Mountain Mistletoe Christmas

by Patricia Johns

  Jen got off the elevator at the fourth floor and by the time she got to her uncle’s door, he was standing in the doorway waiting for her. He was dressed in a pair of chinos and a T-shirt, and he accepted her coat and hung it up while she took off her boots. His apartment was warm and cozy.

  “It’s great to see you,” Stu said with a smile. “Come on in.”

  The apartment was newly renovated, by the looks of it, and neatly furnished. Stu and Gayle had been comfortably well-off, and his decor reflected that. A leather love seat faced a gas fireplace, and a bank of windows overlooked the street. The blinds were open, and Jen could see the flash of headlights moving below. The apartments smelled of spices and recent baking, and the kitchen, which was fully visible in this open-concept space, was clean, with a pile of washed pans in one sink.

  “I realized that I hadn’t come by to say hi yet,” Jen admitted. “With the wedding, and—” She stopped and then winced. “I’m sorry. I know that’s probably a sore spot.”

  “Nah.” Stu shook his head. “Gayle and Matt invited me, you know.”

  “Really?” Maybe that shouldn’t surprise her. Gayle and Stu were still connected, but no one knew what that was going to look like now that she’d remarried.

  “The invitation was a kind gesture,” Stu said. “But I let them have their special day without distracting everyone with the bride’s ex.”

  “That’s very mature,” Jen said, meaning to joke.

  “I better be, by this age,” Stu replied, but his eyes were sad. “My kids sent me pictures. She was just as beautiful on this wedding day as she was on the day that I married her.”

  “She was,” Jen agreed. “And Matt really loves her.”

  “He’d better. If he hurts her, I’ll deal with him myself,” Stu said.

  Jen followed her uncle through the apartment and ambled up to the gas fireplace, holding her hands toward its warmth.

  “What’s it like?” Jen asked. “Seeing Gayle move on, but knowing it’s for the best?”

  “It hurts like hell,” Stu said quietly. “But the right things often do. Our marriage might have worked for me because I was hiding a whole lot, but it wasn’t fair to her. I had the kind of love I needed—secretly—and now she can have the kind of love that she needs, too. But she’s doing it openly, fairly. I’m happy for her.”

  “Are you still in contact with... Steven?” she asked.

  “No,” Stu replied. “That was a clean break. He wasn’t ready to come out of the closet, and they moved—you heard that didn’t you? His wife blames me, of course. And I haven’t heard from him since.”

  They fell silent, and Jen looked out the bank of windows, down at the street below. There were plenty of tourists walking along, and the light from the shops spilled cheerily onto the sidewalk. So much Christmas cheer for everyone else this year...

  “You’re a good guy, Stu,” Jen said at last.

  “That’s debatable. I have a daughter who still won’t speak to me,” he replied.

  “You’re a good guy,” Jen reaffirmed.

  Stu gave her a sad smile. “I made brownies and cookies, and...three different kinds of pie. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s therapeutic, I guess. Anyway, let me get you a plate, and I need to hear everything that’s been going on for you.”

  For the next few minutes, Jen munched on her uncle’s baking and they chatted about how life had unfolded for both of them over the past couple of years. Ironically, Jen had more in common with Stu right now than she did with Aunt Gayle. Aunt Gayle was blissfully happy in her new marriage, while Uncle Stu and Jen were on the fringes.

  “I’m a bit stuck with Lisa,” Jen admitted. “What do you do when someone you care about thinks the worst of you?”

  “I have a lot of people who think the worst of me about now,” Stu replied quietly.

  “Right,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “What can you do?” Stu asked with a shrug. “Look, you live your life with as much honesty and integrity as you can in the moment. Sometimes you’ll get it right. Sometimes you won’t—I made enough of my own mistakes. I should have come clean with Gayle a very long time ago. But you do the best you can in the present, and then you wait. Some people will see you for who you are, and they’ll love you. Other people will see you for who you are, and they’ll hate you. There’s not a lot you can do about it.”

  “That’s the tough part,” Jen said. “Lisa used to know me better than anyone...”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “As siblings do.”

  “I wish she could just be proud of me—see everything I’ve done and gone through, and think I’m doing okay.”

  “Are you proud of yourself?” Stu asked.

  Jen paused, considering for a moment. “Yeah. I am. I’m still standing, and I think I deserve a medal.”

  Stu chuckled. “I’m proud of you, too. I never liked Sam much.”

  “People keep saying that,” she said.

  “But I always liked you a whole lot,” Stu added. “Look, when you do come across people who know you inside and out and still think you’re fantastic, you hold them extra close. They don’t come along every day. Trust me, I’ve learned that in very painful ways the last few years.”

  “Am I supposed to stop caring if my sister even likes me?” Jen asked.

  Stu shook his head. “I don’t know... I think you’ll always care.” He pushed himself up from his seat. “Do you want eggnog?”

  “Yeah, I do.” She smiled. “Thanks.”

  Funny. She thought she’d need to be comforting Stu this Christmas, but he was turning out to be the one with the wealth of wisdom. It was the kind of thing that came from experiencing the worst, she realized. When a heart was turned inside out, there was a strange peace that came with finding out that life didn’t end when it got painful.

  Jen would get through this Christmas the old-fashioned way—one foot in front of the other. Maybe she’d earn a bit of the wisdom that Stu had picked up along the way. It never came easy, did it?

  * * *

  THE GARAGE WAS HEATED, but a draft from the closed door still permeated the space. Nick wore old comfy slippers and a sweater over his T-shirt. Inside, Amelia was on her phone chatting with Ben. She sounded...in love. And what more could he want for his daughter, except he still worried about her. She deserved someone who saw what a treasure she was, too, and if the match wasn’t quite the right fit, Amelia deserved a guy who was.

  Whether or not Ben was the right fit was Amelia’s call to make, and as her dad, he’d support her. That was how this worked. But he still worried. He’d heard enough about Jen before meeting her to know that her marriage had been hopeful and optimistic...and wrong for her. Jen had gotten married at twenty-four, and Amelia was only a year younger. Maybe it wasn’t too young to be thinking about marriage and a family of her own. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t ready for her to be quite so grown up.

  Nick’s personal tools hung on the garage wall, every tool in its place. He’d always been particular about his tools, and this space was a private, peaceful respite from the world. He liked the order, the feeling of possibility.

  He picked up the carved wooden bear from his workbench. He’d been carving these for a month now in his spare time—a whole bear choir, just like the chipped and faded porcelain ones from Amelia’s youth. He wanted to give her a new choir of bears—these ones made with his own hands. He’d paid careful attention to detail. Every bear had its own expression, with big soulful eyes and delicately curling fur. He’d taken his time with them—a few he’d even tossed into the fire and restarted. And now that he knew his daughter didn’t share his particular nostalgia, he felt a little stupid.

  All that work, and he couldn’t give this to her for Christmas. Maybe it had been amateurish and ridiculous to begin with. What would Amelia want for Christmas this year? Sho
pping money, probably, and here he was trying to foist some carvings onto her.

  He ran a work-roughened thumb over the singing mouth of the largest bear, and he felt a pang of sadness. A month ago, when Amelia had confirmed that she was going to spend the holidays with him, he’d made plans to remind her of their good times. He’d turned down friends’ invitations to go out for dinner. Bert would come over and hang out in the garage rather than going out for a beer because Nick had been carving these bears. Nick had been so certain that this Christmas he and Amelia would finally reconnect and find that warmth between them again.

  He couldn’t say that he and Amelia had no warmth, exactly...it was just different. Maybe those sweet times were gone for good. Kids grew up. Heck, parents grew up, too. Maybe this was the new normal, and he should be grateful for the time he got with his daughter.

  He put the bear down on the workbench once more. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them out—he’d poured his heart into these carvings. Maybe they’d just stay here—remind him of the good old days and let Amelia remember the times that made her happy in her own way.

  He heard the front door open and shut, and he headed up the stairs and back into the house. He looked out the window to see his daughter hopping into a car with another young woman, and he lifted his hand in a wave that Amelia didn’t see.

  A text came in, and he looked down at it.

  Going out with a friend, Dad. I grabbed the spare key so I can let myself in when I get back. I’ll be late.

  He texted back a thumbs-up emoji and returned his phone to his pocket. Goldie came padding up from her spot on the couch where she’d been dozing, and he bent to pet her head.

  “Just you and me tonight, girl,” he said. “What should we do with ourselves, huh?”

  Goldie gazed up at him lovingly. Yeah, he had a life of his own, and he couldn’t expect his grown daughter to fill any of the holes for him. She wouldn’t want the job anyway.

  * * *

  BY ELEVEN, AMELIA still wasn’t home, so Nick left a light on in the kitchen for when his daughter returned. He headed up to his bedroom and Goldie hopped up on the bed where she always slept and flopped over, watching him as he puttered around the room, putting away some folded laundry.

  As he passed his window, the blinds still up, he paused, laundry basket in hand. Across the road, he could see the old mansion—the third floor lit with a cozy glow. The curtains were open there, too. He could see Jen’s outline in the window. She was standing motionless, seemingly looking out into the darkness, and he wasn’t sure if she could see him. He was about to turn away—he was no Peeping Tom, after all—but there was something about the way she stood that seemed so solitary.

  “Don’t be a creep,” he muttered to himself, and as he turned, Jen raised a hand in a wave.

  He felt an embarrassed heat rush to his face. She wouldn’t be able to make out that much detail, he was sure, but he waved back awkwardly. She disappeared from the window, and he let out a sigh. Then his phone blipped.

  Nick dropped the laundry basket back into the corner and scooped up his phone. It was a text from Jen:

  Hi. Sorry to spook you. We have a direct view into each other’s bedrooms.

  He chuckled and typed back:

  The last owner kept her curtains shut. And I normally do the same. Didn’t mean to spook you, either.

  Nick sank onto his bed and leaned back against the headboard. He flicked on the TV, as he normally did, just as another text came in.

  This is a very big house. I’m not complaining, but I think I’ll put in a security system sooner rather than later. Is the neighborhood safe?

  Nick smiled faintly.

  Yeah, it’s safe. But there is nothing wrong with security for a single woman.

  Would she answer? Or just say good-night? He found himself hoping she’d chat a little bit, and he wondered if that was hopelessly naive of him.

  She answered:

  I agree. Besides, old houses have weird sounds at night. Things creak and groan. I know it’s nothing, but I’d feel better knowing it’s ghosts and not burglars.

  There was a pause. She added:

  That was a joke.

  He chuckled aloud.

  I wasn’t sure. Do you believe in ghosts?

  She texted back:

  Not tonight.

  Nick looked over at Goldie, who looked back at him placidly. Was he nuts to be doing this—chatting with a woman he should be keeping an emotional distance from? Probably, but his daughter was right about how solitary he was. And it was nice to chat with her tonight, he had to admit.

  I saw my uncle Stu tonight, she added. I feel better having seen him.

  So he’s doing okay? he asked.

  He is. He’s got a very mature attitude toward all of this. Not that it makes it any easier, of course.

  Of course, he replied. That was an understatement. Have you talked to your sister about her stories?

  I tried. Neither of us were at our best.

  His feelings about the situation with his daughter were similar.

  Maybe I should Google some more of your sister’s stories. Maybe I’ll learn about your scandalous teenage years.

  Har har, she texted back. Actually, feel free. She’s a very good writer. Just keep in mind that it’s very much fiction.

  I know, I know, he replied. Only joking.

  For a couple of minutes she didn’t reply, and he flicked through some channels, wondering if he’d overstepped. But then his phone pinged again.

  You were really insightful today, she texted.

  Was I? he asked. He didn’t get accused of insight too often.

  My sister’s writing is her art. I might feel betrayed, but people love her work. I wish she liked me more, but I think I have to let the grudge go.

  He smiled faintly.

  I don’t think that was my point.

  What was your point, then?

  That even art has limits if you want to have people in your life, he texted back.

  LOL! I like how you think.

  He grinned at that. He paid attention. He didn’t always join the conversation, but he had opinions.

  Are you normally up this late? she asked.

  No, he texted back. But my daughter is out with friends and she said not to wait up, so...

  LOL! So you’re going to wait up, aren’t you?

  Of course.

  You’re a good dad, she texted.

  He felt his throat thicken with emotion that took him by surprise. A good dad? He hadn’t felt that way for a very long time now. There was another ping.

  I’m turning into a pumpkin. I should say good-night, she texted.

  I’ve got work in the morning, so I’d be smart if I did, too.

  Your client must be a real stickler.

  Was she joking around, or did she really suspect she was tough to please? It was hard to tell without being able to see her. Texting could be dangerous that way.

  Nah, he wrote back. She’s the perfect client—smart and with artistic vision. I’m the lucky one in this deal.

  He waited for her to answer, but there was a pause that stretched for almost a minute.

  His phone blipped and he looked down at her text:

  You’re a sweet guy. I’d better turn in. Good night, Nick.

  He couldn’t help but smile at that, and he typed back, Good night.

  Then he looked up to see her turn to face the window. She waved, her fingers fluttering, and then the curtain swept shut.

  He was starting to feel something for her, even though he knew it was dumb. She was the kind of woman that made him want to open up. But he knew how this ended—she’d enjoy his down-to-earth views until it wasn’t a novelty anymore and just became irritating. Right now he was just the beefy contractor. And she was the
gorgeous client. So there was sexual tension.

  He looked toward the mansion across the street again.

  Except, he didn’t get the impression that she wanted that from him, either. Mostly, she seemed to want to be his friend, and that might be even more dangerous, because he could very easily fall for her and just sit here in the agony of unreturned feelings.

  No, it couldn’t end well, regardless. He needed to stay professional.

  Nick got comfortable on his bed again and picked up the TV remote. Goldie came closer and lay her head on his lap, and he flicked through the channels, stopping at a home renovation show.

  He was only a man, after all, and that was the part that had disappointed his ex-wife the most. He was the exact man she married, and he’d never risen to her hopes of what he could become under her manipulations.

  But as a man, Nick wasn’t going to even pretend to sleep until his daughter was safely home. Whatever. Amelia could complain to her mother about it later. He was her dad, whether she liked it or not.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THREE DAYS LATER Jen was happy to see a note on the bathroom door that read, “It works. Enjoy.” There was still a groan and a rattle when the water was turned on, but the bathroom was now fully functional, and Jen enjoyed her first piping-hot shower from the depths of that claw-foot tub.

  Jen stood under the hot shower, steam billowing out the top of the shower curtain. The past few days had been strange between her and Nick. They’d started texting each other in the evenings—not for very long, but it had gotten to feel like a habit already. When he was working in the house with his team, he was more cautious and reserved. But there was something that seemed to tug them together. When they passed each other in a doorway, his fingers grazed hers. And it made her heart speed up just to think about it. Something so small it could seem accidental, but she knew it wasn’t. He was feeling this, too. Something was sparking between them, and while she had been telling herself it was friendship, it felt like more.