Chapter 5 Lindsey
LINDSEY
“I hope you’ve got some body armor under that sweater,” Lucy says to me as the breeze whips through her rose-gold ponytail, revealing the cluster of stars tattooed on her neck.
I roll my eyes. “I’m talking to our mother, not a mob boss.
” We’re standing on the back deck of our childhood home on Thanksgiving, where we were not even a week ago, while the kids play in the yard.
The late afternoon sun is casting a golden glow over everything it touches.
It’s a pleasant, cloudless day. You’d never know a storm was brewing right here at the Haggerty house.
Ben smirks. “With the amount of cutlery lying around, I’d say this could be every bit as dangerous.”
“I think I’d rather meet Al Capone in a dark alley than talk to Mom about changing our Christmas plans,” Lucy says with a laugh.
The door to the back patio opens and Ellie emerges with Willow, their wine glasses freshly refilled. A crash, followed by a string of expletives and metal pots clattering, pierces the air outside, and Willow winces, closing the door.
“How’s it going in there?” I ask, taking the last sip from my cup of chai that’s doing nothing to settle my nerves.
“Food’s almost done, but she still won’t let us touch anything.” Willow grits her teeth. “She wouldn’t even let me put ice in the glasses.”
“Don’t take it personally,” I say. “That’s how she is.”
“It’s just been a lot worse since Dad died,” Lucy adds, and the air instantly feels ten degrees cooler.
Ellie sighs, leaning her arms over the wood railing. “Should we wait another year? Maybe it’s too soon.”
Ben shakes his head. “Mom’s in a good-ish mood today. I think she’s still high on the prospect that Lindsey had a date.”
“Happy to contribute to the cause.” I roll my eyes.
It’s true, our mother has seemed brighter since Lucy spilled the beans about Oliver over dinner on Sunday, so much so that she was still going on about it over breakfast this morning.
I pretended to entertain the idea of seeing him again once I saw the shadows return to her face at the mere suggestion that my afternoon with Oliver was anything but a date.
We needed all the advantages we could get.
It wasn’t hard to act like I have a crush on Oliver because it’s not exactly untrue. I just can’t act on it. My stomach flutters, but I shove the feeling down when Emily lets out a happy squeal as she jumps into the pile of leaves her brother has been haphazardly gathering for her.
“Whatever. We’re doing this for them.” I nod toward where the kids have collapsed in a giggling heap.
“Maybe she won’t take it as badly as you think,” Willow says, brushing a tawny coil off her face. “She could be open to the idea.”
“I love your optimism, babe.” Lucy threads her fingers through Willow’s. “No matter how misguided it is.”
“Did you talk to Aunt Rose?” Ben asks, nudging my arm. “Maybe she can get her on board.”
“I did,” I say. “I called her last night. She’s on our side and said she’d do what she can to help. She understands where we’re coming from, but ultimately, Mom’s going to do what she wants.”
“Where is Rose, anyway?” Ellie asks, her pale cheeks pink from being kissed by the breeze.
“She should be here anytime now. She had a Friendsgiving brunch,” I answer. “And she was probably hoping to avoid the fifth annual holiday gloom fest.”
Ben shakes his head, one of his brown curls falling into his eyes. “I can’t handle another holiday like that. I won’t. It’s depressing.”
The house is decked out in cranberry garland and gourds with splashes of vibrant orange and burgundy, but the mood is decidedly blue.
Since our father died, our mother has been hell-bent on recreating every tradition exactly the way we did them when he was alive.
The only difference is that now all the joy has been sucked out.
It’s as though she fears his memory and everything he was will disappear if we don’t remain in mourning for the rest of our lives.
That’s why we’re going to suggest celebrating Christmas at Ben and Ellie’s house this year. Because it’s not Dad’s legacy that’s in danger of slipping away from us. It’s ours.
The patio door opens and Aunt Rose appears, her auburn hair teased so high it would make Dolly Parton jealous.
“The prodigal aunt returns,” Lucy says in lieu of a greeting.
“Dinner’s ready.” Aunt Rose pulls the door shut behind her and lowers her voice. “But are you?”
I exhale slowly and start toward her while Ben calls for the kids.
“Got any final words of wisdom?” I ask my mother’s older sister. “Anything you think might help?”
“I brought whiskey.” She wrinkles her upturned nose, regarding my empty mug and the soggy tea bag inside with pursed scarlet lips. “In case you need something stronger.”
Mom lays her fork on her empty plate after dinner. “I need to get the order in for our matching pajamas tomorrow. Do you want buffalo plaid or candy canes?”
Having a conversation with our mother during the holidays is like eating raw cookie dough.
We can’t not do it, but we never know what will set her off, poisoning us all.
Talking about the clinic or Mom’s design business where Ellie works is always a safe bet, and of course, anything to do with the kids, so that’s what we started with.
Ben already discussed his latest drama as the designated room parent for both Noah and Emily’s classes.
Willow told us about her job at the yoga studio in town and the art class she started at the rec center. Then the topic shifted to Christmas.
“I narrowed it down to two that were mostly red since we did the tree print last year,” she goes on, mistaking our silence for distaste over her choice in sleepwear. “They did have some Grinch ones, if you all would like those better.”
A hush falls over the worn oak table.
“Actually, Mom.” I clear my throat. “We wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”
Aunt Rose downs the rest of her wine in one gulp.
“Why don’t I take the kids into the playroom for a bit and let y’all have a minute?” Ellie says, scooting out her chair. At the mention of the word playroom, Noah and Emily bounce out of their seats and skip from the room.
Mom furrows her brow and opens her mouth to say something, but Willow beats her to it.
“I’ll come with you.” Willow jumps up to help Ellie clear their plates before following the trail of happy giggles.
“Is everything okay?” Mom clasps her hands below her chin.
For a second, I reconsider saying anything at all because it pains me to upset her. Maybe we should all grin and bear it another year.
No. Remember why you’re doing this.
“We’ve been thinking about Christmas,” I begin, keeping my voice casual. Perhaps if I make it sound like this isn’t a big deal, she won’t make it into one. “Now that Noah and Emily are a little older and they’re able to participate in the holiday more, we’d like to start some new traditions.”
“Oh?” Mom’s face draws back as though she’s been slapped. “Like what?”
Ben gives me a nod of encouragement.
“We’d like to have Christmas at Ben and Ellie’s,” I answer. “We want the kids to have some holiday memories in their own home, like we do here.”
Her frown lines deepen. “And you’re all on board with this?”
Lucy’s smile falters.
Mom purses her lips. “But they’ve only ever known Christmas here. We’ve always had it at our house. It was your father’s favorite holiday.”
Her eyes turn glassy, and Lucy shoots me a panicked glance.
“It’s ours too,” I say. “Because of you and Dad. You made every holiday so special. The house was always bursting at the seams with love because of you. We want the chance to create that same magic for the kids ourselves.”
“I don’t understand.” Mom’s voice breaks, sending a hairline fracture down the middle of my heart. “What have I done wrong?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.” I reach across the table and touch her arm. “You’ve done everything right. You’ve given us everything. We just want the chance to do the same for them.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to let someone else steer the ship a while, Myra Jean?” Aunt Rose asks. “You’d get to sit back and enjoy all the fun parts of the holiday without any of the hassle.”
That’s apparently the wrong thing to say because Mom’s nostrils flare, and her hands ball into fists.
“I happen to love the ‘hassle,’ as you put it, Rose,” she says. “This is fun for me.”
“We know,” I assure her. “And we still want you there for every second. You could stay over so we can all still wake up in the same house. We can drink coffee while Noah and Emily open their presents from Santa. We can still wear matching pajamas if that’s what you want.”
Lucy holds up her hand. “Actually, do we have to—”
Our mother’s mouth drops open, and I cut my sister off with a stern glare.
“I love the matching pajamas.” Lucy drops her hand and gives a faint smile. “They’re my favorite.”
Mom tosses her napkin on her plate. “You hate them. Just say it. You don’t like the way we celebrate Christmas. You want to change everything.”
Ben sighs. “That’s not what we’re saying at all.”
“We’d just like a chance to try things our way.” I attempt to squeeze her arm, but she yanks it away.
She shakes her head profusely. “This was our holiday. Your father was the one who insisted on putting the lights up before the first of December. He wanted to take the annual family photo on the porch in our matching pajamas, and he loved nothing more than sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve watching those damn TV movies we all love.”
Ben opens his mouth to speak, but I kick his shin under the table.
“He pretended to be surprised every time a big city girl inherited an inn or a goat farm or whatever it was before she moved to some small town in Colorado and fell in love on Christmas.” Mom’s hands move emphatically, punctuating her every word.
“He did that for all of you, and this is how you repay him?”