Weighting for Christmas Read online

  “Because that’s how we do Christmas.”

  Tradition. End of discussion.

  After everyone is settled, Alan’s bag in the guest room, we all gather downstairs.

  “I’m happy you could join us, Alan,” my Mom says. “I hope you’ll be comfortable in the back bedroom. It sometimes gets a little chilly at night, so I’ve left a couple of extra blankets in the closet for you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be just fine,” Alan replies cheerfully. “I am grateful for the invitation.”

  “Invitation?” I choke. The way Mom put it, we had no choice in the extra body for our family Christmas festivities.

  Grace glares at me with daggers shooting from her pupils that stun me into silence long enough for her to say, “We are very happy to spend tomorrow with you.”

  She sounds so phony in her gooey gushing that I throw up a little in my mouth. Grace is not the gushing type.

  “And having you here,” she continues, “fills up the dining table. Six!” she squeals.

  “Oh. My. God,” I gag.

  Another glare is fired my way but this time from my mother.

  “Are we gonna order dinner, or sing Kumbaya?” I whine, a little too nasally, even for me.

  “Good idea, Kate,” my Dad nods. “Delivery times will be long tonight, though.”

  “I can go and pick it up,” I offer enthusiastically. And then I can stop and get a bottle of vodka from the liquor store. I think I’m going to need it. I don’t say that out loud because, well, you know.

  “Alan can go with you,” Grace suggests.

  “I can drive ...“

  “I’d be happy to,” Alan cuts me off before I have a chance to decline the passenger.

  Fuck! My mother is clapping at the wonderful suggestion. Oh, hell no! I see what this is. I shoot back daggers of my own at Grace, but she isn’t looking at me. In fact, she is looking everywhere else except at me. I might just kill her later tonight. A pillow over her face while she sleeps, or maybe I’ll throw her down the stairs. Umm… maybe not. But she will pay for this.

  *****

  “So what do you do for a living?” Alan asks me as I back out of the driveway.

  He’s not even going to wait until I’m on the road! “I pay people.”

  “Huh?”

  “I do payroll.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m surprised Grace didn’t tell you already.”

  He giggles. Yes, I said giggles. “She kinda did.”

  Fuck! I am so angry right now I can hardly breathe. I say nothing as we drive the half mile to pick up the pizza.

  “Wait here,” I grumble as I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me.

  Will has already paid for the food with his credit card so all I have to do is pick it up and carry it back out to the car. I don’t even get five minutes away from Alan. I place the boxes on the back seat and climb back into the driver’s seat until I see the liquor store at the other end of the strip mall.

  “Wait here,” I grumble again as I get out of the car, slamming the door behind me.

  I return about ten minutes later with a large brown bag that I carefully place on the floor behind my seat. I get back in the car and look at Alan, who is clipping his finger nails… in my car!

  “Oh no you didn’t!” I scream.

  I scare him.

  “You haven’t left your nail clippings on the floor of my car!?”

  “Umm,” he replies.

  I jerk the car into reverse and back out of the parking spot and we drive back to my house in silence. I turn off the car and get both the pizza and my brown bag from the back seat and then yell, “You’d better not come inside until every little piece of your fucking nails have been removed from the floor.” I stomp inside leaving him still sitting in the passenger seat.

  “Where’s Alan?” Grace asks as I burst into the kitchen.

  “Right now I hate you more than I hate Brussel sprouts, and you know how much I despise Brussel sprouts,” I hiss.

  “What the hell?” is her reply.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about. You think that the man outside is the kind of man I deserve? You think that Alan is worthy of me?”

  “He’s a nice guy,” she shrugs. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help! Are his parents even dead?”

  Grace shoots a look at Will and I stomp out of the kitchen, my brown paper bag still in my arms. I can’t believe that they did something this despicable. And Alan? Not if he was the last man on earth!

  In the privacy of my bedroom, I pull out a bottle from the brown bag and unscrew the lid. I don’t like straight liquor. I prefer it mixed with orange juice or ginger beer, but I have none of that in my room, so straight it is. I lift the bottle rim to my lips and swallow. Burning in my throat after just one mouthful makes me stop. I screw the cap back on and throw it on my bed next to the bag.

  I look up to see my reflection in the mirror. Now, granted, I’m no super model, but I’m not ugly. I have big blue eyes with long dark lashes. I consider my eyes my best feature, but the rest of my face is fine. I’m intelligent, with a degree in accounting. I have a great sense of humor and am often the life of the party. And I have mad skills when it comes to crocheting a baby blanket. It’s something I had to learn because many of my friends started having babies. Apparently, it’s the thing to do in your late twenties. I love giving gifts, but I wanted them to mean something, so with the help of Youtube, I learned how to crochet. I have something to offer the world. I have something to offer a man. I won’t settle for anything less than I deserve. Why should I have to?

  There’s a knock on the door. It’s either Mom or Grace, neither of whom I am interested in talking to at this moment, but I tell them to come in anyway.

  “Hi,” Will says meekly. He steps into my room and shuts the door behind him.

  Will is a nice guy, really, even though he married Grace. They were high school sweethearts, blah, blah, blah. You know the story. They’ve been married for five years and are the perfect couple, inasmuch as they remind me of the King and Queen of Hearts in the Alice in Wonderland movie. But whatever, they’re happy so what business is it of mine?

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “I just wanted to say sorry. I knew this wouldn’t end well.” He genuinely looked sorry.

  “Nope. It didn’t.”

  “Grace just wanted to help out, you know?”

  “You should tell her not to if she ever thinks about helping again.”

  “But Alan is a nice guy. He’s…”

  “He trimmed his fingernails in my car.”

  “Ewww.”

  “Exactly!” I say. “If, and when, I date a guy, I will choose him.”

  “That’s fair,” Will nods. “He really clipped his nails?”

  “Yep,” I state emphatically.

  “I’m glad he left then.”

  “He did?” This makes me happy.

  “Yeah. He decided to go to his parents’ house for Christmas.”

  “His dead parents?” I smirk.

  “Yeah. Those parents,” Will laughs. “I really am sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  “What’s that?” He looks at the bottle of vodka on my bed.

  “Want a swig?” I lift the bottle and hand it to him.

  “Yes!”

  I really do like Will.

  “Ready to go downstairs?” he asks as he hands me back the bottle. “Your Mom and Grace are scared to death of you right now. I’m sure that somehow you could use that to your advantage,” he chuckles.

  Yeah. I like Will.

  *****

  Five adults. Three large pizzas. One slice left after we’ve eaten. We know how to eat.

  Next up is the eggnog and decorating of the sugar cookies. Now, this is one of the traditions I still enjoy. Mom bakes up three or four dozen cookies and makes bowls and bowls of icing that we tint with food coloring and put in piping bag
s. We have a massive variety of sprinkles and colored sugars and we go crazy. Even dad has a good time, but I think that maybe it’s because since I was twenty-one I’ve been spiking the eggnog. By the end of the evening he is very happy. We take photos of our artwork before we eat it and then we watch a Christmas movie before it’s time to go to bed.

  I admit that I had a good evening, once Alan was gone, that is. I love my family and I love spending time with them. I love the traditions that we continue and will continue as our family grows.

  Grace has already selected the three cookies that we will leave out for Santa and I have left a bottle of beer. I mean, he’s probably ready for it by the time he gets here. And then, it’s all to bed.

  TWO

  Santa only brings presents to those who believe.

  In our house, it was never about being good or naughty, getting coal in our stockings or candy, it was about believing. We had to believe in order for Santa to leave us presents. From the time Grace and I were little, we believed… and still do, because we want presents. Duh!

  Now, in our house, mom and dad give us the big stuff, like a new bike, or the latest cell phone, or the gaming system we want. Santa brings us smaller stuff like perfume, board games, and Blu-rays. Rolling over in my warm snuggly bed, I crack an eyelid and look at the clock to see it’s after seven o’clock. Time to see what Santa has brought me this year!

  Some people may say it’s a tad ridiculous that a woman in her late twenties still gets presents from Santa, but not me. Hell, why would I want it to stop? I love Christmas morning! Santa leaves my stocking full and brimming over. And everything that won’t fit into it, is stacked in a corner of the sofa in the family room, Grace’s haul in the opposite corner. We fly down the stairs at the crack of dawn and rummage through our stash, eating candy and chocolate that is always included, and my parents stay in bed until eight or so. It’s a brilliant tradition. I highly recommend it to anyone wanting to start Christmas traditions who also enjoy sleeping in. Everyone is happy.

  And this morning is no exception.

  Grace is already sitting on the carpet in front of the sofa, her mountain of presents stacked beside her. She’s obviously been up for a while. As I walk into the family room to get a peek at my pile, Will walks in with two coffee cups. I can see the steam rising and my mouth begins to water.

  “Here,” he grins and hands me his mug after Grace has taken hers. “I’ll get myself another one.”

  “Thanks,” I reply. “Merry Christmas!” After sipping my hot brew a few times, I settle in on the couch and begin itemizing all that lay in and around my stocking. I’ve done well this year, as usual.

  I think, however, that once my parents have grandchildren to dote on, Grace and I will see our gifts diminish significantly. I’m sure the only reason they keep buying for their daughters is because they don’t have anyone else to buy for, but once those babies start arriving, we will probably be forgotten, so I will enjoy it while it lasts.

  “What didya get?” Grace asks as she scoots closer to me.

  “Everything!” I laugh. “Socks, perfume, movies, chocolate, a calendar, kitchen towels, steak knives, and a bunch of other stuff.”

  “Oooh, I love these,” Grace says as she picks up the cheese board set.

  “Cool, huh? It’ll be perfect for my New Year’s party.”

  “You guys are up early,” Dad says as he enters the family room.

  “Morning Dad,” I smile brightly. “Sleep well?”

  “As well as I usually do on Christmas Eve,” he winks.

  I know his secret but I’m not saying a word. I believe!!

  “Is Mom awake?” Grace asks.

  “Yes. She’ll be down in a bit,” Dad replies.

  “So we have to wait to open presents?” she pouts.

  “I don’t think another half hour will kill you,” he chuckles. “Now, who made coffee?”

  “I did,” Will answers.

  “Oh good. Yours I can drink. Your wife’s? Works better as asphalt sealer.” He isn’t joking.

  “Rude!” Grace frowns.

  The happy morning has helped me to forget my scheming sister and the disaster named Alan from last night. I watch her as she sits with Will and laughs and chats with him and Dad. I guess I should give her a break. She says she only wants me to be as happy as she is, and that’s sweet of her, but she needs to let me find it on my own. I don’t need anyone’s help. It will come when it comes, and besides, why can’t I be happy now? Why does my happiness have to rely on a man?

  Mom eventually joins us and we are all in the family room drinking coffee and enjoying a rousing conversation about the island of misfit toys and what makes a toy fall into the category of misfit. We are all laughing and joking and I realize, probably not for the first time, that I am the odd one out. Mom and Dad are together on the loveseat, Grace and Will are cuddling in the corner of the sofa, and I’m sitting on the floor… alone. It’s been this way for years. It’s nothing new, and I’m certainly used to it, but somewhere deep in my core I know that there are moments, like right now, that I wish that there was someone special sitting beside me, holding my hand and kissing me on the cheek every now and then.

  There is a sadness in me that I cannot let anyone see. It is private and mine only. To allow others to see my sadness would only prove that I’m not strong. That can never happen. I am always happy. I smile as Will talks about his hate for clowns and I push everything negative back down where it belongs – in the dark. I reach for the plate of cinnamon rolls that Mom has placed on the coffee table and take one dripping with icing. As I take a bite I feel better and by the second one, I’m actually happy again.

  *****

  The never-ending list of Christmas traditions is not over, not by a long shot. The opening of presents is next and there has always been an order to how this takes place. Mom sits next to the tree and hands out presents one by one and we all watch as they are opened. Next comes the oohs and ahs over said gift and then we move on to the next one. It has been this way since before I can remember, and while it takes significantly longer, the time is well spent. Quite often a particular gift reminds someone of a previous Christmas or a family vacation that we all reminisce about together, or it reminds someone of a funny story and we all have a good laugh before moving on to the next perfectly wrapped present laying under the tree. This morning is no different as Mom settles on an ottoman near the tree and reaches for the closest gift, a large and heavy box that is for Dad. The opening of gifts has begun.

  My father takes immense pride in his garden. The lawn is always perfectly manicured and flower beds and vegetable gardens are weed free. Limbs are trimmed from trees and offending dead flowers are quickly removed and placed in the compost bin. I have never known a blade of grass to be out of place in all my years. He is a perfectionist and he apparently enjoys it.

  As he unwraps the large box my mother has given to him, the joy he feels at seeing his gift is evident in his bright smile. It is some kind of yard machine I assume by the picture of a garden on the box. It might be a chainsaw? I have no idea. I live in an apartment.

  “Oh, it’s fabulous!” he exclaims. “Thank you.” He jumps up and embraces my Mom. He’s happy and that’s all that matters.

  The next present Mom reaches for is a small box addressed to “Mom and Dad” and it’s from Grace and Will.

  “Open it,” Grace encourages her enthusiastically.

  Mom smiles and carefully unwraps the pretty paper. I’m pretty sure she thinks if she’s careful enough she can reuse it! Ugh! The seconds tick by and I’m just about to get up off the floor and rip the box out of her hands to open it myself when she peels off the last piece of tape to reveal a small box. She opens it and pulls out… a bib. A baby’s bib. She holds it up and reads the front – it says I heart Grandma - and immediately bursts into tears.

  Grace has just announced she’s pregnant!

  Well, shit!

  Wait! I am supposed to be thr
illed for them. I am. Really. I’m thrilled. Hey! I’m going to be an aunt. That’s cool. They’re having a baby.

  Mom is crying, sobbing actually. Dad is smiling so hard I think his cheeks are going to crack. Will looks like he is the studliest man alive, and Grace? She is loving all the attention. That was mean. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s having a baby! How cool is that? Does she realize after the baby is born she won’t be the center of attention anymore? Probably didn’t think of that. I’m going to be an aunt. I’m really happy.

  But, shit! My present looks like crap now.

  Opening presents has been placed on hold as Grace fills us in on every second since the baby was conceived. We are hearing about her urinary function, breast soreness, doctor visits and the many prenatal vitamins available for pregnant women. Will is sitting back letting his wife be the center of attention, like that’s any different from any other day, but he is looking pretty pleased with himself. I wonder if he realizes that his contribution to the making of a baby literally took about eight seconds, ten if he was having a good night. His part is done – it’s all Grace’s work now.

  Grace looks happier than I have ever seen her. She really does seem genuinely thrilled at the idea of having a child. I admit to having wondered if she would have a baby. She’s kind of selfish and children supposedly take precedence once they’re born. Maybe she hasn’t thought that far ahead. That’s mean. I should stop thinking and join in the conversation.

  “Hey! You’re gonna get fat!” I blurt. Probably not the right thing to say at this very moment but whatever.

  The expression on Grace’s face is nothing short of terrified. “No!” she stammers. “No. Not me.”

  “Oh!” Mom screeches. “Kate! You should open your present next.”

  “Okay,” shrug.

  Mom hands me a great big box and I tear the paper from it more severely than I normally would, but I’m trying to show Mom how opening a present is really done. For the size of the box, it’s very light. I can’t begin to guess what’s inside. Once I get the top open, however, I see why it’s so light. Sitting at the bottom is an envelope. The rest of the box is completely empty – just one legal sized envelope at the bottom. I’m frowning in confusion as I lift it out of the box and toss the cardboard aside.