The Snow Globe (12 page)

Allison carefully set the snow globe on the front seat of her car to ride shotgun as she drove to her parents' house.

“You came on the scene just in time,” she muttered. “I could use some moral support.”

If she hadn't broken up with Lamar the week before she could have been with his family, enjoying the holiday with sane people. But she'd finally realized she loved his mother and sister more than him—not the right reason to keep a man. So today all she had to look forward to was Christmas dinner at her father and stepmother's house. With no Grandma to ease the torture.

It's only two hours, she reminded herself, two hours out of your day, out of your life.

Except what usually happened during those two hours was enough to give her nightmares for the following eleven months. In the past she'd had her grandmother to balance out the chaos but this year she was on her own.

She pulled up in front of the modest brick rambler in Ballard
and parked in back of a black Hummer. So her stepbrother, Joey, and his wife were already here. How long had everyone been whooping it up? More to the point, how much eggnog had been consumed?

She took a deep breath to steel herself, then got out of the car and took her red velvet cake and the shopping bag full of gifts from the backseat. Maybe she was worrying for nothing. Maybe it would be okay.

Oh, who was she kidding? The day was bound to be a disaster. Grandma had always held the reins of what was left of her daughter's family, keeping an eye on things in the kitchen, frowning and gently shaking her head when the partying started to get out of hand, discreetly monitoring the punch consumption. No one was holding the reins now.

The neighborhood was an old one, consisting mostly of smaller homes, many renovated, all worth a small fortune. Several houses were festooned with Christmas lights. Her stepmother had gotten right into the spirit of things. The house dripped icicle lights, and a fat wreath sporting candy canes and red bows hung on the front door. To look at the place you'd have thought June and Ward Cleaver lived inside. Looks could be deceiving.

Allison heard the noise even before she opened the front door. Joey was playing one of his favorite tacky Christmas songs at full blast, and over that she could hear raucous male laughter and the barking of a dog—Boozle, her father's bloodhound.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to open the door. Just in time to hear the crash of something breaking in the living room. She walked in to find her father, her stepbrother, and
another man, obviously a friend of Joey's, staring at a broken floor lamp, which now lay in pieces on the wood floor along with a few dust bunnies. With their rock concert souvenir T-shirts and droopy, faded jeans, Joey and his friend looked like redneck twins.

Dad had dressed up for the day and was resplendent in slacks and a sweater so brightly red Allison almost needed sunglasses to look at him. “You've done it now, sport,” he said to Joey with a shake of his head.

“It wasn't me,” protested Joey. He gave his friend a shove. “Way to go, bigfoot.”

Here was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Joey was the size of a small nation, easily dwarfing his buddy, a thirty-something man with a receding hairline.

Now Allison's stepmother Sandi, Aunt Connie, and Joey's wife, Carissa, were in the living room. Sandi's dyed blond hair was already going limp and her face was flushed—hopefully from working in the kitchen and not from having sampled too much eggnog. She wore tight jeans to show off the fact that she'd recently lost five pounds and a sweater as insistently red as her husband's and trimmed with rhinestone-studded snowflakes.

“My lamp!” she cried, throwing up her hands. “What were you boys doing?”

“Just a little wrestling,” said Joey.

Meanwhile, Boozle had spotted Allison and trotted over to greet her, jumping up on her with an excited bark.

“Down, Boozle,” she commanded, struggling to push him away and keep a hold on her presents and the cake.

Joey's face lit up at the sight of Allison. “Hey, Sis. Long time no see.” He walked over to her and gave her a playful punch in the shoulder, then checked out her leather jacket, jeans, and black turtleneck sweater, nodding appreciatively. “You look good. Lost weight?”

Yes, but she wasn't going to admit that in front of some stranger. She ignored the question, kissing her father, who swept her into a big bear hug with a “Merry Christmas, Allie.”

Sandi pointed a finger at Joey. “Clean up that mess and no more wrestling.” She broke off to welcome Allison with a kiss on the cheek. Yep, Sandi had already been in the eggnog.

Carissa fetched the broom and dustpan. She was a pretty woman, with auburn hair and big green eyes and a perfect figure, not to mention a great job. What she was doing with Joey, the king of the unemployment check, was a mystery to Allison. They'd gotten married right after high school, so maybe she just didn't know any better.

Meanwhile, Joey was already saying to his friend, “This is Allison. Didn't I tell you she's hot?”

The friend smiled sheepishly at Allison. “Hi. I'm Ed. I didn't break the lamp,” he added.

Allison sighed inwardly. Two hours. Just two hours. She said a quick hi to Ed, then set her bag of gifts by the tree and kissed her Aunt Connie. When Allison was little she had thought Aunt Connie was a movie star—an easy mistake to make considering the fact that Aunt Connie had looked like Audrey Hepburn, slim, lovely, and well dressed. She'd lost her svelte figure when she gave up smoking, but never her taste in clothes.
Today her curves were concealed under an ensemble in classic lines and fashionable colors, and her dark hair, now shot with gray, was cut short and stylish. She wished Allison a merry Christmas and managed a sour smile.

Allison supposed she'd be sour too if she'd gone through two husbands and was reduced to spending Christmas with the flake who'd married her brother.

“I'll take the cake into the kitchen,” Aunt Connie volunteered. She lifted the plastic container from Allison's hand and marched back to the kitchen, past a table made festive with Spode Christmas dishes that had belonged to Allison's mother. Someday they were supposed to go to Allison, but every year another piece got chipped or broken and she wasn't holding out much hope that there would be many pieces left by the time her stepmother got around to giving them to her. Sandi had cleaned off the dining room table for the occasion. It was usually piled high with the flotsam and jetsam of her life: department store coupons, magazines, plants that never quite made it to the garden, flavored Vodka from the liquor store—anything and everything. A good amount of the junk was now piled on top of the buffet, pretty much burying Mom's old silver service.

“Can I help?” asked Allison, following her aunt.

“You sure can. You can take the damned turkey out of the oven. It's been in there so long it looks like it belongs in Death Valley,” snapped Aunt Connie. A pot on the stove started boiling over and she yanked it off the burner. “I told Sandi an hour ago it should come out, but would she listen? No.”

Oh, it was going to be a long day. It was almost enough to
make Allison want to reach for the eggnog. Almost. Instead, she poured herself a glass of water and took a fortifying sip.

Sandi was in the kitchen now. “I'm just keeping it in there to stay warm, Connie. I told you that.” Sandi shook her head. “She takes one cooking class at Shoreline and thinks she's Julia Child.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is. Now quit acting like you've got PMS. We all know you're too old,” Sandi added with a wink at Allison. “We're going to open presents before dinner.” She turned and led the way back to the living room where Carissa was sweeping the last bit of broken lamp into a dustpan. “Thank God we pulled up the carpet,” Sandi said. “Hardwood makes cleanup so much easier.”

Given the way things happened in their household, stainless-steel floors that could be hosed down would have been the best bet, if you asked Allison. What would their family have been like if her mother had lived? Surely not this.

All the furniture had been arranged to face the artificial fiber optics tree, a vision in changing colors and Hallmark collectible ornaments. Everyone settled in with a cup of eggnog or beer bottle in hand. Boozle settled on Allison's feet.

Allison wrinkled her nose. The room smelled of pine-scented candle, male sweat, and…oh, yuck, what had they fed Boozle? Allison removed her feet from under the dog's hindquarters and relocated to the sofa. Sitting next to Aunt Connie beat the heck out of smelling Boozle.

Dad played Santa, passing around presents. “Here's a big one for you, Sis,” he said to Aunt Connie, handing her a shirt box.
Wonder what it is.”

“An inflatable man,” said Sandi, and snickered at her cleverness.

“I don't need a man to feel good about myself,” Aunt Connie informed her. “Unlike
some
people.”

Meanwhile, in the background the radio station Sandi had found was playing “We Need a Little Christmas.”

“Hey,” said Dad, distracting Sandi by jiggling one of Allison's presents at her. “I'll bet there's something good to eat in here.”

“Oh my God, my hips,” protested Sandi, rolling her eyes.

Aunt Connie removed the lid from her box and pulled out a hideous, multicolored sweater. “This is a 2X. I don't wear a 2X.”

“Oh, I thought I had the right size,” Sandi said, opening her present. “You can return it.” To Allison she said, “Thanks, Allie, but I'm on a strict holiday diet.” She handed Allison back the tin of fudge.

Allison looked down at the sad little tin she'd carefully put together. What kind of person gave back a Christmas present because they didn't like it? Sandi could at least pretend to like it and then regift it later. That was proper Christmas etiquette, wasn't it?

“Well, I'll take it if she doesn't want it,” said Joey, snatching it out of Allison's hands. He pulled off the lid and dove in.

Now Sandi was pulling the wrapping off a large box, joking, “This is one big bottle of perfume.” As the wrapping fell away it became plain to see that it didn't hold another box that might
eventually lead to a small perfume box. Instead, it was…

“A Thigh Master!” Sandi cried in disgust. If looks could kill, Dad would have been as dead as the Death Valley turkey waiting in the oven. “You got me a Thigh Master?”

Dad's round face lost its anticipatory smile. “You said you were unhappy with your thighs.”

Sandi looked at him like he was insane. “So?”

“Well, I saw this on eBay and I thought you'd like it.”

“It's used?” Sandi said in disgust. “You bought me a
used
Thigh Master for Christmas? I wanted perfume and you bought me a used Thigh Master!”

“Okay, fine,” Dad said with a scowl. “I'll put it back up on eBay and get you some perfume.”

“And you'd better not go looking for it on eBay,” Sandi snarled.

Dad snatched a box out from under the tree with so much force the tree did a frantic hula. “Here, Allie, this is for you.”

“From your Dad and me,” added Sandi.

“Thanks,” Allison said. She knew she didn't exactly sound excited, but so what? Sandi hadn't been excited about the fudge.
Well, what did you expect
, she scolded herself,
that your stepmother would suddenly become your best friend
?

She opened the box and pulled out a stack of books:
How to Succeed with Men
;
If I'm So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single?
;
Dating for Dummies
.”

“
Dating for Dummies
. Ha! That's a good one,” said Joey, reading over her shoulder.

She picked up the last book.
Stop Getting Dumped!
“I didn't
get dumped,” she protested.

But Sandi was too busy pouring herself another cup of eggnog to notice. Allison ground her teeth.

They should have been close. Sandi had wanted a daughter, or so she'd said, and Allison had needed a mother. What they'd each gotten instead was a rival, and the disconnect was complete when Sandi realized that the child she'd inherited would rather be a spectator and a homebody than a cheerleader, a caterer instead of a party girl. And now, apparently, someone who was destined to be a love reject.

“A secondhand Thigh Master,” Sandi was muttering. “Who on earth gets his wife a used Thigh Master for Christmas?”

Dad was now looking distinctly uncomfortable. Tomorrow they'd be in the mall and he'd be making amends.

Allison watched as Sandi took a healthy slug of eggnog and then slammed it down on the coffee table with an angry slosh.
Are we having fun yet?

The opening of presents turned more rowdy as the afternoon wore on. The men laughed uproariously over such treasures as a beer-toting reindeer that sang “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” Dad, the outdoorsman, was given slippers shaped like a trout, complete with glass eyes.

Aunt Connie gave Sandi a kitchen timer, starting fresh hostilities.

“I have a timer on my stove, Connie,” Sandi said, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed.

“You might have an easier time working this one,” Connie said with artificial sweetness.

“Oh, that's funny,” Sandi snapped as a chorus crooned “Silent Night” over the radio.
All is calm; all is bright.

Not for long, thought Allison nervously. Aunt Connie's tongue and Sandi's temper—they mixed as well as oil and water.

“We've got to get going,” said Carissa, standing. Carissa always knew when to scram.

Allison looked at her watch. Okay. It had been long enough. She could scram, too. “Actually…” she began.

“Aw, no.” Dad protested. “We've got to have dinner. Sandi went to a lot of trouble.”

“We have to get to my parents',” Carissa said firmly.

“Come on Rissa,” said Joey. “We've got time for some turkey.”

“We're having turkey with my family,” Carissa said.

“Well, we can have some here, too,” Joey decided. “Can't leave old Ed here by himself.” He gave his friend a playful shove that almost sent Ed off the couch and toppling into the tree.

Carissa didn't seem to care about Ed. She was already giving Sandi a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, stay a little longer, honey,” begged Sandi. “We hate to see you run off.”

“They'll probably be the only ones who don't get poisoned,” Aunt Connie predicted under her breath.

She was drowned out by Joey booming, “I'm not ready to go anywhere. I told you I want to eat here at my parents' first. Now, we had this all decided.”

Or at least Joey had.

“Sorry,” Carissa said to Sandi, “we really do have to go. I thought we'd be eating sooner.”

“Well, I'm not going,” said Joey, crossing his arms in a show of manly independence. It might have been easier to take him seriously if he hadn't hiccupped.

“Suit yourself,” said Carissa. “I'll see you back at the apartment.”

“Now, wait just a damned minute.” Joey jumped up, listing a little in the process. He reached out to steady himself, catching a handful of Christmas tree and tipping the thing into the wall.

“Joey!” cried Sandi. “Be careful.”

He righted himself after trampling two shirt boxes, and gingerly put the tree back in place. Meanwhile, Carissa was already putting on her coat. “You can't leave!” he hollered at her.

“Yes, I can,” she yelled back. “I've got the car keys.”

“How the hell am I supposed to get home?” he demanded.

“Ed can drive you. You're too drunk to drive anyway.” Carissa glared at him. “And you promised you'd only have two beers.”

“Looks like someone's sleeping on the couch tonight,” predicted Dad in a pathetic attempt to cut the tension.

“Right along with you,” snapped Sandi, making him scowl.

“Ha!” bellowed Joey. “Lately I've slept on the damned couch more than in my own bed.”

“Thank you for sharing,” said Aunt Connie sarcastically while Ed sat hunched on the couch, staring at his feet, probably wishing he were elsewhere.

Allison sure wished she was.

“I may as well become a monk for all the love you show me these days,” Joey yelled at Carissa.

Carissa's face turned Christmas-stocking red. “Maybe I'd show you some love if you weren't a sweaty, unshaved, beer-breath slob. Ever think about that?”

Joey burped in response.

“I'm this close to filing for divorce, Joey.” She held up two
fingers an inch apart. “Go ahead and push me.”

“Kids,” shouted Dad. “Come on, now. It's Christmas.”

Joey crossed his arms. “She called me a sweaty slob.”

Carissa had resumed her march to the front door. “Go ahead. Stay here and drink yourself senseless. I have a real party to go to.”

Joey gave her the old one-finger salute. “I didn't want to hang out with her family anyway,” he announced as the front door slammed shut. “They're all boring. Boring!” he added at the top of his voice as if Carissa could hear him all the way out on the street. Maybe she could.

Right now boring sounded wonderful to Allison.

For a moment an awkward silence hung over the room. Dad broke it, rubbing his hands together and proclaiming heartily, “Well, I'm hungry. When's dinner, hon?”

“About two hours ago,” said Aunt Connie.

“Oh, for God's sake,” grumbled Sandi. She left her chair and started for the kitchen.

“I'll help you,” said Aunt Connie grimly.

This meant World War Three was right around the corner. Allison longed to stay rooted to her chair, or, better yet, follow Carissa to safety, but it seemed wrong to let hostilities erupt without doing anything to try and stop them. “I'll help, too,” she decided, and reluctantly followed her stepmother and aunt to the kitchen.

She left Joey on his cell phone yelling at Carissa for ruining Christmas.

“Son, watch the tree,” Dad cautioned. “Boozle, no! Don't eat
that! Joey, grab the fudge. Why'd you put it on the floor anyway? Watch the tree!”

From the dining room Allison heard a whoosh of branches scraping against the wall and the soft crunch of breaking ornaments but decided not to look. She knew she'd already have enough to deal with in the kitchen.

She arrived in time to see that the turkey was now out of the oven. Aunt Connie had been right. It should have come out hours ago.

“I told you,” Aunt Connie was saying.

“It will be fine,” Sandi insisted. “Just take the rolls out of the package and put them in the bowl.”

So much for Grandma's biscuit recipe.

Aunt Connie looked shocked. “You don't want to heat them up first?”

“Okay, heat them up. I don't care.” Sandi threw up her hands. “Why do we always have to do the holidays here?” she wailed. “I wish my mother-in-law was alive,” she added, and began to cry.

Connie's hard exterior crumbled at that and she actually came over and put an arm around Sandi's shoulder. “It'll be okay. We'll get through it.”

There was hope for world peace. Allison smiled.

“Now,” Aunt Connie said briskly, “Allison, why don't you put the peas in the microwave and I'll mash the potatoes.”

“I'll make the gravy,” Sandi said with a sniff.

“Do you want me to do that?” asked Connie.

“No. I can handle it.”

Allison wasn't so sure as she watched her stepmother slosh drippings from the turkey pan into a large skillet. Some of the drippings made it in, but more landed on the burner. Oh, that didn't look good.

“Um, Sandi, I can do that,” Allison offered.

“I've got it,” Sandi snapped, and cranked up the burner.

This started a cozy grease fire on the stovetop.

Sandi let out a surprised squeal and grabbed the half-consumed glass of water Allison had left behind on the counter. Allison and Aunt Connie both cried, “No!” just as she threw the water on the fire.

With a spatter and a demonic hiss, the flame spread like some special effect in a magic show, making Sandi jump back with a howl. “Fire!” she shrieked. “Oh, my God, we're on fire!”

“Where's the baking soda?” Aunt Connie demanded, diving for a cupboard.

Dad was in the kitchen now with Joey right behind him. “What's going…oh, my God!”

Now the flames were licking at the wall behind the stove and one of the side counters. The radio was blasting “There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays.”

“Joe, get the fire extinguisher,” barked Dad. “Girls, get out of the kitchen!”

He didn't have to ask Sandi twice. She was already on her way, screaming like her hair was on fire. It was a wonder it wasn't.

Allison would have followed her but now Ed was blocking
the doorway, gawking, and Joey was running back in with the fire extinguisher. Meanwhile, Aunt Connie was pulling things out of the cupboards like a cop with a search warrant, muttering, “We just need baking soda.”

Dad swept her aside with a mighty arm. “Get out of the way, Connie.” He turned off the burner, then grabbed the fire extinguisher from his son and aimed, spewing a white stream at the stove.

A moment later everything was covered with gook and the kitchen smelled like a toxic dump. As for the turkey, it lay buried under a drift of chemicals. For a moment, everyone stood in silent awe, while from the living room a holiday chorus crooned, “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”

“Well,” said Joey, “there went dinner.”