Chapter Twenty-One
Every time a bell rings, a matchmaker gets his wings
Beau
So many Christmas songs are getting butchered by my family tonight, we may as well open a meat market.
If Janey and her husband Walter s off-key sultry version of Baby, It s Cold Outside wasn t scarring enough, Mom is forever ruining Santa Baby by singing to Dad while he sits in his recliner wearing a Santa hat.
Oh, please make it stop, Nana says when Mom gives a little shimmy before plopping down on Dad s lap and making the legs of the recliner spring forward.
Get em, Aunt Cecilia! Ow-Oww! Janey shouts.
I might need therapy after this, I say to Ivy, who s sitting behind my right shoulder on the couch while I sit on the floor playing with Pinky Collar.
Our turn, Bo-Bo. Soon as the song ends, Mia, Janey s four-year-old daughter, jumps onto my lap and holds my face between her little hands so I m peering straight into her brown eyes. Let s sing about hot chocolate, she whispers.
Okay, I whisper back. Seems appropriate considering she s wearing a marshmallowy hot chocolate mustache.
I sing too, says Janey s other little girl, Felicity. She s two and every bit as adorable as Mia. Pretty sure there s not a song in the world I wouldn t sing for these two girls.
Which is why I m soon on my knees with a microphone singing the lyrics to Hot Chocolate from The Polar Express while Mia and Felicity both jump up and down, yelling Hot Chocolate in no particular rhythm as Pinky and Hamish bark and leap around us.
I catch Ivy trying to smother her giggles and shoot her a wink. She better not think she s getting out of any performances tonight.
When the song ends to resounding applause, my mom stands and yells, Who s ready for popcorn and ice cream?
The girls immediately cheer, but I hold up my hands. Hold it. We ve still got one more song to go. Not everyone has performed yet.
Ivy is already shaking her head. Trust me, you don t want to hear me sing.
I didn t want to hear them either, says Nana, pointing at my parents, but that sure didn t stop them.
You don t have to do a solo, says Janey. I m sure Beau will sing with you. Duet, duet, she starts chanting. Or maybe she s chanting Do it, do it. Doesn t matter. If there s one thing about my family, it s that they re all quick to join in on a chant whether they know what they re saying or not.
Lifting her palms in surrender, Ivy climbs off the couch. Fine. But only because you guys have been wonderful letting me stay here as a guest when I wasn t actually supposed to be here.
Oh, honey, says Mom. You re way past guest status. You re one of us whether you like it or not. We re just glad we get to keep you for another entire week.
Ivy s holding the karaoke microphone now, so her words are amplified when she says, Not another week. My friend Lucy needs me to get down to Nashville. Sorry.
My stomach drops. There s a lot of What? No. How come? comments from everyone in the living room. How soon? I ask Ivy.
She s still speaking into the microphone. The twenty-sixth.
The twenty-sixth? Nana s voice is louder than if she were holding the microphone. That s just a few days away. Who s the friend? Let me talk to her.
Stand down, Nana. You can t harass Ivy s friends, I tell her.
She certainly can, says Mom. The whole reason Lucy sent Ivy here in the first place was so she could get to know her future in-laws. Lucy can t just snatch her away.
Mom does make a good point, I say to Ivy.
Ivy s cheeks flush a little pink as she hands me the microphone. Maybe it s a good thing I am getting out of here a little early.
It s not a good thing. It s a terrible thing. But I try smiling back at her anyway.
I wasn t going to bring this up until later, says Janey, waddling more than usual as she ambles up to Ivy. Walter and I have been talking, and we want you and Beau to raise our girls if we don t make it through this next delivery.
Why wouldn t Walter make it through your delivery? Dad asks.
Shh. Janey bats a hand at Dad before dragging Ivy over to me, so she can join our hands together. We really want our children to grow up with both a mother and a father, so we d both feel a lot better going into this labor knowing you two were at least engaged.
Her face scrunches up as she holds her belly. Better do it fast. I think this one s coming early.
Hold on a second, says Dad. Let me grab the popcorn. This is turning into quite the show.
Do you want Beau and Ivy to be your special auntie and uncle? Mom says to Mia and Felicity, who are already jumping up and down and clapping. Pretty sure that s just because they heard the word popcorn again in addition to their current hot chocolate buzz.
Hurry up and get engaged, you two, says Janey. My water s about to break any second.
The signature wah-wah guitar opening to Marvin Gaye s Let s Get It On starts playing from the karaoke machine. Walter is smirking as he hands me the microphone. Beau, is there something you need to ask Ivy?
Oh my goodness, you guys are unstoppable. Ivy tugs her hand free so she can cover her face, which is redder than the Santa hat Dad s still wearing.
Ivy, my love—
Stop. She peeks out from behind her hands.
I don t stop. I lower down to one knee, holding the mic in one hand, grabbing back one of her hands with the other. For the sake of my soon-to-be-orphaned nieces, will you marry me so we can get it on for the rest of our lives?
Can we just sing Silver Bells and eat popcorn? Ivy says when I lift the microphone to her mouth.
Sounds like a yes to me, shouts Mom.
Dad raises his hands. Okay, everybody calm down. Cut the music. Good grief. Poor girl s probably traumatized. Come with me, Ivy. I ll save you.
Wrapping an arm around Ivy s shoulders, Dad leads her toward the kitchen. The only thing you need to say yes to right now is popcorn and ice cream. Oh shoot, where s my glasses? Must ve left them in the other room. Wait here. Beau, help Ivy get some bowls down, will you?
I m no sooner standing next to Ivy in the kitchen doorway when I hear my dad say, Uh-oh.
Ivy and I both turn to see what the uh-oh is about. Did he sit on his glasses or something? But he s wearing them and looking at us with a serious expression. You re both standing beneath the bell.
The bell? I glance at the bell that s dangling next to my ear. My parents have always hung bells on red ribbons in each of the doorways. I ve hit my head on at least two of them just today. Hate these bells. Yeah?
You know what the bell means, Dad says, giving my mom a meaningful look.
What s the bell—oh, yes. The bell. I do. Her eyes light up and she starts nodding her head. We all do, don t we, Nana?
Absolutely. Everybody knows about the bells, Nana says without missing a beat.
Known about the bell since I was a baby, says Janey.
You don t ever go against the bell, says Walter.
Now everyone s talking at once.
Tradition.
Been around for centuries.
Never disappoint the bell.
Bells are made for kissing, says Nana. That s all there is to it.
Ah. So in this family the bell is like mistletoe? says Ivy, one of her brows lifting. How convenient.
Only I d say it s more like a make-out bell, says Janey.
A matrimonial bell, adds Mom.
A Marvin Gaye bell, says Walter as Let s Get It On starts playing up again from the karaoke machine.
I never should have straightened out that misunderstanding about you having a stroke, mutters Ivy, ducking into the kitchen.
Hey, did you hear that, guys? She finally admits to saving my life. I tap the bell into another jingle. I love these bells.