Chapter 25 Tash
Tash
I'd decided to visit Gerty and wrap presents while we waited for Beth to arrive. The girls came too, of course. And where Fifi went, so did Huey. All of us piled into the rental and moved to the kitchen to do the wrapping.
The dragon plush glared at me from the table like it knew it was about to be manhandled.
I lined up the wrapping paper and scissors, determined to make Chance's Christmas present look halfway decent, but Huey had other plans.
For the third time in twelve minutes, he circled my chair, sprang up, and tried to snatch the toy straight out of my lap.
"Absolutely not," I told him, tucking the dragon under my arm. Huey wiggled his hindquarters in determination. He was not here for my boundaries.
The heat vent kicked on and sent a swirl of warm air right into my face. I stifled a sneeze, blinking as Huey switched tactics. This time, he went for sheer cuteness. Paws on my knee, tongue dangling, full puppy dog eyes. The little dog had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
I wrapped the dragon quickly, tape ready, before the little monster could regroup, but the second I set the package on the table to cut a ribbon, Huey went into overdrive. He lunged, grabbed the plush by the tail, and God help me, started humping the thing through the paper.
The noise that came out of my mouth was not dignified. "Huey!" I shouted. "Leave it! That's not for you!"
He froze, then looked at me like I was the unreasonable one.
Dragging the present upward, I dangled it over my head. Huey jumped, tail wagging, still desperate for the world's weirdest date. If this was a metaphor for my love life, I absolutely refused to notice.
I peeled off the sheet of used wrapping paper, grabbed a box, and started over, this time anchoring the box between my feet as I taped like a madwoman. Huey zipped around the kitchen, snorting his outrage into every available corner.
Once the package was mostly secure, I double-checked the tape, wrote Chance's name in Sharpie, and scanned the kitchen for a safe zone. The top of the pantry seemed promising. I heaved the gift up there, Huey staring up as if he could reach it by sheer force of will.
"That's that," I said, planting my hands on my hips.
Huey whined, but I tossed him a bit of leftover toast crust for his troubles.
Surveying the battlefield, I realized something else. One of my rolls of wrapping paper was missing. Just gone, no note, no explanation.
Great. Sabotaged by the "Gift Fairies."
A quick check of the living room confirmed it.
The twins' latest covert operation had moved into full swing.
Mere's backpack was wedged under the side table, its zipper gaping just enough to reveal the corner of a shopping bag.
They must've stolen the paper yesterday after Mere's top-secret solo trip to town.
She'd come back looking smug, and had refused to spill what she'd been up to.
Fifi, naturally, played dumb. "No idea what you're talking about."
She sounded so innocent, I almost clapped.
Gerty sauntered into the kitchen. "You would not believe how many paint tubes I own. I think they self-replicate. Or maybe I black out and just order more when I'm sleep deprived."
She leaned against the fridge and sized up the room. The wrapped box in the pantry, the sulking dog, and the faint scent of hopeful excitement clinging to every surface.
"You're up early," she noted, one eyebrow arched. "Wrapping presents before noon? Is this the new Tash, or are you being blackmailed?"
"I'm on a mission," I told her. "I wanted to get it done before Beth arrived. Her kids' presents are done. You should see what Huey just tried to do to Chance's gift."
Gerty grinned, sharp and sly. "Please tell me he humped it."
I glared, but it was a fair guess. "Like a frat boy at a foam party."
"Nice. Nothing says, ‘family holiday' like a violated dragon plush."
Before either of us could unpack the image, the world outside went off like a starter pistol.
Car doors slammed. Once, twice, and then an extra pop for luck. Then came the familiar sound of Beth's voice, rolling up the walk, punctuated by the high-pitched chorus of small children.
Gerty laughed. "Showtime."
I barely made it to the front hall before Beth barreled through the door, hair askew and cheeks flushed. She was carrying three bags. One polka-dotted, one a tangled plastic grocery sack, and the third dangling precariously from her pinky finger. Her kids followed behind.
"Surprise!" Beth crowed, dropping the bags and pulling me into a hug.
"You made good time," I managed, voice muffled by her scarf.
"Only two bathroom stops," she bragged. Then, "Oh my God, I forgot to text you from the interstate. I was too busy bribing them with Christmas music."
Liz, Beth's oldest, hovered behind her, already sizing up the new environment. Penny peered around, clutching a stuffed rabbit like a security badge, and Ollie zeroed in on Huey with the instincts of a bloodhound.
The twins arrived on cue, half sliding down the stairs, hair wild and faces bright. Fifi nabbed the lead, "Hey, you made it!" and Mere followed, already prepping her "Camp Counselor" routine.
"I'll show you where everyone's sleeping," Fifi declared. "It's kind of weird right now, but Mom says it works."
Mere added, "Yeah. You get my room, Aunt Beth, and the kids are in Fifi's. We've got sleeping bags."
Beth blinked, a little lost. "Where are you two sleeping?"
This was the moment I'd been bracing for. Fifi grinned, revealing the full weirdness like it was a badge of honor. "We're staying at our dad's for the holidays. He's got this huge house and, like, the most entitled cat. It's wild."
Even after everything, the words "our dad" sounded foreign and magical at the same time. My chest went hot.
Penny's mouth dropped open. "A wildcat?!"
Fifi winked. "Big and white and fluffy. Her name's Lola. But she's actually a Persian cat. We have a river out back, too, look!"
Ollie, for his part, just patted Huey and whispered, "Nice doggie."
With Fifi and Mere organizing, the group was off, down the hall, through the sliding doors, out toward the creek.
The house went instantly silent, all the kid energy pulling like a tide out the back. Beth didn't waste a second. She turned, eyes glassy, and grabbed both my hands so hard it stung.
She didn't even warm up. "He's gone. Tash, it's over. He signed."
I blinked, not tracking. "What?"
Beth shook her head so hard her hair flew loose. "Ryan. He signed away his parental rights. The lawyer called last night. It's a done deal. The kids are mine for good. No threats, no more lawyers, nothing."
I tried to act surprised. Really, I did. The guilt spiked sharply in my stomach, knowing I wasn't being honest. I pasted on what I hoped was genuine shock.
"Beth, that's amazing! I can't believe it. I mean, how? Why would he—"
She crumpled into my arms, laughing and crying at the same time. "I don't know! I don't care, honestly. I just keep reading the papers and waiting for it to sink in. He's actually out of our lives, Tash. It's really over."
Gerty dove into the hug too, all three of us stacked in a knot in the entryway.
"We need to celebrate," Gerty said. "I mean, really lose our minds. Cake, confetti, a goddamn parade."
Beth sniffed, blinking away the tears. "I just want peace. I want to put my kids to bed without worrying he'll show up drunk and ruin everything."
Gerty and I nodded so hard we looked like dashboard bobbleheads.
"We're so happy for you," I promised. "Like, ‘win-the-lottery' happy."
Beth's smile went wobbly. "You're both insane, you know that?"
Gerty patted her shoulder. "Takes one to know one."
Before Beth could process more, the twins reappeared in the doorway, this time with mud streaked up their shins and three additional children trailing behind, equally grimy.
"Can we make some hot chocolate?" Fifi pleaded. "It's too cold to stay out there for long."
Mere shot me a sidelong glance. "We didn't actually get in the creek. Just near it."
The level of dirt on Ollie's boots and trousers implied otherwise, but I let it slide.
"Take off your shoes," I commanded. "If you track mud through the front hall, you're on mop duty forever."
The group peeled away, dragging boots and laughter into the laundry room.
Beth dabbed at her eyes, then squared up. "I should grab the rest of the stuff from the car."
"I'll help," I offered, but she waved me off.
"I need the air. If I don't move, I think my heart will explode."
She hustled out, leaving Gerty and me alone in the mess.
Without waiting, I grabbed her arm and hissed, "We need to dial it back. We're way overdoing it."
Gerty even tried out a "mild enthusiasm" face, but it looked more like she'd just invested in municipal bonds.
I shook my head. "We'll work on it."
Beth returned, this time with a box bigger than her torso and a duffel bag that looked like it had survived a horror movie.
We rallied around her, helping unpack. Toothbrushes, toys, one emergency stuffed animal for each kid, and a Ziploc baggie full of homemade granola bars. In the upstairs bathroom, the girls stashed their hair ties and unicorn toothpaste, while Ollie's bath ducks took over the sink.
As we pulled towels from the linen closet, an engine rumbled outside.
I didn't even have to look. The thrum said it all.
Chance. We traipsed down to the kitchen in time for him to knock on the back door, polite as could be, then step in, voice pitched apologetically.
"Sorry I'm late. Mom wanted to run through something about the bakery's Christmas menu. It took longer than I thought."
He kicked off his boots, scanned the entryway, and promptly locked on Gerty.
Gerty, for her part, just stood and stared. One eyebrow went up, but the rest of her face stayed smooth as butter. I could see the calculation, cataloguing the width of his shoulders, his tan skin, and the way he took in every detail without missing a beat.
"Gerty, this is Chance Meyer," I said, hoping they liked him. "Chance, meet Gretchen Maddox, the tornado who kept me alive through college."
He offered his hand, which Gerty shook without blinking. "Nice to finally meet you. Tash has, uh, mentioned you a few times."
Chance grinned. "Mostly good, I hope."
"That depends on the day," Gerty fired back.
I knew instantly they'd get along.
Beth walked in and beamed at all of us. She was still riding the high of being free of her husband. "You must be Chance." She grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down, then leaned toward me to hiss, "He's hot!"
My face burned, but within seconds, the kitchen filled again. The kids, now reassembled, with only minimal fighting over who got the blue mug, parked themselves around the table. Mere warmed milk, Fifi ran the hot chocolate mix like a pro, and Beth and I cleaned the inevitable mess.
Chance waded in, totally at ease. He knelt to high-five Ollie, complimented Penny's sparkly hair clips, and smiled at Liz, who'd gone shy.
Gerty caught my eye, mouthed, "He's a total dad."
I nearly spat cocoa.
As mugs got distributed, Fifi took control of the kitchen.
"Extra marshmallows for everyone," she declared. "And don't worry, I've been told that sugar high is a family tradition."
Gerty snorted, scooting in at the end of the table. "You know, I might have to start a new Christmas tradition myself, now that I'm a working woman in this fine town."
I nearly choked on my own drink. "Wait, what?"
She grinned but tried to play it off. "Yeah. The bookstore down on Main hired me yesterday. They needed someone to handle the kids' section, paint a mural, and maybe not lose the register. I start after the holidays."
Beth's jaw hit the table. "Gerty, you've never had a non-art job in your life!"
She shrugged, but her cheeks went pink. "Maybe it's time. Besides, you can only live off trust fund fumes for so long before you start questioning your existence. And I'll be painting a mural, so it's still an art job."
Chance nodded. "That store is run by good people. You'll fit in."
The twins, never ones to miss an opportunity, immediately pounced.
"So you'll get us a discounts on books?" Fifi asked.
"Maybe. If you're nice," Gerty shot back.
Mere leaned in. "Can you recommend stuff? For, like, birthdays?"
Gerty winked. "I'll be your source. Just don't narc on me to the owner."
The chatter spiraled. Kids arguing over which book character was best, Beth tearing up again at the sight of her kids acting normal. Even Huey joined in, parked under the table snoring like a chainsaw.
I stood up, letting it all roll over me. The past week had been nothing but upheaval. Secrets, shifts, new family ties, the stress of protecting everyone from the next shoe waiting to drop.
But here, in this kitchen, with Gerty's job, Beth's kids happy and safe, and both my daughters laughing like they'd never been haunted by anything, my heart was too full to speak.
I caught Gerty's smile. Quiet, content, a little fragile.
Beth topped off her cocoa and raised it in a shaky toast. "Here's to new beginnings."
I saw the tears in her eyes, the same as mine.
"To new beginnings," I replied.
The mugs clinked, the kids cheered, and for a few precious minutes, everyone was simply happy.