Page 17 of Mistletoe All the Way

6 A NAKED ELF OR TWO

Eloise

The china gleams on the stately oak table. The salad fork shines so brightly I can see my reflection in it. My mother lifts her glass of wine—it’s a ten-year-old vintage Bordeaux from their wine cellar. A good year, which can only mean she’s going to try to convince me to join them at their country club’s annual Christmas party, where they’re on the board of directors. They probably want me to make a speech about how charitable they are at said fête, particularly during the season of giving.

I suppose they are in the sense that they spend a lot of money at local businesses. Like the tree farm. A towering pine tree draped in white lights and gold baubles occupies the corner of their formal dining room—it’s one of eight pines in their home. There’s one in almost every room. Pretty sure they’re all for show, like, say, for when their fellow country club lawyers, doctors, and hedge fund manager friends come over.

“I’m so delighted you could join us for dinner, Eloise,” my mother says to me, in her cool, perfectly modulated tone, while pouring some of the rich, red liquid for my grandmother, who’s here with us too. She lives at the edge of my parents’ property in her own cottage.

“Especially after you turned down our Thanksgiving invite,” my father points out from the head of the table. He’s the opposite of Mom. She’s all veils. He’s all knives.

My shoulders tighten. He clearly hasn’t forgiven me for that slight. “You know I do Friendsgiving every year,” I say, reaching for the salad bowl and serving myself some of the arugula mix. “I offered to come over afterward.”

He sighs, shaking his head, then grumbling, “It’d be nice if you wanted to spend more time with us. Like a couple of hours, for a meal and a game of chess after.”

Maybe there’s a reason I don’t.

My grandmother tuts. “Charles, leave her be. Young people want to be with their friends. And who wants to play chess? The only Chess worth playing is the cast album from the Broadway revival.”

It’s always a relief when she runs interference for me. “Thank you, Grandma, and I love that version too,” I say as Corelli’s Christmas Concerto plays on their top-of-the-line sound system.

“Call me Penny tonight, sweetie pie. I need to practice hearing it for my date later.”

My father whips his head toward her. “You have a date, Mother?”

“Penny,” she corrects, tucking a strand of her bright blond—thanks to her stylist—hair behind her ear. “And yes, I do. Charles. So I’m getting in the mindset.” She shimmies her shoulders as if to make her point.

My mom blinks. “And it’s at night? Your date?”

Grandma sets down her fork, clearly annoyed now. “Is this such a shock? I’m a hot commodity at any age, but especially my age. I do Pilates, I can drive at night, and I still enjoy the horizontal mambo.”

I think my father’s head just exploded.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he groans.

“You’re right, Charles. The beast with two backs is better.”

“Mother!”

“Knocking boots?” Grandma asks him, ever so innocently.

I lift the napkin to my mouth to hide a smile.

“That’s no better,” he says.

She smiles placatingly at her son. “The sooner you accept you were born when your late father and I did a little after-dark dance, the better. And it’s a good thing I have my own place, since I won’t have to put a sock on the doorknob if things go well this evening. I met this one on Date Night,” she says in a stage whisper, mentioning the popular dating app. “We’re going to a Christmas burlesque show a few towns over.”

“Do elves strip in a Christmas burlesque?” I ask, then take a bite of salad.

“I certainly hope so,” my grandmother says.

My mom drinks more wine as if she needs it to survive. She probably does.

“Now what’s going on with you, sweetie pie?” Grandma asks me with genuine curiosity.

“I haven’t met anyone on Date Night, since I’m not on the apps,” I begin, since my romantic status is always a topic of conversation with them too, and it’s best to get that out of the way. I take a breath and hope this time my parents will be impressed with what I’m building. “I have a new opportunity with my firm.”

“That’s great. We do too,” my mom says in that pleasant tone once more, not even waiting or wanting to hear about mine.