Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
HOLLY JOLLY
JULIANA
Present
“I know what we have to do as soon as Mom and Dad get here,” Jackson says before he’s even in the door all the way.
The facts out there about women talking more than men do not apply to my brother and me. For every one word I say, he says twenty.
“It’s too late for a card since it’s Christmas freaking Eve, but we can post it on the socials and give everyone a laugh.” Jackson hugs Uncle Hal, who’s closest to him. Papa is next, and when he reaches me, he’s pulled up an old picture on his phone.
“Hello, Jackson.” I laugh, giving him a playful shove when he holds the phone in my face.
“Hi…hey,” he says, still grinning at his phone. “Wait till you see this. It’s gonna be hilarious.”
I bump him with my hip, and he grumbles but waves his phone. I begrudgingly take it from him.
“It wouldn’t hurt you to hug your sister,” I say.
“You sound just like Mom. Hello, Juju,” he says, mocking me. He hugs me, lifting me off the ground. When he sets me down, he leans down so we’re at eye level. “Satisfied?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now look at this picture.”
I start laughing as soon as I see it. My dad is on all fours, and my mom, my brother, and I are on his back.
I think I’m around four years old, old enough to remember doing this.
Jackson would’ve been around six. We’re all laughing so hard—my head has fallen back on Jackson’s shoulder, and his smile is so wide.
Jackson’s in the middle, and Mom is in the back, looking at us to make sure we’re not going to fall off.
Dad’s expression is very similar to Uncle Hal’s—pure mischief.
“It is a great idea,” I admit.
The second Mom and Dad pull into the driveway, Jackson and I run out to meet them. I practically fall into Mom’s arms, laughing as we squeeze each other like we haven’t seen each other in years instead of just a month ago.
“We’ve got to see more of each other,” she says.
“It’s not that far, but when it’s hectic, those few hours feel like an eternity.
I’ve got an assistant who’s taking a lot off my plate, though.
” She squeezes my arm and smooths back my hair.
“I’ll do better at getting to Windy Harbor.
I miss you too much to go a month at a time not seeing you. ”
“I’d love that. The cafe has me stretched pretty thin or I’d come see you more often.” I make a face.
My parents have been nothing but supportive of my business.
Initially, they weren’t thrilled that I was opening a cafe in Windy Harbor instead of St. Paul, since they weren’t able to be here full-time, but once they saw how I was thriving here, they never brought it up again.
They plan to be here once they retire, so I think they’re a bit envious that I’m getting an earlier start.
I’m not sure if or when Jackson will leave Minneapolis.
He has a beautiful condo downtown and isn’t too far from the house we grew up in.
Maybe if he ever settles down with someone, he’ll move here.
I don’t see that happening anytime soon, but he loves it in Windy Harbor as much as I do.
My family has been addicted to the town ever since we first came to visit the Whitmans at their lake home.
My parents and Goldie’s became instant friends when they met, and it wasn’t long before we got a lake home here too, our families enjoying time together both in St. Paul and Windy Harbor.
“Come here, pretty girl,” Dad says.
His hug is warm and solid, and I bury my face in his shoulder before Jackson claps him on the back.
We’ve barely finished hugging when Jackson says, “Okay, picture time. I have a plan for us.” He points at Mom and Dad and then between me and him. “Remember this picture?”
He holds up his phone, and my parents laugh.
“Oh my gosh. That was such a fun day,” Mom says.
“We need to reenact this,” Jackson says.
“You think my back is strong enough for that?” Dad asks. “I mean, not because of you two,” he adds, backtracking as he points at my mom and me. “It’s this six-two man of muscle right here.” He pats Jackson’s bicep.
“I won’t put all my weight on you,” Jackson says, grinning.
I roll my eyes. “He’s determined to do this, so we better figure it out or he’ll bug us about it all night.”
“Damn straight. And you already admitted it was a great idea, so don’t go acting like you’re not dying to do this too.” Jackson holds his arms out, waiting for us to chime in.
“I don’t know if I’d say dying to, but it does sound fun.” I grin. “I won’t put all my weight on you either, Dad,” I add.
He laughs. “I guess we’re doing this.” He looks at Jackson. “Same place as this?” He points at the picture.
“Yep, to the Cozy Daisy,” Jackson says.
When we moved into this house, I insisted on naming the “important” rooms. The family room was the Cozy Daisy, the living room was the Yellow Rose, and the kitchen was super creative—Chicken Lickin’.
Not sure why the Cozy Daisy is the only one that stuck, but it’s what we all call the family room, even our friends.
Dad looks at Jackson like You’re really gonna make me do this?
Jackson just gives him a cheesy grin that makes him look like his six-year-old self instead of twenty-eight.
He has a nice camera and sets it on the tripod, checking to make sure he gets the right angle.
Then he points at the floor where he wants Dad to go. Dad groans as he gets on his knees.
“Okay, Papa, you okay doing this photoshoot?” Jackson motions for Papa to come over. “Make sure we look like this.” He sets his phone on the mantel next to Papa.
“I think I can handle it.” Papa winks.
Papa is the one who took the original picture and also the one who taught Jackson and me how to use his Nikon.
“I’m not as nimble as I was twenty-plus years ago,” Dad mutters. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“John, don’t hurt yourself,” Mom says.
He snorts. “Too late. I’m down here. Let’s hurry this up, or I might get stuck this way.”
“We’ll just have to make it look like we’re on your back,” I say as I get in place first.
It’s a struggle to stay steady.
Everyone’s already cracking up.
“Don’t make me laugh,” I say, barely getting the words out. “Dad’s right, we’ve gotta do this fast. I haven’t been exercising enough to do squats here for very long.”
That makes everyone but Dad and me laugh harder. I wave at Jackson and Mom, trying to hurry them up. My legs are feeling the burn as I hover over Dad’s back. Jackson gets on next, and Mom wipes the tears from her eyes.
“You’re so big now, there’s no more room on his back!” she says, pointing at Dad’s backside.
That sends us into another wave of laughter, and I’m so unsteady, I fall into Dad, who weaves, caught off guard. Jackson steadies me and waves for Mom to come on.
“Just get behind me, and don’t forget to look at us like you’re making sure we won’t fall,” he tells her.
“Mm-hmm,” she says through her laughter. “On this half-inch of booty that’s left for me.”
“Who you callin’ a half-inch booty?” Dad quips, sending us all into another round.
“No jokes,” Jackson yells, trying to rein us in but laughing too hard himself.
“Okay, okay, everyone in position,” Papa says after a long wheezing laugh. “Juju, tilt your head back a little, to your left. Jackson, your hand should be on Juju’s right arm. Margaret, come forward a tiny bit so I can see you over your son’s enormous head.”
“Hey!” Jackson protests. “My head is normal for my size.”
“You’ve had an enormous head since the day you were born,” Mom says.
I lose it and have to get resituated, clearing my throat and wiping my eyes before settling into a calmer smile. It’s hard to taper into a calmer smile when you’re laughing too hard.
“Now is not the time to talk about my head,” Jackson says.
Papa cackles and shakes out his hands, trying to steady himself. “Okay, everyone, hold still.”
The click of the camera finally comes, and Papa barks out instructions for us to adjust here and there until he’s happy. When we get up, we have to help Dad to his feet, and he stretches, his back letting out a loud crack as he does.
“I’m sending you my chiropractor bill,” he says, pointing at Jackson.
“Let’s see.” Jackson is already next to Papa, checking out the photos. He puts his fist to his mouth and snorts. “Oh, these are golden,” he says.
The fun continues throughout our Christmas Eve dinner.
The prime rib is delicious, and according to Mom, my homemade rolls are to die for.
Rich, buttery smells waft in the air, Christmas music is playing in the background, and I’m content.
It’s so good to have my family here, to sit down and breathe.
And there’s nonstop entertainment. Jackson has had three generous fingers of Jameson, which means his filter is nonexistent.
“So, Jackson,” Mom says sweetly, “how’s…what was her name again?”
Jackson’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth. “Which one?”
I nearly choke on my wine. “Which one?” I repeat, leaning forward. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Hey, I’m single. It’s okay to mingle.” He tries to look serious, but his grin ruins it. “And let me tell you, I’m mingling.”
I groan. “Gross.”
“It’d be selfish to only let one person get close to this,” he says, pointing his hands toward his chest.
My eyes narrow. “How did we come from the same genetic pool?”
Dad chuckles. “Son, is this why you never bring anyone around us? Unable to pick one person who can enjoy all this? Or afraid we’ll scare them off?”
Jackson raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I can assure you—no one scares them off.” He leans in.
“These girls are bold. Did I tell you about the one I couldn’t get to leave?
She spent the night and the next morning woke up with an outline of all the things she wanted to do…
in my condo. And might I add, I didn’t want her to spend the night in the first place. ”
“Yeah, no…I didn’t need to hear that,” I say.