Chapter 30
Bellini
At ten o’clock in the morning, Logan called me when I was playing Scrabble with my mom. She was smoking me off the board. It had snowed the night before, but the sky was now a bright blue, the sun rising above the Swan Mountains like a golden ball.
“I’ve been invited to your family’s snowwoman contest,” he said after a pleasant little chat that I kept G-rated on my end because my mother was sitting across from me, trying not to smile like a Cheshire cat who had had too much wine.
“You have?”
“Yes. Ruby invited me. Madison did, too. Helena, Jaxi, and Beck also extended an invitation.”
“What did you say?”
“I told them, ‘Thanks very much,’ and that I would talk to you.”
“You didn’t say yes?”
“No, of course not. I am not going to intrude on the O’Donnell snowwoman contest unless you want me there, Bellini. That would be odd and badly mannered and…against the laws of the elves.”
“I want you there.”
My mom almost cackled. Then she put the word passion on the Scrabble board. How did she do that? Did she cheat?
“Bellini, if you want me there, I will be there.”
“Yes, I do. Remember that snowwoman we made with the red hat and red bra?”
“And the snowwoman who was supposed to be a scarecrow?”
“We did that fun robot snowwoman, too.”
“And the snowwoman elf… That was a hit.”
We discussed our snowwoman strategy, because this was serious business, then I said, “I have to go. My mom’s smearing me in Scrabble. I have to fight back with all my might so as not to embarrass myself.”
“Okay, sweetheart. See you later.”
That word. Sweetheart. It sent tingles up and down my spine. He’d whispered that word in my ear recently during a particularly thrilling moment in bed. “See you later, Logan.”
After I put the word cats on the Scrabble board, which my four cats seemed to appreciate, as they were on top of and under the table, meowing, my mom spelled the word Santas.
I am not kidding.
“How do you do this?” I said in an accusatory tone.
She shrugged. “Scrabble likes me better. Plus…” She pointed to the angel at the top of our Christmas tree. “I have angel luck.”
I sighed.
The snowwoman contest was held at my aunt Tessa’s house. She lives up a small mountain, so she had extra snow. Aunt Tessa’s place was mobbed, as usual. Seven sisters and their families and close friends congregated in front of a long and wide log cabin with a wraparound porch.
“All right, everyone,” Aunt Tessa yelled through—you guessed it—a bullhorn.
“You’re in teams. Make the most creative snowwoman you can.
You have one hour. We have five family members who are the judges.
Their votes are private. There will be no bribing of judges.
I’m lookin’ at you, Kat. We all know what you did last year. ”
Kat pretended to frown, then she said, “There were no legal documents that we had to sign here stipulating that we wouldn’t bribe the judges.” She is an attorney, so this comment was not exactly unexpected.
“There will be no promises of special pies or cakes either,” Aunt Tessa said. “I’m lookin’ at you, Dell. Yes, you. Don’t put on that innocent expression. You know what you did last year.”
Uncle Dell insisted he had been “falsely accused” and “perhaps framed,” but we knew better. He is a chef, and everyone in the family loves his cakes and pies.
“And especially no bribing of the children! That would be you, Uncle Tad.” Aunt Tessa pointed at my great-uncle Tad, white-haired and smiling sweetly. “You can’t bribe the judges even if they’re your children or grandchildren.”
People called out Uncle Tad’s name, and he rocked back on his heels and croaked out, “A small error in judgment. A small one.”
“Finally, the judges’ decisions are final. No arguing!” Aunt Tessa said. “Good luck to everyone. One more thing—a special welcome to Logan!”
Everyone cheered. I did, too. He looked especially delicious in his black ski jacket and black hat and black gloves. He waved. My family members hooted his name.
“All righty, O’Donnells, let’s have a pleasant and peaceful competition with no corruption of the judges. Ready, set, go!” Aunt Tessa yelled.
Logan and I darted off to start pushing snow into huge snowballs for our snowwoman, but first he pulled me close to give me a kiss and hug.
“I see that!” Uncle Tad yelled.
“I see it, too!” Dell yelled. “Whoop!”
“Whoop, whoop!” Jaxi yelled.
Then we all got to work. We take our snowwomen contest seriously.
Sort of.
Now and then.
Our snowwoman was complete in an hour, and Logan and I were covered in snow, as we’d stopped to have a snowball fight with the rest of my family. She was crooked, leaning, tipping. I didn’t think she’d make it, but then Logan pushed against her middle section and righted her.
Our theme was Valentine’s. As in, she’s a Valentine Christmas snowwoman.
She was dressed in a huge, fancy red hat, a red sparkly scarf, with red heart eyes made from wrapped chocolate candy.
A carrot nose with a red plastic heart at the end of it and tiny shiny plastic red hearts strung all over her body tied everything together.
Logan had brought a red heart balloon, which he attached to her stick arm.
We lost. My cousin Teffie won, along with his seven-year-old twins.
Their snowwoman had a sword, a black jaunty hat, and a black patch over her eye.
She was clearly a lady pirate. She looked evil.
Uncle Shoh protested that “evil pirates shouldn’t win Christmas snowwomen contests,” but he was voted down.
Logan and I hugged our Valentine snowwoman, me on one side, him on the other. Madison snapped a photo and sent it to me. We looked so happy.
We had a family potluck and sang funny Christmas carols at Aunt Tessa’s house, the fire roaring, the Christmas lights glowing, and Aunt Tessa’s pig, Zelda, oinking.
Logan has a nice, deep voice. I made him sing me Christmas songs in bed that night.
The T and A show was coming together. I continued to remind people that the T meant tinsel and the A was for All I Want for Christmas Is Santa, but they laughed at me and said, “Sure, Bellini. Sure.”
My mother would be the emcee. We would have a “throne” up front so she could sit the whole time and rest. She was still weak and tired easily, but she refused to miss the show.
I bought a huge red velvet chair at a used furniture shop downtown.
What a stroke of amazing luck to find a throne when I needed it.
The tickets were sold out. There were only so many people we could stuff into Logan’s offices, though it was a huge space. The potluck, headed up by my cousin Jaxi, had people signed up to bring various dishes. Lady Whiskey’s would provide the hamburgers and alcohol.
“I’m making a few adjustments to your costume, Bellini, and I’ll get it to you soon,” Stacy called out across the bar that afternoon.
She was wearing a black leather vest over a deep-V black shirt and a black leather short skirt and red tights with elves.
She likes “Christmas fashion that I can turn upside down.”
“I talked to your mother, and we decided what to do,” she said, getting a platter of drinks ready.
“You talked to my mother?”
“Yes. Of course. I had to get her input.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” Shoot. Where was this going? What had my mother said?
“About what?”
“About my costume?”
“Why would I do that?” Stacy seemed bewildered. “Your mom and I chose it for you, and so I called her to talk about how the adjustments should look. She knew the answers. You wouldn’t.”
“Well, that’s true.” I thought of my mother. I thought of how Stacy dressed. This was not going well.
“I know.” She sounded slightly irritated. I read her expression. She clearly didn’t understand why I was asking her why she didn’t talk to me about the costume when my mother was in charge of it. “It’ll be ready.”
“Thanks so much, Stacy.”
“I’m excited to see your dance with Logan. He’s a handsome guy.” She winked at me. “Trust me. That handsome guy is going to like your Tits and Ass Christmas burlesque costume.”
“I’m…sure. But it’s going to be…appropriate, right? I want my tits and my ass in the right places.”
“What do you mean by ‘appropriate’?”
“I don’t want to…you know.” Downhill. This conversation was going downhill.
“No, I don’t.”
“I don’t want my boobs falling out of my outfit. I want my butt to be covered.”
“You can show a little boob, Bellini.” She put her hands on her hips, defiant. “You should, too. You need to bring out the seductive womanly goddess inside of you.”
“No. No womanly goddess at the Christmas show.” I felt myself pale.
“You’re dancing. I talked to my aunt. She told me about what you’re doing with Logan—rolling over his back and shooting through his legs—and this costume will be perfect.
And it’ll be appropriate.” She said something else as she walked away, about me being a “little prudish” and how the black push-up bodice and cleavage and ruffles would make me look less “uptight.”
“What did you say?” I asked, quite alarmed.
“Don’t worry, Bellini,” she called as she headed out to the floor, drinks held high, her skirt barely covering her butt. “It’ll be done right. Your mom and I know what we’re doing. You’ll wear it. You’ll like it. Your boobs won’t fall out. Everything’s cool.”
Cool.
This was not gonna be cool.
Logan and I broke up long ago because of his father.
Logan didn’t know that. I couldn’t tell him.
“You’re going to hold him back, Bellini,” Drake drawled, his eyes narrowed.
Instantly, I froze, stunned at Drake’s words.
Logan was out in the field, on a clear blue day, driving a tractor. I had driven out to visit him. It was summer, and we were going to the lake with our friends and my cousins. We had a week before we both left for college, so we were trying to have as much fun as possible.