Chapter Three #2
Nan had always been the one Mallory turned to when she was feeling out of touch with who she was.
Nan would always remind her. You are my Mallory.
Four simple words, but they gave Mallory purpose and belonging.
Ever since Nan had come to live here, Mallory had missed hearing Nan say those words to her.
Maybe this time.
Mallory stepped inside Nan’s room and waited for Nan to look at her. It had been weeks since Nan remembered her. A small fear was growing inside Mallory that maybe Nan would never remember her again. Maybe Mallory would forever be a stranger to her own grandmother.
“Who are you?” Nan’s thin brows lifted shakily on her forehead.
Mallory wanted to respond “I’m your Mallory,” but instead she swallowed back an onslaught of tears that tightened her throat. “Hi, Nan. How are you today?”
“Fine-fine. Did you see that dog out there?” Nan asked, looking delighted. “So cute. His owner ain’t bad to look at either.”
Mallory took a seat in the chair by Nan’s bed. “You think?”
“Oh, yes. If I were your age, I’d be getting that man’s number.” Nan’s gaze fell to Mallory’s left hand. “You’re not married?”
It was amazing how someone could remember the significance of a left ring finger but not the face of their own family member.
“No.” Mallory laid her purse on Nan’s bedside table, accidentally letting it topple to the side and letting Nan’s diary slide out.
Mallory had brought it with her, wondering if she should show it to Nan.
Anytime Mallory brought up the past lately, however, Nan got agitated.
When Nan couldn’t recall what Mallory was discussing, Nan became angry in a way that wasn’t like her at all.
The Nan of old was slow to anger and quick to laugh.
Nan’s gaze fell on the brown leather-bound journal. “What’s that?”
“A journal.” Mallory approached the subject with caution. “Have you, um, ever seen that book before, Nan?”
Nan studied the journal and gave a slight head shake. “No, I don’t think so. It’s a book, you say?”
“More of a diary than anything.” Or like a series of letters to Mallory and Maddie.
Nan looked thoughtful. “I used to have one of those. Does it belong to someone you know?”
Mallory nodded. “Yes, but she gave me permission to read it.”
“To read her diary?” Nan looked at Mallory. “She must trust you a great deal to give you all her secrets.”
“I guess she does.” Or she did. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I share it with you as well. Would you like me to read it to you?” Mallory held her breath. This could either go very badly or it could be no big deal.
Nan sat stiffly for a moment before relaxing into her pillow. “I’d like that. And I promise not to share whatever we find out.”
Mallory didn’t think Nan was the type to keep secrets. She had a flare for theatrics, but otherwise, her life was kind of boring. At least from Mallory’s vantage point.
“Okay. Maybe just a few pages.” Picking up the leather diary, Mallory opened to the first page and smoothed her hand over the lined paper, feeling the dips and grooves of Nan’s handwriting cross her skin.
Then she pointed her index finger and trailed each word as she read them aloud.
“The Santa Hat.” Mallory glanced up at Nan, who seemed to be hanging on Mallory’s words.
“That hat was part of the first play I ever took the lead in, a monumental moment for a budding actress. We performed in the school cafeteria,” she said, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper.
“Mickey played Santa until an unfortunate accident happened during the dress rehearsal.” Nan’s gaze reached to a far-off place.
“That’s when Ralph, the Santa understudy, stepped up, and little did I know. ”
“Know what?” Mallory asked. Mickey was her grandfather, but she had no idea who Ralph was.
“Well, I fell for him,” Nan said, looking at her again.
Everything inside Mallory froze except her heartbeat, which seemed to echo through her body. “Who did you fall in love with at that time?”
Nan’s blue eyes suddenly blinked. Whatever memory she’d been wrapped in had unraveled, disintegrating like moth-eaten fabric. “Hmm?”
Mallory knew Nan wasn’t talking about the Santa in the script that Nan had written herself—Santa, Baby.
The first play Nan starred in must have been a different Santa story.
Probably a generic, happy one. The kind everyone expects.
Nan’s script had gone against the typical Santa grain though.
“Nan?” Mallory leaned forward, wondering if Nan was confused.
Nan’s confusion was visible as the skin between her eyes crinkled into a deep divot and the lines around her eyes became more pronounced. “Who-who did you say you were again?”
Mallory’s throat squeezed so tightly that it was hard to take a deep breath. This too would pass. The show must go on. If Nan were here, that’s what she’d say. She wasn’t here anymore though. At least Mallory couldn’t seem to find her.
“Who are you?” Nan said more forcefully, her cheeks flush.
Closing the diary and setting it down, Mallory patted Nan’s frail hand. “I’m a friend, Nan. A good friend.”
Nan gave her a slightly uncomfortable smile. “I think it might be Christmas soon?”
It was a question.
Mallory swallowed thickly. “It’s just a month away.” Nan’s favorite time of year.
“I’ve always loved the tree farm. Did you know that?” Nan’s smile widened, giving her a girlish appearance. Mallory couldn’t remember Nan ever visiting the local farm, but Nan was confused right now.
“Yeah?” she asked, toeing the line and trying not to further aggravate her grandmother.
“Do you think you could get me a tree for my room?”
“Oh.” Mallory’s mind raced, trying to determine how to respond. She wasn’t sure Francis would allow that.
“Not the fake kind either,” Nan pressed. “Illusions are for the theater, not real life. I want a real tree for my room.”
Mallory stared at her grandmother. She’d heard those words a million times in her lifetime. Right now, Nan sounded like her “old self” again. It gave Mallory hope that Nan was still here, even if she was hard to reach at times. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The Santa Hat Tree Topper
The Santa Hat Tree Topper is where we start this story because I feel like I wasn’t truly alive until I met the other half of me. Sure, there are memories before Ralph, but he was the jump start. Everything before him was just pouring the foundation for what was to come.
Mickey Whaley was originally cast as Santa in the little school play our high school put on. Secretly, I was excited, because I thought Mickey was cute. No one else knew about my tiny crush though. I kept it to myself because I didn’t want my friends to tease me during my scenes with him.
Anyway, it was the night of the dress rehearsal. There was a celebratory mood in the air. We’d put something together that we would present to the town the next night. Something wonderfully merry.
I’m still unsure of what exactly happened.
All I know is that some of the guys were roughhousing and the laughter quickly turned to chaos.
Because of his unfortunate injury, Mickey had to step back from the play the day before opening night.
Since Ralph was the understudy, he stepped up and became Santa to my Mrs. Claus.
I’d never wanted to kiss Ralph. He wasn’t my type.
I didn’t find his jokes funny. To be honest, he annoyed me.
The theater director at my school, however, adored Ralph. Most people in town did for a reason I couldn’t comprehend. So, even though the original Santa was unavailable, the show went on.
The show must always go on in theater, and in life.
When the curtains opened that next night, I delivered my lines as Mrs. Claus.
Nerves made my voice shake. Then Ralph came onstage, dressed in his red suit, his eyes twinkling just like Santa himself, and I felt this tiny spark inside my chest. And when it was time for him to kiss me, that spark ignited into an inner explosion.
I’d underestimated the tall, thin boy with the goofy grin and Santa hat.
When I’d been focused elsewhere, he’d swooped in and stolen my heart.
No one finds their true love at seventeen though.
Young love derailed lives. My mother had made sure I knew that.
Whatever sparkles and fluttery feelings I had would be fleeting.
Even so, this is where the story starts, where the Memory Tree starts, with a Santa Hat at the tip-top.