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“I think sugar would be perfect.” I tap a finger against my chin as I mentally run through my ingredients. “I can add royal icing, but I only have red food coloring. I’ll have to go to the store and get more—oh! And I need more tinsel for the tree. I’m getting sick of the gold, so I’ll switch it to silver this month.”
I walk out to the living room, where the magnificent eight-foot tree stays year-round. It currently has bats, spiders, and skeletons on display for Halloween, but now it’s the first of November and time for a change.
I’m examining the tree as I speak to Rose. “It’s too early to decorate for Thanksgiving, so I’m doing another holiday instead. I’m gonna do a bookish theme to celebrate National Authors Day. Did you know that’s today?” I turn to give her a big smile.
She followed from the kitchen and is presently sitting on the plush green sofa, using one of the Christmas tree pillows to prop up her arms. “I know you like to pick a different holiday every month, but seriously, Teddie? National Authors Day? That’s not a real holiday, is it?”
“Of course, it is,” I insist, putting my hands on my hips. “You can Google it. And, as we all know, if Google says something is true, it definitely is.”
She stares at me for a minute, like she’s trying to figure me out, before giving up and settling back on the couch. “I’ll never understand how you’re so… perky, Teddie. What’s the point of celebrating all of these holidays and redecorating your tree every month?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s fun, don’t you think? It’s nice to have something to look forward to.”
“I suppose,” she concedes before eyeing my tree. “But isn’t it tiring to take down all those decorations so frequently? It would be much easier to leave them on and put the entire thing away until it’s in season again next year.”
“That would take too many trees if I did it that way.” I laugh. “Besides, where would I keep all of them?” I jokingly shoot her a pointed look. “And some of us don’tcheatby recycling our decorated trees…”
“Who, me?” She has the audacity to look confused.
“Yes, you. I know you use the same tree every year. You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Miss Rose?”
She pushes some of her white curls away from her face. “I prefer to think of myself as resourceful and efficient. After all, I had to help your grandmother with her decorations too.”
“Ha! As Gram said, you sat around sipping spiked eggnog while critiquing her work.” I give Rose a chiding finger.
“Wha—I would never!”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Uh-huh, likely story.”
“Come on now, Teddie, who are you going to believe? Little ol’ me who checks on you every morning and eats all your extra cookies? Or the woman who lied to you about Santa and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny?”
I pretend to think for a second. “Call me biased, but I’m gonna have to go with Gram on this one. She wasn’t much of a liar. Unless you count fairy tales.”
Rose raises her hands in defeat. “I suppose that’s true. I did have to convince her to stretch the truth every once in a while, for a good reason. But, to be fair, she also kept me honest most days.” Her eyes soften. “Now, I don’t know what to do without her. She was my partner in time.”
I always like hearing Rose talk about my grandmother. “Don’t you meancrime? Partner in crime?”
She barks out a laugh. “Oh, please, Teddie. We knew each other for decades. I was her partner intime.”
I giggle with her. “That’s sweet, Rose. I like that.”
“Well, I loved your grandmother. And I know you did too.” She gets up from the couch and grasps my hands, giving me a stern look. “Which is why I’m concerned you’re not grieving.”
I hold her hand in mine and give her a faint smile. “Iamgrieving, Rose. Everyone just grieves differently.”
She drops my hands. “But I haven’t seen you shed one tear.”
I pop out my hip. “And you never will. Gram raised me to be a lady, you know. We only cry in private.”
“Oh, really?” Rose asks incredulously. “And what do you do in public?”
“Bake,” I reply simply, tilting my head toward the kitchen.
She tuts her tongue. “You may bake, but you don’t eat. I swear you get thinner every day.” She pinches my waist, and I jump back, covering my mouth so I don’t start laughing. She knows how ticklish I am and is never afraid to use it against me.
“Honey, are you sure you like this... thisturbostuff?” Disbelief is evident on her face.
“VRBO, Rose,” I snicker. “And, yes, I do.” She’s not convinced, but I keep going. “This is my life now. I want to share this holiday home that my Gram loved so much with others who’ll enjoy it. I entertain guests, I decorate the tree, and I bake. I don’t think it’s a bad life. Do you?”
