36. Who Wins?
36
Who Wins?
Right as I crossed the threshold to my house, Mom beamed at me and said, “Oh, you came home,” like she’d won against me and Harvey or something. There wasn’t a competition, though. I was still doing what was best for me.
She patted the worn couch cushion next to her. “Come, sit. Public access is playing holiday movies for the whole week.”
“No. I’m tired, remember?" That was the point of asking about a sleepover. "Plus, I have work tomorrow, so I shouldn’t stay up late.” I took off my shoes and shuffled to my room.
Mom followed me. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Maybe.” I ran my hand through my hair, smiling at my bright bouquet and the thought of Harvey. Wait a second. Hadn’t it been sitting on the other side of my desk? “You moved them," I said.
She raised her chin. “Moved what?”
“My flowers." I crossed my arms.
She dusted some eyeshadow dust from my desk into the palm of her hand. “I was tidying.”
Then why would the desk still have makeup on it? “Stop touching my things," I said.
“It was messy. Look, all this powder.” She flexed her glittering fingers at me.
I gestured to my makeup case. “I happen to love sparkles. Why can’t they be in my room? It’s not like glitter attracts ants.”
She frowned and gestured to my desk. “You need a clear space to do homework, apply for jobs–”
“I’m not in school anymore. And I’m working on the job thing. Somebody already wants me for a party.” I rummaged around in my drawers to make sure I still had Harvey’s stocking, the one I’d cut the bells off of to tie them to my boots. It was part of my grand Christmas gift plan.
Mom shook her head and gripped the back of my desk chair. “This party-character idea won’t pay enough, Shelby. Why don’t you try teaching? Or daycare? You’ll still enjoy children, but with steady pay. You’ll be involved in education. There’s also less cake, so you won’t get fat or sugar crash. No silly costumes necessary.”
I wiggled the toes of my peppermint stockings at her. “My ‘silly costumes’ are empowering. They give me energy.”
“It’s fine as a hobby," she said.
I rolled my eyes and closed the drawer with my hip. “What if it could give me stability? Why can’t I try to use that stupid business degree and do something that actually makes me happy?”
“Because classes start up again in January. If you don’t apply by–”
“Mom.” I rubbed my face. Why wasn’t she hearing me? What else could I do? Tears pricked the back of my eyes.
She rubbed circles on my back. “I can help. Would you like me to make you some tea?”
“No thanks.” It was so much easier to handle stress as a mall elf, solving problems and keeping people happy on behalf of Santa. Sugarplum was a bright, wise, ageless being. Mom saw me as old enough to take care of everybody except myself, a naive, stubborn teen in need of guidance and growing up. “I wish you could’ve seen me at work," I said, defeated.
Mom stilled. “I do too.”
Maybe we could fix that. I pushed my hair back. “There’s still time."
She widened her eyes and backed up. “You want me to come by? But the cousins have already seen you. We’re also working overtime for the holidays. People want to make a good impression on their families and guests.”
“I get it,” I said.
She didn’t have a good enough reason to try again.
I reached for my comfiest pajamas. “Well, I’m off to bed.”
“Yes, yes…” She patted my back and walked to the door, then turned around. “Shelby? I’ll see what I can do.”
I smiled and hugged my pajamas. “Okay.”
This was a season for miracles. It wouldn’t hurt to hope for a few things, like my mom finally recognizing I could make myself happy.
***
The next day, I woke up to the sound of a wet smack followed by a scrape. Mom was mopping the entryway.
I shuffled over in my Santa-stocking-inspired slipper socks and rubbed my eyes. Everything smelled like lemons and bleach instead of cookies. “How long have you been cleaning?”
She studiously worked along the lines of our flooring. “Not long. Just getting rid of the salt buildup here.”
It probably reminded her of glitter. Her obsession with cleanliness was part of why we never had a tree that could drop nettles, real or synthetic. No clutter in the basement with a box for an artificial tree or ornaments, either. At least we had waffles.
I grabbed the last one and put on the kettle. “I’m making tea, do you want any?”
“Yes, please.” She turned on the television in the other room for background noise.
Ugh, it was the news. Way too depressing.
“Didn’t you say public access had holiday movies going?” I called.
“Yes. Let me see. Oh, it’s one of the black and white ones," she cheered.
I carried our mugs out on a tray and nodded at the TV. “It’s rare I get to watch any of these. Want to join me?”
Her eyebrows arched in perfect crescent moons. “Y-yes. Let me…” She rested the mop against an empty corner, keeping her hand up at it as she walked away to command it not to move. It probably worked better on inanimate objects than kids, although I remember she used to try it on me. She stopped somewhere around the time I turned thirteen. Maybe she could change the way she treated me. I had to do some changing too.
Mom sat at the edge of the cushion and rested her hands on her knees. “I like old movies.”
“Me too.” Although my go-to films often had a lot more animation and singing. “What are some of your favorites?”
Mom smiled and eased back on the couch with her cup of tea. “There are so many. We used to watch them as a family. Every Wednesday at the library, they continued some kind of classics series. Your Aunt April had the biggest crush on Carey.”
“You mean Cary Grant?” I covered my mouth so I didn’t spill any tea from grinning. The first-name use of the actor’s name and her wistful smile implied she shared the infatuation. “He was pretty dreamy.”
Nodding, she gazed at the TV, though I wasn’t sure she was really seeing what was onscreen. “Tall, dark, and handsome. Smart. Very classy.”
“Just the way I like ‘em.” I blew on my tea and winked.
Mom widened her eyes. “Is Harvey…? Mm, never mind.” She sipped her tea.
“Yes, he’s all those things.” I grinned and sat cross-legged. “Maybe he’s a little less ‘classically’ charming than Cary, but he’s also a lot sweeter, I think.”
She nodded firmly. “Good.”
Good!
Hey, she approved of something. Or at least somewhat respected the assessment of the guy I was dating. I smiled to myself and kept watching the movie. The protagonist visited a sick child, and without thinking, I said, “I wish the mall would let us keep the outfits. Not just for parties. I could probably use it to visit children’s hospitals or something. That’s what some of our Santas do with their own suits.”
Mom nodded slowly and sipped her tea, her gaze darting to the closed blinds before training back on the TV. “That would be interesting.”
Was that code for 'weird?'
I guessed it didn’t matter, because the outfit was going back within a week of my final shift, packed away along with all the other Christmas decorations.
At least I’d still have the poinsettias Harvey got me. In lieu of smelling his delicious bread at the shop every day, I’d have to invest in some cinnamon tea. Hopefully, I could afford to get little reminders of our adventures this season to keep me sustained on magical memories.
I texted Harvey, “Good morning” with a bunch of kisses, sunshine, and heart emojis.
He texted back, “It’s only good because I get to see you later.”
I grinned, hugging my phone and a pillow. Love made the tiniest gestures more extraordinary. No matter what happened to Sugarplum, I knew I’d be okay as Shelby.