“How’s it going in there?” I ask, taking the last sip from my cup of chai that’s doing nothing to settle my nerves.
“Food’s almost done, but she still won’t let us touch anything.” Willow grits her teeth. “She wouldn’t even let me put ice in the glasses.”
“Don’t take it personally,” I say. “That’s how she is.”
“It’s just been a lot worse since Dad died,” Lucy adds, and the air instantly feels ten degrees cooler.
Ellie sighs, leaning her arms over the wood railing. “Should we wait another year? Maybe it’s too soon.”
Ben shakes his head. “Mom’s in a good-ish mood today. I think she’s still high on the prospect that Lindsey had a date.”
“Happy to contribute to the cause.” I roll my eyes. It’s true, our motherhasseemed brighter since Lucy spilled the beans about Oliver over dinner on Sunday, so much so that she was still going on about it over breakfast this morning. I pretended to entertain the idea of seeing him again once I saw the shadows return to her face at the mere suggestion that my afternoon with Oliver was anythingbuta date. We needed all the advantages we could get.
It wasn’t hard to act like I have a crush on Oliver because it’s not exactly untrue. I just can’t act on it. My stomach flutters, but I shove the feeling down when Emily lets out a happy squeal as she jumps into the pile of leaves her brother has been haphazardly gathering for her.
“Whatever. We’re doing this for them.” I nod toward where the kids have collapsed in a giggling heap.
“Maybe she won’t take it as badly as you think,” Willow says, brushing a tawny coil off her face. “She could be open to the idea.”
“I love your optimism, babe.” Lucy threads her fingers through Willow’s. “No matter how misguided it is.”
“Did you talk to Aunt Rose?” Ben asks, nudging my arm. “Maybe she can get her on board.”
“I did,” I say. “I called her last night. She’s on our side and said she’d do what she can to help. She understands where we’re coming from, but ultimately, Mom’s going to do what she wants.”
“Where is Rose, anyway?” Ellie asks, her pale cheeks pink from being kissed by the breeze.
“She should be here anytime now. She had a Friendsgiving brunch,” I answer. “And she was probably hoping to avoid the fifth annual holiday gloom fest.”
Ben shakes his head, one of his brown curls falling into his eyes. “I can’t handle another holiday like that. Iwon’t. It’s depressing.”
The house is decked out in cranberry garland and gourds with splashes of vibrant orange and burgundy, but the mood is decidedly blue. Since our father died, our mother has been hell-bent on recreating every traditionexactlythe way we did them when he was alive. The only difference is that now all the joy has been sucked out. It’s as though she fears his memory and everything he was will disappear if we don’t remain in mourning for the rest of our lives.
That’s why we’re going to suggest celebrating Christmas at Ben and Ellie’s house this year. Because it’s not Dad’s legacy that’s in danger of slipping away from us. It’sours.
The patio door opens and Aunt Rose appears, her auburn hair teased so high it would make Dolly Parton jealous.
“The prodigal aunt returns,” Lucy says in lieu of a greeting.
“Dinner’s ready.” Aunt Rose pulls the door shut behind her and lowers her voice. “But areyou?”
I exhale slowly and start toward her while Ben calls for the kids.
“Got any final words of wisdom?” I ask my mother’s older sister. “Anything you think might help?”
“I brought whiskey.” She wrinkles her upturned nose, regarding my empty mug and the soggy tea bag inside with pursed scarlet lips. “In case you need something stronger.”
Mom laysher fork on her empty plate after dinner. “I need to get the order in for our matching pajamas tomorrow. Do you want buffalo plaid or candy canes?”
Having a conversation with our mother during the holidays is like eating raw cookie dough. We can’tnotdo it, but we never know what will set her off, poisoning us all. Talking about the clinic or Mom’s design business where Ellie works is always a safe bet, and of course, anything to do with the kids, so that’s what we started with. Ben already discussed his latest drama as the designated room parent for both Noah and Emily’s classes. Willow told us about her job at the yoga studio in town and the art class she started at the rec center. Then the topic shifted to Christmas.
“I narrowed it down to two that were mostly red since we did the tree print last year,” she goes on, mistaking our silence for distaste over her choice in sleepwear. “They did have some Grinch ones, if you all would like those better.”
A hush falls over the worn oak table.
“Actually, Mom.” I clear my throat. “We wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”
Aunt Rose downs the rest of her wine in one gulp.
