48. The One?
The one?
His dad can”t mean that. Or maybe it means something different in Canada. Maybe Brant didn”t overhear what his dad said. I look at Brant. He”s sitting beside me in the van”s backseat. Chloe is on his other side. And that little brat is holding his hand. I lean forward to glare at her, trying to raise an eyebrow as I motion down to their joined hands. She just shrugs and sneers, and I”m pretty sure she would stick her tongue out at me if Tracy didn”t turn around in her seat right then.
”Did Brant tell you girls about our Christmas traditions?”
”Do you still want to do that?” Brant asks. ”I thought maybe you and Dad would want to just spend the time getting to know Lily and Chloe, since it”s their first Christmas with us.”
Before I can catch my thoughts, my heart beats just a little faster when Brant says it”s our first Christmas with them, as if he expects there to be more. It”s one word, I tell myself. It doesn”t mean anything. One.
”What better way to get to know each other?”
Brant acts like he doesn”t care, but he”s clearly excited for whatever it is. ”Sure, but maybe we could get takeout instead of cooking dinner? I”d kill for a Nova pizza. Please?”
”Absolutely not.” His mother sounds offended that he would even suggest such a thing. I smile at this glimpse of a Brant I”ve never seen before. I can almost picture whining teenager Brant. ”You can get pizza anytime. This is special. And I already have the turkey thawed. I can”t exactly refreeze it.”
”No, but you could?—”
”Absolutely not. Unless that”s what Lily wants.” The way she looks at me tells me she”s genuinely asking my opinion, but I still can”t help but feel like it”s a test. So even though Brant hasn”t said a word about his family”s traditions, there”s no way I can tell her no.
”Turkey sounds delicious to me. Sorry Brant.”
His mom looks satisfied. ”Then it”s settled.”
”Traitor.” Brant nudges me in the ribs. I take his free hand in mine and rub my thumb along the back of it. ”You haven”t had her turkey. It”s drier than the salt flats back home.”
”I”m sure it”s going to be great.”
Tracy smiles as her attention falls to our joined hands. ”It will be,” she says. ”I have a new recipe for this year. Vietnamese. It has lemongrass and fish sauce.”
Brant shakes his head, but I think it sounds wonderful. ”Now I know why you”re such a good cook,” I say to him.
”Yeah. She”s absolutely the reason. I learned the wrong way to do everything from her.”
His mom flicks her wrist to wave him off. ”You”ll see. It”ll be good.”
When we get to their house, I see why Brant”s dad calls it the farm. It looks just like an old farmhouse. The front porch stretches for the length of the house. Each post on it is wrapped in fresh pine garland dotted with tiny red and green balls. When I get closer, I see the lights hidden in the garland and running along the gutters on the front of the house.
The shiny red door is trimmed in the same garland with the same lights buried inside. When we”re close enough, I lean in and inhale. It smells just like the Christmas trees Dad and I would pick out on December 11th. No matter the weather, he always insisted we had to get our tree that day so we could have it for two weeks before Christmas. When we got it home, Dad would set it right in the middle of the front window. Then he would do the lights, while I hung the ornaments.
Every year, he and I made a new set of ornaments. He would always hand me a plain glass ball, telling me to paint one thing that made me happy that year. By the time I moved out for college the tree was filled with our ornaments. Mine were all different: Finger smears from when I was too young to paint. A bicycle one year. A lopsided rectangle that was supposed to be a concert ticket another year. Dad”s were always the same.
”Hey, let me have your backpack.” Brant taps me on the shoulder. ”Dad and I will take our bags up to our rooms.”
I turn away from the garland and see Kevin already holding Chloe”s bag, so I shrug mine from my shoulders and hand it to Brant. He takes it, staring at me, his head tilted just a little like he”s asking if I”m okay. I nod and hurry inside the house.
Tracy leads me and Chloe right into the kitchen. Everything is white. The cabinets, the counters, the walls. It”s bright like a sunny day with fresh snow. There are vases on the counter with small pine branches arranged like miniature trees. Each one is decorated with small ornaments. One has tiny pastel slotted spoons. Another has pastel spatulas the size of my thumb, and another has pink and yellow and light blue forks the same size.
”You girls do like cookies, right?”
”Yes,” Chloe answers before I even have time to take a breath.
Tracy opens the refrigerator and pulls out a carton of eggs and a package of butter. ”Good. We”re going to bake some.”
”No fair,” Chloe protests. ”That was a trick question.”
Brant”s mom grins as she hands me an apron she takes from a hook on the wall. ”You don”t have to help. Lily and I can have all the fun without you.”
”No, I want to. I love baking. Probably. I”ve never been allowed to do it, but it looks fun.”
”It is fun.” Tracy hands Chloe another apron. She opens the cabinet beside the range hood and pulls out a stack of index cards. ”There are three of us, so we can each be responsible for two different recipes.”
I tie the apron around my back and wait for Brant”s mom to laugh. But she doesn”t. ”So we”re making six different kinds of cookies?” She nods and hands me two of the cards. They each say they make forty-eight cookies. ”Are we cutting the recipes in half? Quartering them?”
”Doubling,” she answers.
I peek at Chloe”s cards. There, on the second line of each, ”Makes four dozen.” My mouth falls open as I do the math. Nearly six hundred cookies. Unless they”ve invited all the neighbors, I”m pretty sure this is enough cookies to last us all until next Christmas.
”They”re not for us. We take cookies to the senior center every Christmas. We started when Barrie was one, so that means we”ve done it every year Brant”s been with us. He”s never admitted it, but I think he”s always liked this more than he liked Christmas Day. Now, you two go ahead and start. The mixer is behind me. Bowls are right here. Spoons are there.” She points at a cabinet and a drawer. ”I need to get more butter out so it can soften. I”ll grab the molasses too.”
Two hours later, the kitchen is no longer pristine. Everything is covered in flour, including me and Chloe. Somehow Brant”s mom is spotless, like she”s surrounded by some flour-repelling force field. There are cooling cookie sheets propped up on iron trivets on one section of counter, while another has parchment lined sheets ready for dough to be spooned on them and then popped into the oven. I just finish spooning ten snickerdoodles onto one when the back door opens.
Even if I saw the woman out on the street, I would know instantly that she”s Brant”s sister. She has the same earth-brown hair, and as she steps into the kitchen, I see the same copper highlights reflecting the sunlight. Her eyes are even the same rich green. They squint when they see me.
”Barrie!” Her mom throws her arms around her and hugs like the two of them haven”t seen each other all year. When they”re finished, Tracy steps back and motions to us. Chloe is standing next to me now, and I wonder if she”s as intimidated as I am. Barrie is formidable. ”This is Brant”s girlfriend Lily, and that”s Chloe.”
Her eyes have been locked on mine from the instant she noticed me, but now they move up and down my body. I wish I could have changed into something else before meeting her. She”s wearing a body hugging green dress with black heels that make my toes hurt just looking at them. I”m wearing my travel clothes. A pair of baggy black sweats, and a long-sleeved t-shirt from a band I”ve never even heard of. I know my hair is a mess and probably has chunks of cookie dough in it. Chloe and I got into a dough ball fight when Tracy left the kitchen for a couple of minutes. Barrie”s hair, on the other hand, falls in perfect waves past her shoulders. It looks like she just left a salon. ”What are you doing?” she asks. Her voice could be pretty, but it sends a shiver through me.
”Uh… cookies? The making of?” Great, I sound like my name is Merriam Webster.
”Barrie!” Her mom slaps her softly on the shoulder. ”The girls are helping me make cookies. Something you conveniently missed out on by showing up late.”
Barrie stares at me for a second more. Then looks at her mom. Her face softens as she does. ”Sorry. This client is an absolute asshole, but he”s also absolutely loaded. So I have to jump whenever he tells me to.”
”Even the morning of Christmas Eve?”
Barrie winces. ”I am sorry. I got here as soon as I could. Didn”t even change.” She motions down to herself.
”What do you do?” I regret asking as soon as Barrie looks at me. Her eyes squeeze back to small slits.
”Barrie is the best commercial real estate agent in Toronto.”
The woman rolls her eyes in embarrassment, and for that second, I think she might not be as tough as she”s letting on. ”If your mom says it, it must be true, right?”
I look at Chloe. We both wince, and I sneak my hand around hers before she has a chance to pull away. She doesn”t try, though. ”Moms are… definitely something. That”s for sure.” I know he would never out me, but from the horrified look on Tracy”s face, I know that Brant must have told her I don”t get along with my mother.
”Why don”t you go get changed, sweetie?” She tells Barrie. ”We”ll finish up, and then we can all go. And if you see your dad or your brother, tell them mission accomplished. They avoided doing any baking again this year.”
Barrie nods, but she still stares at me, openly evaluating. ”You know I would have been here if I could have. I”ll pack everything up while you guys get ready.”
”I know, hon.” Her mom gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, and I turn away.
Barrie”s footsteps through the kitchen are as harsh as her glare, and it”s not until I hear her move into the living room that I finally relax. I look at Chloe. She nods, telling me that she”s fine. I am too. So what if my boyfriend”s sister hates me? There are probably lots of strong, healthy relationships where families hate the girlfriend. I swallow the worried lump in my throat, knowing that those families aren”t close the way this one is. I”m doomed.
”Don”t worry about her,” Brant”s mom comes behind me and rests her hand on my back like she knows exactly what I”m thinking. ”Even now that Brant is more than able to take care of himself, she”s still the protective older sister. More so after his ex.”
”Serenity?”
Brant”s mom nods. ”Barrie never liked her, but I can already tell you”re about as different from Serenity as a moon is from a cat. I know my daughter. She”ll like you. Now, go get cleaned up. If I didn”t know better, I”d think you two were flinging dough at each other. I”ll finish baking the rest.”
Chloe and I share a quick glance.
”I raised two spirited children. I recognize mischievous laughter even when I”m in the other room. Follow me. The guest suite is above the garage. I”ll show you.” She leads us down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs. At the top, there”s a small landing with three doors. She points to the left and right. ”Bedrooms. When Brant visits, he takes that one.” She flicks her left hand.
”Is that the one he and Serenity stayed in?” I shouldn”t ask. I”ve slept in the same bed he shared with her at his house. But doing it here in his parents” house just feels different.
His mom snorts. ”That”s how I first knew you were different. She would make him stay at a hotel in town.”
”And he did?” It seems so unlike him. I can”t imagine him not spending every second possible with his family during his visits.
She opens the other door, showing us the one bathroom in this section of the house. ”Sometimes we think we have to pretend to be someone else in order to be loved. He”s not pretending anymore. Anyway, you should have everything you need in the bathroom here. Just come down once you”re ready. See you girls in a bit.”
”What am I supposed to wear?” Chloe asks as soon as Brant”s mom disappears down the steps. ”And where”s my bag? I need my makeup and hair gel.” Her hair is still only a couple of inches long, so she spikes it like she”s a punk rocker from the eighties. It”s actually a really cute look.
”Check your room.” I tick off fingers. ”Wear that pink sweater you brought. It looks nice on you. And don”t go crazy with the makeup. We don”t want to scare the people at the senior center.”
”You”re the one who”s going to scare them if you don”t at least put on some eyeliner. One day I”ll teach you my magic makeup ways.” She sticks her tongue out and opens the door to her room.