisses as I scoop up Dante and hang him over my shoulder.
“Let’s go, bud, before things turn ugly in here.” Dante giggles as he’s forced to give them both dangling kisses goodnight.
“Good night, Auntie Parker.”
“Night, Duckie.”
“Make sure you brush your teeth,” Clarissa calls after us, and I give her a wink.
“I’ve got this.”
She gives me a shy smile. “I know you do.”
Carol’s Goulash
Church Secretary, New Jersey
Makes 8–10 servings
1 hour
2 Lbs. Hamburger
1 Large Onion – Chopped
Garlic Powder – To taste
Salt – To Taste
Pepper – To Taste
2 Cans Rotel
7 8 Oz. Cans Tomato Sauce
7 8 Oz. Cans Water
1 Large Can Corn
3 Cups Macaroni
Brown hamburger meat, onion, salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Drain. Add Rotel, tomato sauce, water, and corn. Bring to boil. Add macaroni. Cook 12 to 15 minutes or until macaroni is tender.
Clarissa
Troy returns to the living room as I light the last candle.
“Wow, it looks amazing in here.”
“Nothing better than having a real tree in your house.” I stand back as he admires it with me.
“It’s awesome.”
“Yeah,” I turn to him and look him over. I can see the fatigue in his posture. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” he says. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this. Just being with him makes me feel better. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“Where’s Parker?”
“Her Ambien kicked in. She’s snoring it off in my bed.”
“I guess I’ll go.”
“Are you tired?”
“Not too much, why?”
“Because I have something for you.”
One side of his mouth lifts. “Do you?”
“Yeah, an early Christmas present.” I take a seat on the couch and pat the cushion next to me. He takes his place as I cue up my phone, hitting the mirror option before throwing the first video on my TV. In seconds, a six-month-old Dante is on-screen wiggling on the floor in an attempt to crawl. Troy’s face lights up in recognition. “So, he wasn’t exactly a crawler, he more or less dragged himself around by his arms.”
Troy chuckles. “I see.”
“He, uh, well, he might have had a hard time crawling, but when it was time to walk, it was like chasing lightning. I’m thinking he got that from his father.”
Pride fills his eyes as he watches rapt, a smile gracing his lips. When the video ends, he looks over to me.
“Got any more?”
“Hundreds.”
“Let’s see them.”
Troy tosses a piece of popcorn in his mouth and damn near chokes on it watching Dante’s first attempt at jailbreak.
“Oh, my God,” he chuckles. “How old was he here?”
“Thirteen months. Can you believe that?” I watch as Dante stacks his blanket and his animals so he has just enough room to pull himself up and over.
“Rewind that, would you?”
I nod and play it again.
“Oh, this is fucking epic,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.
“He was so damned cute.”
“Yeah, he was. What was that baseball outfit you dressed him in all the time?”
“You saw that?”
Troy nods. “Yeah, it was cool. Even if it was the wrong sport.”
“Hmm, I still have it somewhere. It says ‘Mommy’s Little Slugger’ on the front. I saved a few of my favorites to have a quilt made one day.”
“That’s cool,” Troy says, his eyes still on the screen. We watch one video after another. He’s completely smitten with Dante, and it’s so easy to see from the expression he’s wearing. I’m drawn into a video when Troy cups my chin turning me to face him. “Thank you for this. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
I fight the quiver in my lip as I try and find the right words. Pausing the video, I turn to face him fully. “I’m so sorry. I know it will never be enough. But I am. You should’ve been there. You should have had the chance to be there. I had no right to take this away from you. I hope one day you will forgive me. I hope,” a tear I can’t hold spills over and slides down my cheek. “I hope one day I can forgive myself.”
Softly, he runs his knuckles down my face. “I could’ve fought harder. I could have tried to talk to you instead of being such a fucking creeper.”
“I was scary.”
“So fucking scary,” he chuckles, catching another tear with the stroke of his fingers. “We both did unforgivable shit. It’s time to let it go.”
“Do you mean that?” I hear the shake in my voice when he nods.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick lately.”
“I can’t stop thinking about the look on your mother’s face. I’m…I feel terrible.”
“It’s time to move on.”
“I would love that,” I place my hand over his where it rests on my face. “Are we okay?”
“We’re okay,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down to push the hair off my shoulders.
“He was a gift. You know? I never saw more for my life than being a teacher. I had no fancy plans other than that. I’m living my dream, Troy. It might not seem like much of one, but I’ve wanted to teach since I was a little girl and having our son, I think it made me a better pupil, and hopefully a better teacher. You deserve to live your dream too,” I say as he traces my jaw with a finger. “You’re so insanely talented. You’ll make it, I know you will.”
“Now, I’ve got an even better reason to make it happen.” He runs a hand down my arm, and I visibly shiver. His brow lifts.
“Like that, did you?”
“Maybe.”
He moves his hand back up before gently brushing his fingertips along my collar bone, and I shiver again.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching me intently. “You’re so responsive.”
“I remember that night,” I blurt. “When you asked me if I ever thought about it, I was embarrassed to tell you just how often I did. I still do.”
“Me too.”
“I think in a way, I hurt myself the day I showed up to your school. I built it up in my mind, the idea of you and me. I’d hoped that maybe you would be happy about the baby. About seeing me and…”
“It didn’t go down like that at all.”
“Not at all. But I do remember, Troy. And that night was…”
“Fucking amazing,” his voice drops as he cups the back of my head, and we both draw closer.
“Back then, we were a news at eleven headline waiting to happen.”
“But we aren’t now.”
“Not now, no,” I say breathlessly.
We’re close. My nipples draw tight beneath my sweater as his eyes rake over my face. “No more Brett?”
I bite my lip and turn my head back and forth.
“Why?”
“He wasn’t for me.”
“Any particular reason?” We’re a breath apart, my body completely alive, wired, the pull too much to ignore.
Parker’s voice has us both jumping back.
“Sausages. I bought them.” The condiments clink together as sh
e jerks open the fridge. “I bought Summer Sausage. Who ate it?” A second later, Parker enters the living room in nothing but slippers and a long T-shirt, her phone in her hand. “Why is it so dark in here? Are y’all watching Love Island?”
“Oh, Lord. It’s an Ambien sleepwalk.” I hang my head and stand before I make my way toward her. “Come on, babe, let’s get you back to bed.”
Parker turns to me speaking as if she’s not in a prescription-induced coma. “Do you smell pickles? Ohhhh, let’s go to Target.”
Troy chuckles, and I meet his eyes over her shoulder while turning her back in the direction of my bedroom. “I better go strap her into bed.”
The looks we exchange are filled with need. And in his eyes, I see the promise of something more.
“I’ll see myself out. Night, pretty woman.”
“Night, neighbor.”
Kim’s NO-BAKE Billionaire Pie
Psychologist, Wisconsin
Makes 8 servings
20 minutes
2 Cups Powdered Sugar
1 Stick Butter
1 Large Egg
1/4 Tsp. Salt
2 8-Inch Pie Crusts
1/4 Tsp. Vanilla
2 Packages Dream Whip
1/2 Cup Pecans
1 Cup Pineapple – drained
Cream butter, sugar, egg, salt, and vanilla. Fill pie crusts with mixture. Follow directions on box and whip Dream Whip. Add pineapple and nuts to Dream Whip. Spoon into pies. Chill.
Clarissa
“It’s supposed to snow tonight,” I say folding some wrapping paper against a box.
“That’s cool.”
“It will be Dante’s first White Christmas.”
“I wish I would have known. I would have ordered a sled.”
“I’ve got cookie sheets that’ll work just fine, Mr. Engineer.”
He grins. “That’ll work too.”
Troy glances down at the directions before grabbing a training wheel and adding it to the bike he’s been constructing for the last fifteen minutes. I secure the last piece of tape on one of Santa’s gifts before arranging it beneath the tree.
“Need any help?” I slide over to where he sits in the middle of the living room.