11. Catherine
Chapter eleven
Catherine
O nce I got inside, I ran up to my room—more specifically, to the stash of boxes my parents kept for wrapping presents every year.
“Where is the wrapping paper and the tape? I need tape to make sure the box stays closed,” I muttered.
I lugged the awkward box downstairs rather than dragging everything up to my room. It wasn't the worst choice since I'd need to bring it back down to get it under the tree. Once I made it downstairs, I gathered the wrapping supplies.
It didn’t take me long to get the box taped shut and wrapped in beautiful red paper with white snowflakes all over it. The snowflakes made me feel warm inside somehow. Though the quilt had snowmen on it, I suspected my mother wouldn’t think about what wrapping paper I had used, not when she had already wrapped gifts for me and my father with the same paper.
As I shuffled some of the presents under the tree to make sure the quilt fit underneath the tree okay, I heard my phone ding.
“I hear you… hold on…” I sighed as I got up from where I had been sitting.
I walked over to the end table where I had laid my phone. When I opened it, a new text message from my friend Rebecca waited. Unlike Pam, Rebecca lived in the larger city of Brighton about an hour’s drive away from here. That meant I didn’t get to see her as often when I came home, but if she was texting me, she had to have a good reason. Rebecca was one of those people who preferred a phone call just to catch up, and a text was usually to make plans.
Do you want to meet up for brunch tomorrow? I know, kind of last minute, but I just heard you’re in town.
I smiled a little at the text. I didn’t even care that it was a last-minute plan. I could work with it. With a smile, I texted Rebecca back. We could iron out the nitty-gritty details over text. As soon as I had sent that message, I went back to rearranging the presents under the tree.
Part of the reason for doing that was that I didn’t know when my parents would return home, and I wanted to get the presents back under the tree before they returned. It didn’t take me long as I was not one of those kids who would shake every present with my name on it and try to guess what it was before Christmas morning.
That was Chris. So snoopy with all the wrapped Christmas presents.
There were presents under the tree for him, too, but his were wrapped in blue paper. Chris had always loved blue, and Mom wrapped all his presents in blue. Every year, Mom let us pick out a new roll of wrapping paper for the presents for next Christmas, a touch of tradition that warmed my heart now that I was an adult.
Things like that had always made me miss home when I went to visit Alex’s family. His family had been more willy-nilly when it came to the way they celebrated Christmas. Some presents might be wrapped, others not wrapped, which I found odd. But it didn’t bother Alex or anyone else in his family. They were all happy. It was just different from what my family did. And when it comes down to it, it’s the spirit of Christmas that really matters.
The sound of the front door opening pulled my attention from the decorations. By now, all the presents I had moved out from under the tree were all cozy, back under the tree. That was a good thing. I stood up from where I had been sitting and moved to grab my phone, partially because I had heard it vibrate on the coffee table.
As I checked the message – which was from Rebecca with a couple of suggestions of where to go for brunch tomorrow – I heard the front door shut. My mother staggered into the living room with two big grocery bags before slowly heading to the kitchen.
“Just a minute, Mom, and let me help you,” I called out.
“I’m fine, Catherine. I lift weights, you know,” she said, laughing. I quickly finished my reply to Rebecca and walked into the kitchen.
“You lift weights?” I asked in surprise.
“Just those little dumbbells. I’m up to 10-pound weights,” she said proudly.
“That’s great,” I said, giving her a hug. “So, is there anything else to be brought in from the car?” I asked. “I can go get it.”
“No. I’ve got it. But thank you,” Mom said. “If you could start putting things away, I’d appreciate it. I’ve just got two more bags, light ones, but that’s it. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple of minutes to get them.”
“All right.”
I started emptying the bags. It was all things to make my mom’s favorite spread of Christmas foods. There was a large ham, potatoes, heavy cream, butter, and more. It looked like Mom was gearing up to make ham, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, peas, corn, and a couple of other side dishes that I wasn’t sure of at the moment.
Mom returned with the other two bags.
“There. Everything’s been brought in. How’s your day been, Catherine? Did you make it down to the Christmas Market?”
“I did. I found a fun gift to give,” I said. “But that’s all I’m willing to share on that detail. It’s for you, after all.”
Mom smiled.
“I assume you’ve got gifts for everyone else under control, then?”
“I do,” I said. “Where’s Dad?”
“Mark, next door, motioned to him when we pulled into the driveway,” Mom replied. “Probably discussing football. There are a couple of big games on Christmas Day.”
“Ok. I’m sure Dad and Chris will want to catch some of that,” I remarked with a smile. “Oh. Rebecca called, and I’ll be going to Brighton for brunch tomorrow. We’ll probably do a little shopping. Need anything?”
“Think you could pick up some decorations? I have all the larger ones out, but I feel like something’s missing. You’ve always been better at figuring out the perfect finishing touch every year,” Mom said. “We always miss that ability of yours when you’re not here for the holidays. Now that you’re single and not looking,” she added, tilting her head slightly,. “we might get your amazing touch more than one year in a row unless you find a new beau and go to his house for Christmas.”
“ Mom! ”
I couldn’t believe my mother had just said that. My cheeks flushed hot as I tried to think of anything else to say to change the subject.
“I’m sorry, Catherine. We just miss having you home every year, but sometimes, it feels like you’re only going with your significant other to their Christmas because that’s what’s done.” Mom shook her head. “I know that you mean well, but… I want you to be happy. You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do, and that includes going to other people’s homes for the holidays if doing that makes you feel awkward.”
“It’s not… awkward,” I finally managed to say as I continued putting the food away. “It takes me by surprise every time I go because I’m never ready for other traditions. I think you and Dad have spoiled me too much with what we do at home.” I shook my head. “I always feel a little out of place. And I like coming home and having snow. When I went to see Alex’s family, we were only driving an hour away from where we lived. There was no snow there, and we always went home for the night.”
“Ah. I see. Well, regardless, we’re happy to have you here this year,” Mom said. “How is the job going, anyway? You’ve had nothing to say about it since you arrived home.”
My stomach sank. Mom always liked to know what was going on with my life, but there was something about my job right now that made me cringe. It wasn’t what I wanted. I just didn’t know how to get to where I wanted to be.
“Well, you know, with my last promotion, I’m no longer writing as much as I would like to,” I said. “It’s been hard.”
“That’s horrible to hear. I know you were excited to see where the writing aspect of your career would take you,” Mom said. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do to fix that? To get back to the writing part?”
“I’ve had a few ideas,” I said. “I’m already putting some other options together. It’s just that they’re all freelance, not really ‘quit your day job’ type of options yet. I’ve put together a creative writing class on a site called Masterclass. People can sign up for it for a fee, and I’ll get paid a percentage of the membership fees, I think. I wasn’t entirely clear on how I get paid, but I get paid for it.” I shrugged. “I’m also selling a small eBook with a bunch of writing prompts from my own fiction writing that I did in high school. No better way to avoid plagiarism than to use my own writing, right?”
Mom laughed.
“Well, it sounds like you’re at least exploring things for now. I’m glad that you feel stable enough to at least put your feet in the water, get them wet,” she said. “And it’s a wonderful solution to try and get ahead of whatever’s got you down. Even if it only brings you a little bit of money, it should help if you need to fall back onto a less well-paid job to get where you want to be. And, if you ever need it, your father and I are here to support you in any capacity.”
I nodded slowly.
I liked California. Well, for the most part. I’d been there since I started college. I started at Upcountry Adventures in college by writing for their social media accounts. Now, I was managing the accounts – which left little time to write. There were days when I’d get online to look at other job postings, simply looking to see if another company had a salary that’d make starting over at entry level worth it to get back to writing. The chances were slim, as entry-level salaries had never been enough to live on in California. Didn’t stop me from trying, though.
I do have some savings, but I don’t want to dig into that if I can avoid it. That same entry-level salary would have funded at least rent and groceries, if not more, here in Indigo Lake. Perhaps even in Brighton, if I had roommates…
The idea of moving to Indigo Lake was gaining merit the more I thought about the career options available.
“You’re going to do great, no matter what you decide you want to do,” Mom said as she came over and gave me a hug. “And I think that one of the signs of that is that you keep in touch with us. You have a great support system if anything goes wrong.”
“I know, Mom. Any word on if Chris’ flight has been delayed on Christmas Eve?” I asked, hoping to change the topic a little.
“His flight is still scheduled to land at noon, as far as I’m aware,” Mom said. “Your dad and I are going to go pick him up. If you would like to come with us, you’re more than welcome to. I know he would love to see you. He gets out here less than you do, and I think it’s partially because his work schedule often has him working until Christmas, and it’s difficult to schedule a flight when you’re not sure you’ll get Christmas Eve or Christmas Day off.”
“Chris’s fault for going into management at a company that can’t keep people employed,” I teased softly. “But at least this year he can come home.”