Chapter 43 #2
“Definitely. Knowing my mom, she probably packed enough to feed a family of eight for a week. It will actually be a relief to know it’s not going to go to waste,” Emily said, pulling keys out of her pocket.
We walked down the hall together in silence and stepped out into the cold air.
“How are you doing so far?” Emily asked, reaching out for my hand as the front door slammed behind us.
“Surprisingly well.” I smiled at her. “It’s definitely a bit odd, seeing Jake and Kelsey together. But it’s a lot less upsetting than I’d expected. When Kelsey pulled me aside, she apologized and offered to leave if it would make me feel more comfortable, which I appreciated.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“And there’ve been lots of reminders of Bowie, but mainly good ones.
Dad once dropped the turkey while pulling it out of the oven to check if it was cooked and Bowie pounced on it.
Dad managed to wrestle it off him before he took a bite and then washed the turkey and put it back in the oven.
That washed off all the seasoning and turned the skin soggy.
” I grimaced. “Needless to say, it wasn’t particularly appetizing when it was done, and I fed most of my serving to Bowie under the table. ”
The memory of Bowie’s soft, smooth tongue licking my fingers sent an ache to my heart. But it was a softer ache. My boy had had a good life and been loved to the very end.
“Oh my god! That sounds terrible.” Emily laughed. “I wish I could have met Bowie.”
“I could show you a few photos after dinner. And Dad loves telling stories about him too.”
“I’d love to see some photos,” Emily said, squeezing my hand.
We reached the van. I stopped and tugged at Emily’s hand, drawing her closer to me. “Having you here with me means so much. Thank you for coming. I know you’re missing out on time with your family and dish-soap-free turkey, so I appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Emily said, gazing at me. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I leaned in and kissed her, closing my eyes as her soft, warm lips pressed against mine. Her mouth parted, and I deepened the kiss, wrapping my arms around her waist and walking her a few steps back so she was up against the van, in between a Christmas wreath and a gold star.
“Can we skip dinner and just make out instead?” I murmured.
Emily laughed. “No. I don’t want to make a terrible first impression on your family. As enjoyable as this is, we should probably head back before they send out a search party.”
I sighed, reluctantly disentangling myself from Emily. We walked to the back of the van and opened it, heaving out the two cooler bags of food.
“Yikes, this is heavy,” I said, holding one of the bags with both hands.
“Let’s get them inside before our arms fall off.”
When we got back, Dad was taking a tray of green bean casserole out of the oven and Mom and Jake were carrying plates of food out to the dining room table, where Kelsey had taken a seat.
“Is this what I think it is?” I asked, pulling out a heavy glass baking dish with foil on it from one of the bags
I pulled off the foil.
Lasagna.
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “I feel like your parents wouldn’t approve, but I’ll put it in the microwave to save time.”
Thankfully, it just fit. I turned on the microwave before going back to the bags of food.
There was an assortment of other goodies, from meatballs and octopus salad to cannoli and crisp biscotti. We pulled out the salad and the sweets.
“Let’s do the crackers while the lasagna is heating up,” Mom said.
We took our seats at the dining table, covered in a green tablecloth and place settings, a colorful Christmas cracker above each plate.
“Will you do the honor?” I asked, holding out my cracker to Emily.
“Of course. But what is it?” Emily stared at the cracker.
“It’s a Christmas cracker. Mom’s parents immigrated from the UK in the 1950s and this is one of the British traditions she’s kept. There are little gifts inside.”
“Oh, cute! So what do I do?”
“You hold it firmly at one end, like this.” I demonstrated with my end. “And then we both pull. On the count of three. One, two, three!”
The cracker broke in half with a loud bang.
A folded red tissue paper hat, a piece of paper, and a green plastic whistle fell onto my thighs. I unfolded the hat and placed it on my head, then looked at the piece of paper.
“What do you call a deer with no eyes?”
Emily frowned. “Huh?”
“Each cracker comes with a joke.”
Emily laughed. “Oh, okay. Um, a blind-der? No, that’s terrible. I have no idea. What?”
I chuckled. “You actually said it. It was ‘no eye-deer.’ No idea!”
Emily groaned. “That’s terrible.”
“It’s meant to be. It’s the Christmas cracker tradition. The toys generally are as well.”
I blew the whistle. It let out an ear-piercing screech.
“That’s even worse,” Emily yelped, covering her ears.
I placed the whistle down on the table.
Emily picked up her cracker and held it out to me. “My turn now!”
We yanked the Christmas cracker, and it popped again, the contents falling to the floor near my feet. I bent down, retrieving a green paper hat, her joke and a plastic, very fake-looking, diamond ring. I handed them to Emily.
“Good thing that lady from the ice-skating rink wasn’t here to witness that, or she might think you were proposing again.”
I laughed. Maybe next year? The thought took me by surprise.
But we would be together a year by then, which wouldn’t be completely rushing it.
And it would be a lovely Christmas memory to override some of my not-so-good ones.
Where could I do it? If we drove back from Emily’s parents’ house after dinner—it was only fair that we’d take turns spending Christmas with each other’s families—perhaps I could do it behind the cabin, in the clearing surrounded by trees, where I usually chopped wood.
I gave myself a mental shake. I was getting way too far ahead of myself.
Emily was now wearing her green paper hat, which looked rather adorable, and was reading her joke, the plastic ring on her ring finger.
“Oh, this one is perfect for you.” Emily grinned. “Why are Christmas trees bad at knitting?”
She stared at me expectantly.
“Because they…fir-get how to do it?”
Emily laughed. “Not a bad try, but no. They drop their needles.”
I shook my head, laughing. “Also terrible.”
On the other side of the table, Jake, in a yellow paper hat, read out his joke.
“What did the beaver say to the Christmas tree?”
He looked around the table. We all shrugged.
“It’s been nice gnawing you!” Jake said.
I groaned. “That one hits a little close to home.”
“Could it be a beaver?” Emily asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“You’ve got a problem with beavers?” Jake asked, leaning forward.
“Something is eating our fir trees, but I don’t think it’s a beaver because there’s no water nearby.”
Jake nodded. “They usually stay within about a hundred feet of water.”
“If you send me a photo of the marks on the tree, I can see if I can figure it out,” Dad added.
“Thanks, Dad.” It was nice, talking to my family about farming challenges.
It felt just like old times. After I’d left, I’d shied away from speaking to my parents about farming, unable to shake the feeling that I’d hurt them by leaving their farm and not wanting to hear anything that could relate to Jake.
But there didn’t seem to be any obvious resentment on their part.
The microwave beeped. “The lasagna’s ready.”
I ducked into the kitchen and pulled out the steaming-hot tray of lasagna. My mouth watered as I headed back to the dining table and placed the tray on a wood trivet.
Emily and Kelsey were laughing as I sat down.
“You missed another terrible beaver joke,” Emily said.
“It was probably for the best.” Kelsey dabbed her eyes with a paper napkin.
I raised my eyebrows. It was great my ex and my new girlfriend were getting on, but bad beaver jokes was taking it a little far.
“I don’t want to know.”
“Everyone, please help yourselves,” Mom announced, passing Emily a serving spatula.
Silence fell as we piled our plates with food, broken by exclamations as, one by one, my family members tried the lasagna.
As we ate, we chatted about Jake and Kelsey’s building plans—they’d had designs drawn up to build a house on the farm, and were currently seeking quotes—then on to the battles my parents and Jake had been having with an infestation of stink bugs and Emily’s experience filming The Christmas Tree Farm.
“We should watch it tonight,” Mom said.
Should I let her know about my cameo as Grumpy Waitress? I grinned. No. That could be a nice surprise.
“This green bean casserole is delicious,” I announced instead, smiling at my parents in their blue and purple paper hats and then looking around the table, at Jake, Kelsey and Emily.
While it was smaller and quieter than Emily’s family gatherings, the love was still there.
I’d missed this. I had no regrets about not trying earlier—I wouldn’t have been ready. But now, with Emily by my side and three years under the bridge, it was good to be home, celebrating Christmas as a family.
I squeezed Emily’s hand under the table and shoveled another forkful of lasagna into my mouth.