16. Now Bring Us a Figgy Pudding #2
“Wait, what?” Jasper turned to Delilah, confused. “Oh, you mean yesterday, with the potatoes?”
“I mean, sure? But I really mean the day before when you and I spent the entire afternoon on—ohhh, never mind,” said Zahir knowingly. “Forgetting spell. Yes, Jasper you helped considerably. Far more than just a few potatoes.”
“Well!” Jasper smiled. “Good on me, I guess!”
Delilah and Jasper made their way to their table, where Scarlett and Nate were already seated, along with all four Earls, all dressed in competitively ugly Christmas sweaters. They greeted Jasper like a long-lost friend.
“Io, Saturnalia!” shouted Ten.
“There’s our favorite archivist!” Nine called out. “When are you coming around for some more grog?”
Delilah subtly shook her head, trying to signal the Earls to dial it back.
“I’m sorry,” Jasper said, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I don’t?—”
“Course you don’t,” Twelve cut in smoothly. “We’ve only just met. Tonight. For the first time. Ever.”
“Subtle, Dad,” Nate muttered.
“What?” Twelve grinned. “I’m being hospitable to this new person who we’ve definitely never seen before.”
“This is the weirdest form of gaslighting,” Jasper said thoughtfully.
Delilah said, “How about let’s eat. And drink! Look what I purloined from the bar.”
The Earls applauded at the bottles of champagne. “That’s our girl.”
The feast began with servers bringing out platters of appetizers: Sticky Date and Bacon Rumaki that disappeared almost as soon as they hit the table; Chai-Spiced Latkes, a collaborative undertaking from the Chatterjee and Silverberg families; and finally the famous “Truce of ’89” dumplings, half filled with traditional Chinese fillings, half with Italian ingredients, commemorating the legendary dispute between Mrs. Li and Mrs. Cattaneo that only ended when they realized they were basically making the same food in different shapes.
“The soup course arrives,” Scarlett announced as bowls of vibrant red liquid were set before them. “Ah, ‘Better Than Therapy’ Borscht.”
“It’s certainly beautiful.” Jasper studied the herbed sour cream stars floating on the surface, almost too delicate to touch with a spoon.
“Just wait till you taste it,” Nate enthused. “Every year I tell myself I’m not going to cry, and every year I’m wrong.”
“You cry over soup?”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve wept in it.”
As Delilah took her first spoonful, she had to agree with Nate’s assessment. The borscht was silky, earthy, with a tart brightness that cut through the richness of the beets. It was perfect. Glancing around the table, she saw the same blissful expression all around.
With each course, the festive atmosphere intensified. By the time the main dishes arrived, all the pilei hats were listing at jaunty angles, and the volume in the hall had risen to a cheerful roar.
The centerpiece of the meal was a massive wild boar, roasted to perfection, surrounded by caramelized fruits and root vegetables. Everyone applauded when Kelly wheeled it in.
And then came Edward’s Famous Five-Cheese Lasagna.
Delilah felt her breath catch when she saw it. Papa’s signature dish, still included in the feast every year, still made exactly according to his recipe. She glanced at Scarlett, who gave her a small, sad smile.
“You okay?” Jasper asked quietly, noticing her expression.
“Yeah... This is my dad’s lasagna. I don’t know, I wish Mama didn’t insist on dragging this out every year. It’s hard to see it without him here to enjoy it.”
“Oh sure, I understand that. Although, on the other hand, maybe it’s also kind of a nice thing, too? That he’s still part of the festivities? A tiny part of him, still joining in somehow?”
Delilah just blinked, saying a silent prayer no water would spill out of her eyes.
Jasper gently laid his hand over hers. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel. But I think that’s what traditions are supposed to do. Keep the people we love present, even when they’re gone.”
“That’s a very non-Grinchy perspective from someone who claims to hate Christmas.” She glanced at his hand, willing it not to move away from hers.
“You got me. I suppose I don’t hate every aspect.
Mostly I hate the pressure. All the expectation.
Like, Christmas is always supposed to be perfect but somehow it never quite is.
And every gift is supposed to be perfect but they never quite are, either.
And after all that stress, the gifts are opened in twenty minutes.
And then it’s over, and that’s somehow the worst part of all. ”
“ Oh totally !” Delilah leaned forward, pleased to feel so understood. “That’s exactly it. The build-up, the worry, and then it’s all vaguely dissatisfying, and then it’s over.”
“Still, I have to say. This ...” Jasper gestured around at the feast, the decorations, the smiling faces. “ This is pretty amazing.”
“True,” she admitted. “I want to hate it on principle, but I can’t.”
“Delilah! Scarlett!” Mrs. Chatterjee approached their table, resplendent in a sari the color of a perfect snowy day. “Your mother has outdone herself! These Cardamom-Maple Roasted Brussels Sprouts are divine!”
“Oh, thank you,” Delilah said with a perfectly straight face. “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments.”
“Such talent in the kitchen,” Mrs. Chatterjee continued. “She’s a treasure! Io, Saturnalia, dears!”
“Io, Saturnalia,” they chorused back.
Just then, Zahir passed by with a platter of Yorkshire puddings. Scarlett couldn’t resist the opportunity to rub it in. “Oh, Zahir, Mrs. Chatterjee was just telling us what a marvelous job Mama did with those Brussels sprouts. You know Mama. And all her work. On the sprouts. That she did.”
“Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes.
“Careful, buddy,” Scarlett said to him. “Your face could freeze that way.”
“My face has every reason to freeze that way,” he shot back. But then Zahir shrugged good-naturedly and continued his rounds, ever the unsung hero of the Saturnalia banquet.
As the meal progressed, Delilah found herself relaxing despite the knowledge of what was to come.
There was something about sitting beside Jasper, watching him interact with her community, that felt both strange and perfectly natural.
He asked Nine about the history of piracy in New England, discussed the tools of architectural preservation with Nate, and even got Scarlett to admit that maybe, just maybe, the Dewey decimal system had some merits after all.
And whenever there was a lull in conversation, she would catch him looking at her with that same expression from the staircase, like he was trying to memorize her.
“What?” she finally asked, after the fifth or sixth such glance.
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Then: “Well. Okay. I keep feeling like I’ve known you longer than I have. Which I guess is true, right? I have known you longer... than I’ve known you. I don’t know, this is a little trippy.”
Before Delilah could respond, Scarlett broke out in a tipsy version of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” except with the lyrics changed to the fifth time, then the fifteenth, then the fiftieth.
Delilah nudged Jasper. “What do you think?”
He grinned. “Adele has nothing to worry about.”
The crowd gradually grew quiet. Kelly Melrose took her place on the makeshift stage at the far end of the banquet hall. She tapped a spoon against her glass, and the festive chatter died out.
“Before we begin the entertainment portion of our evening,” Kelly said, her voice carrying easily across the vast hall, “I want to remind everyone why we’re here.
Yes, Saturnalia is about revelry.” A knowing smile.
“And believe me, there will be plenty. But let us never forget—we are here to exercise a muscle that, in all honesty, witches sometimes allow to go slack: humility. We are here to remind ourselves what it means to live without magic, to be dependent on one another. To be...” She paused thoughtfully, gazing out at the crowd.
“To be human. Which, as our non-magical neighbors remind us daily, is quite an extraordinary thing to be.”
A chorus of “hear, hear” rose from around the room.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Kelly continued, raising her glass. “To everyone here tonight, and to those who are not. To the ones we love who are far away—” here she glanced meaningfully at Delilah and Scarlett, clearly thinking of Luna “—and to those who are gone but never forgotten.
“To family, friends, and the bonds that sustain us through dark winters and bright celebrations alike. Io, Saturnalia!”
“Io, Saturnalia!” the room roared back, glasses clinking.
“And now,” Kelly announced, “I am delighted to introduce our evening’s entertainment. Please welcome, Maximillian the Magnificent!”
There was a puff of smoke on the stage, and when it cleared, a man in an aggressively sparkly tuxedo stood there, his cape fluttering despite the lack of wind.
“Look at that big faker,” Scarlett whispered, less discreetly than she should have. “His teeth are so white, I gotta wear shades.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and all magical beings!” he announced in an accent that wandered vaguely through Europe without landing on any specific country. “Maximillian the Magnificent is honored to perform for you on this most auspicious occasion!”
He launched into his first trick: a bog-standard card manipulation routine, enhanced with exaggerated gestures and a constant patter that did not distract from the fact that his fingers weren’t nearly as nimble as he imagined they were.
“Is he always this... much?” Jasper whispered to Delilah.
“Oh yeah,” she whispered back. “He lived here full-time for a while, about a year ago. Turned out, he was helping his magician buddies try to take over the town.”
“But now he’s . . . entertainment?”
“Mama hired him to keep an eye on him. Keep your enemies close and all that.”
“Hmm.” Jasper frowned.
“You think it’s a bad idea?”
“What do I know, right?”