Chapter 9 Twenty-Two Days till Christmas
9.
Twenty-two days till Christmas
The next morning, Liz was attempting to work in her bedroom when a scream ripped through the Inn. Ordinarily, a bloodcurdling yell would be cause for alarm. But in the Belvedere household, it was just Tuesday.
“Are all my children home at once?”
They came home every year, and Liz’d already told her mother that she and Birdie were heading up early. But Babs Belvedere liked to make an entrance.
Liz and her siblings emerged from their respective bedrooms, responding to the maternal foghorn.
In the downstairs foyer, reflected by three different mirrors, Babs stood, arms outstretched to receive them, while her three fluffy Pomeranians, Huey, Dewey, and Louie, yapped with excitement. Their mother’s short, trim stature was contained in a robin’s-egg-blue jumpsuit. Her strawberry-blond hair was styled in soft, short curls, and she was wearing a full face of makeup. Distressingly put together for 9:00 a.m.
Liz stepped around the dogs to give the six-armed family clump a hug. “Hi, Mom. Welcome home.”
“My kids. ” Babs breathed them in. “My loves. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—”
“Here we go.” Liz grimaced.
“—you were worth the seventy hours of labor.” The oft-repeated tally for all three. Over their rising protests, Babs continued, “You ripped up my pelvic floor like unlicensed contractors and turned my vagina into the size of a wedding tent, but I have no regrets.”
“Ma!” Birdie shouted, untangling herself and heading for the kitchen. “We’re pre-coffee!”
Babs cupped Rafi’s chin with a jeweled hand, giving him the tender smile reserved for her youngest. “Why’d you come up so early, hon?” Then, taking in the dark circles and glum expression: “Baby boy, what’s wrong?”
He scowled, jamming his fists into his pajama bottom pockets. “Sunita dumped me.”
Babs gasped. “No! I never liked her! When? Why?”
“Tell you later,” he mumbled, trailing after Birdie.
Babs looked to Liz, her performativity mellowing into concern. “Was it bad?”
“Let’s just say it made Big standing Carrie up at their library wedding look like a fun excuse to get dressed up.” They were both devotees of the franchise. “So, what were you doing in Connecticut?”
Babs’s eyes drifted to a mirror and she patted her hair. “Well, if you lot are here early, we should probably call Siouxsie.”
Siouxsie was the local chef who’d catered dinners for the family since Babs moved to the area. Food was a focus of the Belvedere holiday season.
“I already have.” Liz did not miss that her mother avoided her question. “She can’t start till tomorrow night, so I put in a grocery order that’ll be here by lunch.” Liz had been up for hours. Indicating the eye-catching arrangement on a side table, she went on. “The flowers are from Henry and Gorman—I’ve already sent a thank-you card. Laundry’s done, guest bathrooms are clean, and the thermostat is set to sixty-eight.”
“My Liz.” Babs gave Liz an approving nod, leaning forward for a hug. “I can always count on you.”
Liz hugged her mother back. They didn’t have an overly affectionate relationship, but whenever Liz took on responsibilities, Babs rewarded her with the praise and affection that still had the power to light Liz up.
They broke apart. Babs reached for something leaning against the entrance table. A shiny black cane with an elegant, etched gold handle. A very expensive-looking cane.
“Rolled my ankle.” Babs answered Liz’s unasked question. “Promo shoot for season five had me in six-inch stilettos and down I went.”
Shock pitched into Liz’s chest. “What were they doing putting you in stilettos at your age?”
Babs shrugged airily. “You’ve seen the show. Crystal treadmills in stilettos.”
Four years ago, Babs had been cast as scheming matriarch Crystal Palace in the pitch-black ensemble comedy Palace People. The show was a fast-paced satire centered around a dysfunctional family of corrupt New York real estate moguls. The cast was stacked: Babs’s three terrible stepchildren were played by John Early, Phoebe Robinson, and Florence Pugh. Crystal’s devastating put-downs were the stuff of viral memes. When Babs won an Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series last year, she resolidified her place in the cultural conversation.
Babs dismissed Liz’s look of concern with a flick of her hand. “I’m fine. Jin-soo’s looking after me. My new assistant.”
“Jin-soo?” Liz frowned. “What happened to Kameron with a K?” Their mother’s apparently former assistant was an older, charismatic gay man who loved the sun, his Corgis, and dairy.
“He took the dogs to Florida to open a frozen yogurt shop,” Babs replied.
Liz followed her mother into the kitchen, where Babs took a seat at the island, selecting a blueberry muffin from a plate of pastries Liz had defrosted. “Jin-soo is amazing! Very multitalented.”
“Let me guess.” Birdie commandeered a second muffin. “As well as being your assistant, Jin-soo’s a…cranial reader. No—TikTok dance instructor.”
“Massage therapist.” Rafi spoke without looking up from his phone.
“Bodyguard-slash-breakdancer.” Liz scooped up Huey, the fluffiest Pom, recalling their mother’s previous “multitalented” employees. “Hair colorist who’s permanently stoned. Stalker claiming to be a professional driver.”
Babs looked over her glasses in disapproval. “Physical therapist and health coach.”
“And there we have it.” Birdie took a bite of the muffin, then made a face. “This is drier than a lesbian in a locker room. A male locker room. That joke needs work.”
“Also,” Babs went on, voice swelling with pride, “she’s binary. Her pronouns are they/them.”
The sisters exchanged an amused glance.
“You might mean Jin-soo’s nonbinary ?” Liz’s question was gentle.
“And their pronouns are they/them?” Birdie suggested.
“Exactly!” Babs took a bite of muffin. “I don’t even know I need something until they hand it to me.”
Liz put Huey down, feeling a little dusty from all the wine last night. “What I need,” she said, “is—”
Before she could say coffee, a steaming cup of it materialized in front of her, offered by a serious-looking young person with an asymmetrical black bob, the ends tinted lime green. Oversized round glasses covered half their face. They looked like someone who had extremely cool pop culture interests you’d never heard of.
“Oh,” Liz said in pleased surprise. “Thank you…”
“Jin-soo Chung.” Jin-soo handed Birdie the butter dish. “My friends call me Fun Chung.”
Birdie took the dish in amazement. “That’s exactly what this dry lesbian muffin needs! Butter makes it better: Jin-soo for prez!”
Liz shook Jin-soo’s hand, noting their firm, confident grip. “How bad is my mother’s ankle, Jin-soo?”
They spoke in a wry deadpan. “She’ll live.”
“On a scale of one to ten, it’s minus seven!” Babs exclaimed. “The biggest problem is rethinking my shoe collection.”
Liz knew a sprained ankle was relatively minor. But their mother was sixty-nine. Her body would take longer to heal. Liz resolved to have a proper check-in with Jin-soo when Babs was out of earshot.
Jin-soo looked to Babs, who shrugged, shaking her head—no immediate needs. Jin-soo nodded. “Then I’m going to finish unpacking.”
Babs called after them. “Don’t forget—”
“—to unpack, clean, and store the kimonos,” Jin-soo finished.
“See?” Babs said to Liz as Jin-soo left the kitchen. “They’re very good.”
Birdie spoke through a mouthful of buttered muffin. “Hey guys, is this joke any good? For the platform formerly known as Twitter.” She read off her phone. “?‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ needs rethinking. Five golden rings do not make up for giving me a bunch of useless birds.”
Babs honked a laugh. “Brilliant! There’s my funny girl!”
Birdie preened, pleased. “Posted.” She dropped her phone on the counter, stretching. “My work is done for the day.”
Liz lifted a brow. “That’s it?”
“I’m on holiday,” Birdie huffed. “I’m here to relax.”
“What about looking for a new manager?” Liz pressed—Birdie had filled her in on the drive up. “Or working on a new show?”
“Manager?” Babs frowned at Birdie. “What happened to Issa?”
Birdie shot Liz a thanks so much look. “Issa…is no more. We weren’t a fit.”
Babs made an apologetic face. “Sorry to hear that. Well, keep your sense of humor about it all. That’s what’ll get you through.”
“I will, Ma.” Birdie gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
Liz couldn’t resist pushing the point. “A few hours of work might also get you through.”
“Don’t badger your sister.” Babs flicked through the New York Times entertainment section. “She’s a comedian. ” Said in the way one might refer to an exotic animal on the brink of extinction.
Liz resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, I’m here to work. See you all later.”
“Before you run off.” Babs removed her glasses, expression sweetening. “Would you mind helping me with a tiny phone problem?”
Inwardly, Liz groaned. The claimed size of her mother’s IT dilemmas were usually diametrically opposed to how much time they took to solve. “How tiny?”
“It says my cloud is full. I’m out of storage? But I’m not sure what my password is…”
Liz sighed. Her morning would almost certainly devolve into hours of tech support. “Can’t Birdie help? Or Raf?”
Babs looked mildly offended. “Your brother’s heartbroken! Again! And this isn’t Birdie’s forte.”
As if on cue, Birdie popped a bottle of Champagne. “Merry Christmas! Who wants Mer-mosas?”
In the adjacent family room, Rafi lay prostrate on the couch, staring at the ceiling with doomed eyes. His words were quiet, only for himself. “Why? Just…why?”
“What about Jin-soo?” Liz said, trying not to sound irritated.
“They’re unpacking! The kimonos cannot be rushed. Please, sweetheart. It’ll give us a chance to catch up. I want to hear all about your show.”
Tempting: Liz did want to gush about Sweet and all she’d accomplished. Babs had been supportive, but Liz got the impression her mother didn’t really get the fast-paced pilot ( it’s certainly very “hip” had been her review), and she seemed a little too surprised the show got green-lit with Liz as showrunner. Birdie was the creative, funny one in the family—Liz suspected her mother thought she was more suited to a glorified administrative role, a quiet helper, behind the scenes.
What Liz really wanted to do right now was work. “Sure, Mom,” she said instead. “Whatever you need.”