Christmas Catch: A Holiday Novella (8 page)

“You are welcome in our home anytime. You don’t even have to knock.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t have had that last one,” I say to Sawyer as he leans back on the pillows and moans.

“I know you told me, but I chose not to listen.” I lean down next to him. Everyone else is too busy with their own conversations and not paying attention to us.

“See what happens when you don’t listen to me? Bad things.” I prop myself on my elbows and he squints at me.

“Whatever. You never listen to me.” That is crap and he knows it. I smack him with a pillow and he groans.

“Cruel. That is cruel and unusual punishment.”

He closes his eyes and sighs.

“I thought this Christmas was going to be awful. Without Dad, you know. We don’t even have a tree, or any decorations up. Mom got them out, but neither of us wanted to put them up. He used to make a big production about it, and now it doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like Christmas.” I can understand that.

“Well, there’s no law that says you have to celebrate. You’re not going to get arrested by the Christmas Police. Do whatever you want.” He opens his eyes and moves closer to me so our heads are right next to one another.

“I guess.” The memories start fluttering again and then Sawyer coughs and turns his attention to the ceiling. Mom asks if anyone wants coffee and all the adults say yes. The minions have finally crashed and are all cuddled together in front of the television.

“We could use some more wood for the fire.” Mom’s voice breaks through all other conversation.

“Not it,” Drew says, raising his hand. He’s had a few too many beers, so it’s probably not a good idea for him to do it anyway.

“I’ll get some,” Sawyer says, getting up.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Mom says, but I see what she’s doing. “Oh, why don’t you take Ivy to help you?” Smooth. Real smooth. I can’t look at her as Sawyer and I get up, put our coats on and go out the back door to the woodshed.

“Subtle, isn’t she?” I say shivering. Sawyer leans against the shed and looks up at the sky. It’s clear and cold and the stars are spread out. That’s another thing I miss. Seeing the stars.

“As a hammer to the face,” he says, laughing, his breath puffing out in clouds.

I join him and our shoulders touch.

“Do you regret it? Moving back?” I probably shouldn’t ask this.

He puts his hands in his pockets and turns his head to meet my eyes.

“Honestly? Sometimes.” He nods. “But I couldn’t stay at school and leave Mom here all alone. I guess I just figured that some things were more important than getting my degree right now.”

“But you could go to school online. Do distance learning so at least you can get some credits done.”

“You’re right. I could. I just feel like I’m so . . . overwhelmed. Dad made it look so easy. There are just so many things to think of in a day and I get home and fall into bed and then I have to get up and do it all over again in the morning. It doesn’t end. I mean, this is the off season, but it’s still crazy.”

“You could hire someone to help.” It seems like they make enough money.

He shrugs.

“I don’t know. That would feel like giving up. I know I told my father that I didn’t want the business, but I never really thought about what it would be like if he wasn’t here. I thought there would be time. Lots of time . . .” he trails off and a tree branch snaps, making me jump.

“We should probably get the wood. It’s cold out here.” It’s nice to talk to him again, even if I’m risking losing my nose to frostbite.

“You’re right.” So we both grab an armful of wood and tramp back to the house. Mom gives me a look, but I ignore it. She and I need to have a chat.

Most of the kids are falling asleep, so Drew and Stacy and their significant others pack them up and head out.

Melanie and Mom chat a little bit and I’m left alone with Sawyer again.

“Am I going to see you tomorrow?” he says.

“If my mother has anything to do with it. I’m sure she’s going to invite you and your mom over.” He rocks back on his heels as if he’s nervous.

“Then I guess I will see you tomorrow.” He gives me a little wave and goes out to start the truck up.

Melanie gives me a hug and a little smile. She looks better than she did a few hours ago.

“See you tomorrow,” Mom calls out the door as they get in Sawyer’s truck. She shuts the door and I cross my arms.

“They have nowhere to go, Ivy. This isn’t all about you and Sawyer.” Well, crap. Make me feel like a bitch.

“I know. I just wish you’d be a little more subtle about trying to push us together.” She just smiles knowingly.

“What would be the fun in that?”

Mom bangs the gong (not literally, but close enough) early the next morning. My body has started to adjust to the later wakeup time of vacation, so it’s a rude awakening.

Both she and Dad have clearly had too much coffee already as they dash around the kitchen, peeling potatoes, roasting pumpkin seeds and chopping fruit for the fruit salad. This is one time when I wish Drew and Stacy still lived at home.

Before I’m even allowed coffee, I’m shoved in front of the apple peeler and told to get to work.

“When is Sawyer bringing over the lobsters?” Dad says as Mom chases a runaway grape.

“Um, this afternoon, I think. So they’re as fresh as possible.” Some people have turkey or a ham on Christmas Eve. We have lobster. This is Maine, after all.

Plus, it gives Sawyer the perfect reason to come over. If he didn’t have one already. Mom is on what I like to call a “Christmas High”. She’s humming along with the “all Christmas, all December!” radio station and she seems lost in her own world. If there’s one thing this woman loves, it’s a holiday, and this is the biggest one.

After I’m finished with the apples, she sends me into the living room to start setting up crafts for when the minions get here. We have bowls of popcorn and cranberries, red and green tissue paper, snowman and wreath cutouts, cotton balls, and a million other things that my mom stores in a big bin in the attic and only brings out once a year. To me, it looks like a disaster waiting to happen, but I’ll go along with it.

I realize I’m not even dressed when Stacy arrives, looking tired and irritated already. Mom hands her a cup of coffee with a nip in it and she thanks her. The kids go right for the crafts, and Mom puts me in charge.

The day passes with crafts and glue on little fingers and lopsided snowmen and munching on roasted pumpkin seeds and lots of “Jingle Bells”. A LOT of “Jingle Bells”. I kind of want to smash the radio, but that wouldn’t be in the Christmas spirit.

Sawyer walks in without knocking and looks down at the snowman I’m making.

“He looks sad.” I look up at him and he sits down next to me on the couch. The minions have abandoned the crafts to throw popcorn in each other’s mouths.

“Maybe he is. He’s melting. Or maybe he’s got seasonal affective disorder because he doesn’t get any sun.” I put the finishing touches on my sad snowman and add him to the pile.

“You bring the lobsters?” He holds up a thick paper bag that is moving, just a little bit. I can hear their little legs and claws scrabbling to get out. Poor things. It must be a horrible way to go, being boiled alive.

“You ever feel bad for them?” I say, pointing to the bag as he sets it back down.

“Most people don’t know where their food comes from. I know. And I know the guy who caught it and that buying these lobsters is going to help him feed his family. So I guess it’s a tradeoff. Besides, I think these guys had a much better life than a cow on a farm that’s going to be slaughtered to make a hamburger.”

Ugh, bad topic.

Mom intervenes and when she notices Sawyer’s here. He holds up the bag of lobsters and she gives him a hug as if he’s her savior.

“Where’s that mother of yours?”

“She’s just finishing up some stuff at home, but she should be here in a few minutes.” Mom takes the lobsters and puts them in the freezer. The idea is to put them into a hypothermic state so it doesn’t suck so much for them when you boil them alive. Nice in theory, but probably not true.

Drew arrives and heads right for the fridge and the beer, and Dulcey and Stacy chat about kids while Sawyer and I go out to get more wood.

“Think we’ll have a white Christmas?” he says, looking up at the cloudy sky. It certainly feels that way. And smells that way.

“My snow senses are tingling,” I say, wiggling my fingers at him. He laughs.

“You and your snow senses. Remember that time sophomore year when you swore, up and down, that it was going to snow, but there was nothing in the weather about it and we made that bet?”

“You mean the bet you lost? I remember every bet you’ve lost,” I say, smirking at him.

“Cockiness doesn’t become you. That’s what my mother always says.” Yeah, my mother says something along the same lines too.

“I like to think of it as confident. Seeing as how I don’t actually have a cock.”

“Thank God.” For some reason, this statement makes me blush. He knows for a fact that I don’t have one. He’s seen all of me.

“What did you get me?” I say. I’m going to pressure him like this all day until he gives in. He pretends to zip his lips.

“Not until tomorrow.”

No fair.

“You suck, Sawyer McCallister.”

“Only for you, Poison.”

This dinner is a little more formal, which is to say that we eat at the table. There’s a toast and we say grace (even though none of us go to church) and we’re eating off the nice plates. The formality is almost cancelled out by the fact that everyone is wearing lobster bibs and lobster juice is flying everywhere and there’s a huge pile of discarded lobster carcasses in the middle of the table.

I get to sit next to Sawyer and he keeps glancing at me and giving me looks that are making me blush. It must be the wine. Stacy brought a few bottles of cheap red and I’ve had a couple of glasses. My face tends to blush a lot more easily when I’m drinking. I keep glancing at his mom and I can see her watching us.

As soon as dinner is over and coffee is served to the adults, and hot cocoa to the kids, we all retire to the living room to watch
It’s a Wonderful Life
, another tradition. Mom grabs my arm and shoves me toward the recliner as everyone else takes the couch. There aren’t a whole lot of places to sit, so extra chairs are brought in. I see Mom whisper something to Sawyer and he walks over to me.

“Care to share?” Back in high school, we always used to sit here and cuddle when he came over while my parents were on the couch.

I move over, but there’s only so much room. The only way we can both sit is if I’m half on top of him, which was Mom’s plan all along.

Why doesn’t she just shove the two of us in my room, lock the door and tell us that we’re not allowed out until we’ve re-consummated our relationship? Actually, it wouldn’t shock me if she did that.

But I get up and he sits down and pats his lap. I give him a look that means, “No funny business” before I sit down next to/on top of him.

“Does everyone have everything they need?” One of the minions calls for more whipped cream, so Mom brings that. It’s unlikely that they’ll sit still for this whole movie. It’s also Christmas Eve and they’re all hopped up about Santa.

“Should I tell them that Santa is an anagram of Satan?” Sawyer whispers in my ear.

“Sure, if you want to crush their sweet little souls,” I respond. He laughs softly, and it tickles.

I shift a little, and find the exact right place to lie against Sawyer. I’ve done this enough times to know right where I fit. Another time warp.

Sawyer waits for me to adjust and then nudges me with his shoulder to sit up so he can put his arm around me. I let him get away with it because protesting won’t get me anywhere. Besides, it’s more comfy this way.

The wine is making me sleepy and I’m all warm, and it’s like my body is associates Sawyer with being comfortable. I’ve never been as relaxed with another human as I am with him. Not even Allison.

His hand starts playing with my hair, and I’m not even sure if he’s aware that he’s doing it. When we were kids, he used to tug on my curls, but then it transformed into him playing with them, wrapping them around his fingers, pulling them and watching them spring back. I never knew my hair could be that amusing.