Unwrapping Christmas (6 page)
She whipped the wheel sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding sideswiping an oncoming car. A cacophony of bleating horns and rude gestures confronted her. She quickly hit the blinker and eased to the shoulder.
Shaken, she rested her hand on her hammering chest, appalled at the highway disaster she’d nearly created. The pain in her head kept sync with her pounding heart.
Braking in the garage fifteen minutes later, she bowed her head.
Thank you, God, for watching over me
. Motorists were nuts! What was it about the holidays that brought out the crazies? Present company excepted, of course.
FRANCE
Joyeux Noël
The crèche (manger scene) occupies a place of prominence
in the French home. Th e bûche de Noël, a log-shaped cake, has become a favorite Christmas delicacy. Children leave their shoes by the fireside on Christmas Eve, hoping Père Noël (Father Christmas) will fill them with gifts before morning. Their parents attend Christmas masses at midnight and return to a late supper known as Réveillon. On Epiphany Eve, three figures are added to the crèche in celebration of the visit of the magi.
The minute she entered the house and saw the smirk on her fifteen-year-old daughter’s face, she knew something was wrong. Eric slumped on the living room sofa, while his father stood above him, glowering.
“What’s up?”
“Tell your mother what’s up, Eric.”
Eric’s flushed features turned even more sullen. He shifted, refusing to meet Rose’s questioning eyes.
She laid her purse on the hall table. “What?” It couldn’t be too bad. Eric was here, looking perfectly normal. No broken bones or telltale gashes. Anna appeared to be in an excellent mood . . . Uh-oh. Trouble.
“Eric,” Joey prompted.
Eric spat out the confession. “I was smoking in the school bathroom.”
Rose wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“He was caught
smoking
in the school bathroom,” Joey repeated. “Our son. Our
son
. Caught smoking in the bathroom.”
Rose sank into a chair, her head reeling. “Smoking?”
“In the bathroom.”
Their son firmed his lips, but his sullen appearance didn’t change.
“Look at me, Eric,” Rose implored. “What were you thinking? You never behave like this.”
Eric flared. “I might as well! No one cares what I do, anyway.”
“That’s not true, Eric — of course we care.” He couldn’t really feel like that. He couldn’t. She reeled from the suppressed anger in his expression.
“You
promised
to come to parents’ day, and I tried to remind you, but you were too busy to listen.”
When had he tried to remind her? She couldn’t remember. Had she actually ignored him in her quest to get the casserole delivered to Lois while it was still hot? Whether she had or not, Eric felt like she had, and that was what mattered.
She closed her eyes and then opened them to find Joey staring at her, his face flushed. “I’ve been trying to tell you that you’re doing too much. You’re not even home long enough to know what your children are doing.”
“You’re blaming
me
?” Where was he coming from, this man who worked late every night and left the children’s whereabouts up to her?
“That’s right. The kids need you.”
“And what about you?” She lobbed the accusation right back at him. Two could play the blame game. “You spend every waking moment at work. Let me remind you that you’re the head of this house. Your children need you too.”
Joey straightened, hands braced on his hips. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty about working. I have to, if the bills are to be paid.”
Rose stared at him, her mouth working like a beached fish.
“Stop arguing! You guys used to
never
argue!” Eric shouted.
“Go to your room, Eric. Your mother and I will be up shortly to talk to you.” Eric shoved the chair aside and left the room.
“Joey, you shouldn’t speak to Eric in that tone.” It was bad enough that he snarled at her, but to talk like that to his son, and in front of Anna . . .
“Rose, wake up! Our son was caught smoking in the bathroom. This is only the start. Unless we get a firm grip on this, we can expect more incidents. This one might be insignificant, but the next time it could be drugs.”
Drugs.
Blyth flashed through her mind, and for a second, she understood the near panic Blyth was feeling.
Joey stormed out of the room, leaving Rose with a biting headache and guilt the size of Mount Everest on her shoulders.
She leaned back in the chair, speechless. The cheerily twinkling Christmas tree and freshly hung holly suddenly looked mockingly pathetic.
Dear Lord . . .
She couldn’t finish the prayer. Her ideal family was rapidly going down the drain.
Rose sat two sheep on the shelf calendar along with the date, December 15. Ten days until Christmas, and no one had offered to have the yearly Christmas Eve dinner. She suspected that her sister and two sisters-in-law expected her to host again; she had for the past four years. Not that she minded, but maybe this year they’d take the stress off her.
She sank onto a kitchen stool and pulled the book holding her call-often numbers toward her. Family, friends, and business numbers all here at her fingertips. Organization was her middle name. This year she would politely but firmly insist that her sister or sisters-in-law take over. Her moving finger stopped at Jo, her sister-in-law who was always saying they were going to get a larger house but never did. Rose punched in the number and started counting rings. At six she was ready to hang up, when Jo came on the line, voice harried.
“Jo? Hi! It’s Rose.”
“Rose! I was just thinking about you.” Her sister-in-law had that warm tone — the one in which she was about to excuse herself. “Hold on a sec. I just walked in the door.” The line went silent, then Jo returned. “Tell me why every year I wait until the last minute to do my Christmas shopping. The checkout lines are murder! I was stepped on twice and my feet are killing me. It’s a madhouse out there!”
Drawing a deep breath, Rose took the plunge. “Remember when we all agreed that Mom and Dad are getting too old to host a gathering of what — nineteen or twenty of us, and I agreed to have the dinner at my house that year?”
“More like twenty-four of us. I’m pretty sure we’ll have an assortment of girlfriends and boyfriends there this year.”
Rose smiled, then sobered. Boyfriends? Would Anna want to invite Nick Chalmers? She was still obsessing over his New Year’s Eve invitation.
“Jo, four years ago, we decided to split the hostess duties, and I was wondering if you’d take this year.” There. That was in-your-face, but she wasn’t feeling particularly discreet. Just dragged through a wringer.
“Oh. I know we did, and I was hoping that we’d have a bigger house by now, or that we’d at least built on, but they’re cutting back at the plant and Stan’s been leery to do anything.”
Rose’s brother was a worrywart. He had been living with the fear of plant cutbacks for the last fifteen years.
“We’d be all over each other here,” Jo reminded.
Rose cleared her throat. Jo’s house was smaller than hers, but adequate. So they’d be crowded. Not many households could seat twenty-four comfortably.
A huge sigh from Jo warned what was coming. “Would you care to have it again this year? I really don’t think I’m able to cook for that many people, and I know I couldn’t possibly fix the
lutefisk
.”
“I’ll bring the lutefisk and the lefse.” The traditional dishes were Grandpa and Grandma’s favorites at holiday gatherings. It wouldn’t be Christmas without some of the old customs. Rose sweetened the offer. “I’ll even bake
sirupsnipper
— dozens, if you’ll have the dinner.”
“Oh, you
know
how much I love that cookie, but I’m having my family on Christmas Day,” Jo argued. “We’re a smaller group, and two huge meals back to back would be more than I can handle. Can you
have it? Do you mind?”
Rose’s defenses began to crumble. Her usual mantra,
I guess I could
rose to her lips, and she bit back the words. Not this time. “Yes, I do mind. I’m buried right now. I’ll help cook, but I’ve had the dinner the past four years. It really is someone else’s turn.”
“What about Jamie? I’m sure she’ll be glad to do it.”
And pigs could line dance. Her sister would find every excuse on record to avoid having the dinner without outright telling everyone to stay home. Rose made some sort of comment about checking with Jamie — and hung up. She reviewed the list of telephone numbers, considering and rejecting names until there wasn’t anyone left but Jamie.
She chewed the end of her pen. She’d force Jamie to have it. She wouldn’t let up until she agreed. After all, Jamie was family and should take her turn. True, Rose had protected, advised, spoiled, and covered for her adorable baby sister until it had become a habit. But Jamie was grown now with a family of her own, and it was past time she stepped up to the plate. The Christmas dinner plate.
She dialed the number and Jamie picked up promptly.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Jamie.”
“Oh, Rose. I bought your present today. Have you bought mine?” she teased.
“Bought, wrapped, and hid in a hole in the backyard.”
Jamie could ferret out the most well kept secret, especially if it concerned her.
“If I guess what it is, will you tell me?”
“No. Don’t even try.”
“Oh, come on. You didn’t used to be so mean.”
She was about to get as mean as it got. “Hey kiddo, I’m calling about Christmas Eve dinner.”
“Sure thing. What do you want me to bring?”
Your house
. “I was hoping you’d host it this year. Mom and Dad aren’t able to, and Jo’s house is too small.”
“It’s bigger than mine!”
“I know — convince Jo. So, how about it? Can we come to your house this year?”
Please, please, please. One year — one magnificent year
where I bring a veggie tray and enjoy the holiday.
“Oh, I would, but I get so ding-dong nervous with all those people milling around. I couldn’t possibly contend with twenty people.”
“Twenty-four. Jo reminded me there’ll be girlfriends and boyfriends this year. Our children are growing up.”
“Is Anna bringing that cute guy she wants to date?”
“No. Nick Chalmers is too old for her.” And just how did her sister know about Nick Chalmers? Had Anna been calling her? Confiding in her?
“How many did you say?” Jamie asked. “What’s the full count?”
“Twenty-four — maybe more.”
“Well, there you are.” Jamie’s tone sounded so convincing, even Rose could see the wisdom. “My nerves would be shot. Have you asked Jo?”
“She’s having her family Christmas Day. Thinks it would be too much to have two big back-to-back meals.”
“Oh yes — it would be hard. Look, I’m really sorry. You know I’d do it if I could. How about I bring two dishes? Would that help?”
Yeah. And bring a vacuum, eight hours of prep work, another couple of hours to wash the Christmas china and polish silverware, a thirty-pound turkey, and . . . Valium. That should cover it.
She sighed.
Rose, Rose. Your Christmas spirit is slipping.
Plummeting, Lord. Plunging. I love my family. Christmas is
special, but I’ve come to dread the extra work.
The realization was like ice water dashed in her face.
Rose remembered the Christmas Eve Jamie had shown up empty-handed, and when asked what she’d brought, she said a big appetite.
“What about Charlene?” Rose threw out the suggestion.
Jamie hooted. “You can’t be serious. Charlene cook Christmas dinner for twenty-four people and get it on the table before New Year’s?”
“No, probably not.” Rose adored her younger brother, Eddy, and his bride of one year was a charming girl, but she had yet to boil a wiener without bloating it. She recalled the time she had offered to share recipes with Charlene. The girl had batted her big brown eyes and looked rather vacant.
“What’s stuffing?”
Good thing for Eddy, the bloom was still on the rose and food was not an issue with the man. He thought anything Charlene said or did was incredibly brilliant, puffy hot dogs included.
“Look, Rose.” Jamie interrupted her thoughts. “I’m sorry, but someone is at the door. I’ll have to call you back.”
A click and Rose was alone, holding the receiver. She sighed. Face it, Rose. You’re going to host Christmas Eve again this year. Her mind skipped to the anticipated evening, the most sacred of the year.
The family would arrive early. Once everyone was assembled, they would eat the traditional turkey and gravy, and then they would troop off to the early Christmas candlelight service
.
Afterwards, the rush home, and then all would move to the living room for Scandinavian traditions — cookies and coffee and then the gift exchange.
Around ten or eleven, the family would track through mounds of discarded wrapping paper and begin filtering out, carrying armloads of gifts and empty casserole dishes. There would be a flurry of Christmas wishes, warm hugs, and gratitude for another successful family get-together.
When the door closed, Rose would set to work in the kitchen restoring order, washing and putting away dishes. The kids would dispose of the mounds of used wrapping paper, and Joey would man the vacuum, a large can of RugDoctor, Windex, and a roll of paper towels. Every year, someone inevitably spilled food on the carpet, usually something ugly and tomato-based and nearly impossible to get out.
Then Eric and Anna would wander off to their rooms, and the televised Christmas mass would be over by the time she and Joey wearily climbed the stairs for bed. Wishing each a merry Christmas, they would drop an exhausted, misplaced kiss on the opposite pillow, and pass out.
Rose couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted this Christmas other than a week of sheer nothing. Stay home, enjoy her family. Be lazy. Maybe not even change out of her bathrobe and fuzzy house slippers.
The phone rang and Rose reached for it, squelching a faint hope that Jamie or Jo had second thoughts. Joey’s voice greeted her. “Hi, what’s going on?”
