16. We Like Things Chipper
We Like Things Chipper
“ S noopy!” I cheered as the giant parade float filled the television screen.
Elara’s grin widened as she stared at the procession, mesmerized by the production. “’Noopy?”
“Right there?” I pointed to the float when the camera panned out again.
We had been hiding in the den for some time, and the Macy’s parade was almost over. Pretty soon, we would have to be with the people again. Back in Oregon, we would be peeling potatoes and snapping green beans right about now.
“Oh, look, Elara!” my mother cheered. “It’s Santa!”
Elara was still figuring out the whole Santa Claus thing. We made every mention exciting enough that she understood the dude in the red suit was a big deal, but for a child who basically had every toy she could want, the Clauses paled in comparison to the powerful Davenport men.
“I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas again,” my mom said. This was her time’s flying speech earmarked for fall. She also had a summer speech and one for when the leaves started to turn in October.
“I miss Christmas in Oregon,” I confessed, thinking of how basic and chintzy our dollar store decorations were. The Davenports did Christmas very differently than my family, and Thanksgiving, and all the holidays, for that matter. It occurred to me that Elara was only exposed to Davenport traditions. “Mom, do you remember Gran’s apple pie recipe?”
“Of course, I do. I made it for the past thirty Thanksgivings, Ray.”
I glanced out the window at the changing trees. The world was awash in radiant hues of red and gold. When I was little, we would go on walks to collect leaves and press them in books or color over the ridged veins with crayon .
“Let’s go for a walk.” Several rows of apple trees grew on the property in a small orchard. “I want to make a Gran’s pie. Elara needs to have traditions from our family, too.”
“Oh, we would need the ingredients, Rayne. I don’t know if stores are open today.”
“We probably have everything here, Mom.” I stood and set Elara on her feet. “Do you want to have an adventure with Mommy and Grandma Penny?”
“Go bye-bye!” She cheered.
It was settled. I asked Marta for a bag, and she gave me a sturdy tote. Once I bundled Elara up in her jacket, I laced up my boots.
Laughter burst from the parlor. The men were getting louder by the hour. My mom led Elara out the back door and I glanced back, deciding not to interrupt or tell anyone what we were doing. They probably wouldn’t even know we were gone.
The estate was beautiful year-round, but in autumn it was radiant. Scarlet maples, golden birches, and amber oaks painted the landscape in fiery hues that contrasted brightly against the clear blue sky. Dry leaves rustled underfoot as the faint scent of chimney smoke drifted through the air.
The orchard was visible from the house, but I’d underestimated the distance. By the time we reached the first apple tree I worried about lugging our harvest back to the kitchen.
“Wow, do you smell that?” my mother asked and Elara scrunched her little nose to sniff the air noisily. The crisp, inviting scent of the apples overtook the earthy aroma of fall.
“Watch your step, Mom.” The ground was littered with scattered apples, but once they were on the ground they usually started to rot.
“They’re a lot taller than I realized,” my mom said, echoing my thoughts.
I looked around and chewed my lip. “Do you think there’s a ladder out here?”
“Rayne, you’re not climbing a ladder in your condition.”
“Mom, I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”
“If Hale sees you up on a ladder, he won’t be happy.”
“Well, Hale’s not here, is he?” I scanned the lines of trees. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t see a ladder. ”
Elara picked up an apple and threw it, then ran down the path.
“Find the apples, Peanut!” Maybe she could do the work since I was already tired. “We have to fill the bag, but only the good ones.”
Once Elara understood the objective, the bag quickly filled. I sorted out the rotten ones and only kept the ones that weren’t bruised.
My mom took the bag when it got heavy. By the time we returned to the main house the men were sloshed. They were still in the parlor, but football played on the television in the den.
“Is this all that guys do on holidays, drink and make noise?” I didn’t know what men did on Thanksgiving because my dad was never around, but I did have higher expectations than the reality.
“They’re just having fun, Ray.”
The kitchen was ripe with savory smells. Hugo diced carrots while Marta stirred a large pot of something spicy on the stove. I cleared a space on the old wooden farm table to work. Elara kneeled on a chair and watched as we peeled and cut the apples, eating slices as we went.
Marta located all the ingredients, and my mom made the cinnamon caramel filling on the stove. I helped Elara dump the dry ingredients into a big bowl to make the dough.
“ Ni?a , you need an apron,” Marta chided when a dust cloud of flour puffed in my face.
I laughed. “That’s okay. It’s only flour.” I held Elara’s hand over an egg and showed her how to crack it against the bowl.
She looked at her hand in horror when a bit of the yoke got on her fingers. I picked the shells out of the batter while she flung the slime off her hand.
“Rayne, there are no eggs in Gran’s recipe.”
“Of course there’s eggs. You used to let me crack them when I was little, Mom.”
“That was for the bread pudding, not the pie.”
“Shit.” I looked down at the broken yoke seeping into the combination of ingredients.
“Shit,” Elara repeated, holding out her hand for me to clean.
I wiped her palm with a tea towel. “Hey, don’t say that word.”
She frowned at the white powder now on her palm. “Shit!”
“Great. Can someone please bring me a spoon? ”
Marta handed me a ladle to scoop out the egg.
“There you are.” Hale appeared in the kitchen then did a double take. “You’re baking?”
“We’re making a pie.”
“Daddy, shit!” Elara held up her hand to her father.
“Whoa!” He stared wide-eyed at his daughter. “Elara, you do not say that word.” He carried her to the sink and rinsed her hand clean.
As soon as he set her down, she said, “Shit!” And ran out of the kitchen yelling profanities.
He looked at me and held out his hands in confusion. “When did that start?”
“Why are you looking at me? You’re the one with the dirty mouth.”
He raised a brow. “Not according to this morning.”
I shot him a look, and he shut up.
Sidestepping Hugo, Marta, and my mother, he rounded the island and stood behind me at the table while I mixed the ingredients. He squeezed my shoulder, massaging gently. “Are you okay? ”
“I’m fine.”
“Rayne.”
I rolled my shoulder, shrugging away his touch.
“Hey, look at me.”
I didn’t want to. I was mad at him for ignoring us all day and my eyes were starting to water for no particular reason. “I need to mix these ingredients.” My vision blurred. It sucked having no control over my reflexes.
He dropped into the chair at my left. “Rayne, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m making a pie and you’re entertaining company in the parlor. Everything’s fine.”
“I’m banning that word.”
“Like you just banned Elara from saying shit? Good luck with that.”
He caught my arm, stilling the whisk. “Penny, Marta, Hugo, can we have a minute?”
The three interlopers quietly left the kitchen and we were alone. I shook my head. “Hale, they’re busy and they have stuff going on.”
He didn’t care. “If you’re upset with me, tell me. I don’t like games.”
I met his stare. “Fine. I’m upset with you. This isn’t how Thanksgiving’s supposed to go, Hale. You’re hanging out with a bunch of strangers and not spending any quality time with us. Holidays are for family. You didn’t even watch the parade with Elara.”
His hand closed around mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Apologizing doesn’t fix it. While you’re having your little flex fest, I’m trying to show Elara what Thanksgiving means. Is this what you want to show her? Thanksgiving means time with Mommy while Daddy’s seducing business deals for the upcoming year?”
He dropped his gaze. “No.”
“Then don’t. Do better.”
“Don’t forget, this is my first time parenting, too, Rayne.”
“Well, it’s Elara’s only time being a kid, Hale. What we show her, matters.” My voice grew tighter the longer I spoke. “I didn’t have a dad present for my holidays, and now they only remind me of my mom and Grandmother. If you want to be a part of her memories, you have to be present.”
“You’re right.”
“I know I’m right. I’m a good mom.” I didn’t mean for my voice to crack but it did.
“Okay, okay. Don’t cry.” He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my head. His hand went to my stomach, cradling my belly. “ You’re right. I need to be there for our children and for you.”
I wiped my nose on my shoulder and sniffled. “You can make it up to me tomorrow morning when we hit all the Black Friday sales at six a.m.”
He drew back in horror. “Excuse me?”
“We’re going shopping.” I wiped my eyes, getting flour on my cheek. “Tomorrow. At six a.m. I need maternity clothes.”
“You want to go shopping on Black Friday?”
“Yes. Early.” I kissed his nose, making sure to get a little flour on his cheek as well. “So don’t drink too much at your bro-orgy .”
He groaned and stood. “The things I do for love.” He pulled a floral apron off the peg in the pantry and tied the ruffled bow at his back. “Let’s do this.”
“Wait, what?”
“We’re making a pie.” He peeked into the sauce pans on the stove. “I’m guessing this is us?”
“What about your company?”
“You asked me to be present. I’m present. Let’s bake this pie.” He looked toward the door. “Elara!”
She came running into the kitchen dragging her baby doll by the ankle and whacking its plastic head on the floor. “Daddy!” She laughed at the sight of him in the apron. “That’s Marta’s pray-prin.”
Hale scooped her up and sat her on the island. “It’s mine now.” He handed her a wooden spoon. “Hold this.”
I called the others back into the kitchen and waved Hale out of their way. Only Marta and my mother returned. Once I showed him how to fold the ingredients, he helped Elara work the dough.
Remington appeared. “What the hell’s going on? I have a chef claiming he can’t work in these conditions.” He did a double take at his son in the apron. “What the hell are you wearing, Hale? Or is it Hazel?”
“Hugo can come back in, Remington. Hale and I just needed a minute.”
“To do what? Hale, you’re in the middle of a blackjack tournament.”
“Deal me out. I’ve moved on to pie.” Hale snagged a spatula from the drawer, determined not to touch the dough with his hands.
Remington scowled as my mother nudged him out of the way. She carried a tray of ice water, shortening, and cubed butter to the table.
“Remington, I’m going to tell you what I used to tell my Rayne when she was little. If you’re not going to help, get out of the kitchen.”
I hid a laugh as Remington’s face darkened. No one had the balls to dismiss Remington Davenport—except for Penny Meyers apparently.
“This is my damn kitchen.”
“And it’s damn full right now, Remington.” My mother steered him toward the door. “Go play with your friends, and we’ll call you when supper’s ready.”
“And send Hugo back in,” I yelled as the housemaster was driven into the hall, efficiently exiled from his own kitchen.
Hale and Marta chuckled. As we worked, my mother hummed a familiar tune. Once Hugo returned, she started to sing, “ From now on, our troubles will be miles away…”
I chimed in, “Here we are…”
Hale took over with a deep baritone, “ As in olden days...”
I smiled up at him as I folded the dough. “ Happy golden days… ”
We looked expectantly at Hugo, who scowled. “I do not sing.”
“That just won’t work, Hugo,” my mother chirped, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “I have an app that shows the lyrics.” She propped her phone in front of the grumpy Belgian chef and hit play. “Singing always makes the food taste better.”
The recognizable beat of Jingle Bell Rock played from her phone and she pointed to the lyrics on the screen. “See here? Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle rock. Go on. You try.”
You had to give my mother credit. The woman didn’t relent until Hugo finally read the words in the most monotone voice ever. “ What a bright time, it is the right time.”
Penny and Marta cheered.
“She’s persistent,” Hale whispered and I smirked.
I lifted the pie crust dough and kneaded it between my hands. “Us Meyers like to keep things chipper. We’ve never met a grump we couldn’t break.”
“That’s partially true.” He kissed my temple.
“Why only partially?”
“You’re a Davenport now.”
“Ah, yes.” I grinned. “And you were once a grump. My record is impeccable.”
We sang and danced as we rolled out the dough. Elara giggled and jiggled to the beat. This was what I wanted. I wanted simplicity and chaos. I wanted family time and the stuff of memories.
And damn it, there went the tears again! I blotted my eyes and Hale looked at me with concern. “What is it?”
“I’m just…feeling grateful.” Rising on my toes, I kissed his jaw. “Thank you. This is exactly what Thanksgiving should be.”
Hale smiled, nodding his understanding. “Thank you for teaching me how to Thanksgiving.”
Only then did it occur to me that his mother and sister were nowhere around. Sometimes I forgot how little Hale knew about ordinary things. I gave him a shoulder bump because my hands were full of dough. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you about sales and holiday retail. That’s part of Christmasing 101.”
He groaned. “Can’t wait.”