Chapter 5 Lindsey #2
Dad loved Christmas and having us there, but much of what he did was to make Mom happy.
He turned the place into a gingerbread house, wrapping every outdoor surface in colorful twinkle lights, even climbing on the roof with a staple gun every year, just to make her smile.
Our father couldn’t have cared less about us wearing matching holiday-themed pj’s.
In fact, he confessed to me on multiple occasions how uncomfortable they were since he was so tall and they were always three inches too short, but he wore them with a smile because it brought her so much joy.
And Dad’s favorite Christmas movie was Die Hard.
He only watched the ones that played twenty-four seven on cable because Mom was obsessed with them.
Truth be told, it was why we watched them too.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Mom, he did all of that for you.”
Her face crumbles like a child whose parents just told her Santa isn’t real. “I see.”
She pushes back her chair, and it screeches against the hardwood floor as she bolts to her feet and starts gathering the dishes.
“Myra Jean.” Aunt Rose blows out a breath. “Sit back down.”
“Mom. Can we please just talk about this?” I ask, and she answers by snatching my plate and plunking it on top of her growing stack.
“It sounds like you’ve already made your decision,” Mom says, jutting out her chin. “Anyway, we should have dessert. I’ve got pecan pie, chocolate meringue, some sugar cookies, and I made your dad’s favorite pumpkin pie.” She sniffles. “Or maybe he pretended to like that too.”
I rub my temples as she storms from the dining room. “That went well.”
Aunt Rose gives me an empathetic smile. “Chin up, kid. You handled it the best you could. She’ll come around.”
I blow out a breath and rise to my feet. “We need to go after her.”
Ben and Lucy groan as they stand, but Aunt Rose doesn’t budge.
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Do I have to?” Rose pouts, and I reply by raising my brow and propping my hand on my hip.
“Fine.” She grimaces and grabs the last remaining roll in the bread basket, stuffing it in her mouth.
I attempt to push through the swinging door to the kitchen but am met with resistance followed by a shrill shriek.
“Oh no,” Ben mutters. “That doesn’t sound good.”
I ease the door open slowly this time. “Mom?”
An ear-splitting wail answers from the floor where my mother sits in a puddle of tears in front of a squashed pumpkin pie, the front of her cream dress covered in orange goo. Some of the custardy filling had even managed to splatter into her sleek, silver bob and onto her fair skin.
“Are you okay?” Lucy asks as we rush to her side.
“It’s ruined,” Mom answers, sucking in a breath between sobs. “Everything is ruined.”
Lucy lets out a soft laugh. “There’s no use crying over pumpkin pie. Come on. Let’s get this cleaned up.”
“No!” Her voice is so sharp it causes me to jump. “What’s the use, anyway? So you all can tell me you don’t want to spend Thanksgiving here, either? I’ve had quite enough.”
My hands tremble at my sides.
“Sister,” Aunt Rose scolds. “What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Mom repeats. “This entire day has been a disaster.”
“That’s not true,” Ben begins, but she cuts him off.
“I do everything I can to keep the magic of the holidays alive. To keep your father’s memory alive. But apparently, that means nothing to you.”
I gasp. “Mother.” She’s being unfair, and I’m starting to wonder if she dropped the pie on purpose for added dramatic flair.
Lucy’s bottom lip quivers, and Ben’s face falls.
“You know what,” I say. “Maybe we should go and give you some space.”
“Yes, that’s a great idea,” Mom yells. “Maybe you should!”
Ben pulls Lucy and me to our feet, and I reach my hand out to help our mother off the floor, but she pushes it away.
I shake my head. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mama.”
It’s a calculated move, but a necessary one. When we were little and were sad or hurt, it was never Mom or Mother we called for. It was Mama.
Aunt Rose sneers. “Myra Jean, you’re showing your ass.”
“I am not—”
“Your ass.” Aunt Rose points to where my mother’s dress has ridden up her legs, revealing a pair of polka-dotted underwear. “It’s showing.”
She yanks down the hem of the fabric with a guttural growl, and we back out of the kitchen as though we’re escaping a wild bear.
Willow is waiting for us outside the door.
“We need to leave,” I say. “Now.”
“What?” Willow covers her mouth with her hand. “Why?”
“I’ll get Ellie and the kids,” Ben says as the rest of us pad into the living room.
I pull a tearful Lucy into my arms. “It’s okay, Luce.”
“I’ve never seen her this mad before,” my sister chokes out.
Aunt Rose folds her arms over her robust chest. “She’s being a childish twat.”
“We’ll have dessert later. There are cookies at home,” Ellie says as she and Ben steer the kids down the hall.
Noah’s brow knits. “But we have to say goodbye to Grandma.”
“Grandma isn’t feeling well,” Ben explains. “We’ll see her later, okay?”
Together, we make our way outside, and Ellie moves ahead to load Emily and Noah in their minivan.
“I’m sorry, kids,” Aunt Rose says. “Your mom loves you, but she’s hardheaded. Just give her time.”
“Thanks for trying, Linds,” Ben says, giving my arm a squeeze.
I force a smile and nod. We all share hugs and I love yous before we part ways.
“See you tomorrow?” Lucy calls as she opens the passenger door to Willow’s Honda Civic.
“Bright and early,” I answer, climbing into my own car. Tears burn behind my eyes as I wait for my family to take their turns pulling out of the gravel driveway.
My mother’s harsh words opened up the old wound left behind by my father’s death. She knows how important he was and still is to us. I don’t think she meant what she said, but it still hurts.
I’d give anything to talk to my dad. He’d know exactly what to do.
In the time since he passed, I learned a lot about grief and what it means to lose someone so significant, the most important being that your life becomes firmly divided into two parts: before and after.
No matter how hard you try to arrange pieces of the past into the puzzle that is the future, they’ll never fit the way they used to.
“Dad, I wish you were here,” I say aloud, praying that somehow, some way, he’ll hear me. I wipe away the tears spilling down my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’m a mess. We all are. A mess and a half.”
I wait for a moment, hoping to hear my dad’s voice in my head or get some kind of sign letting me know he’s still with me.
The only sound I’m met with is deafening silence.
I push through the door that separates the lab from the lobby of the clinic Saturday morning, where each of the five chairs is already filled with owners and their pets.
Mr. Bush is waiting at the front, his arms resting on top of the Formica desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Bush. I hear we have another casualty?”
“Yes, Doctor,” he answers, whistling through his toothless mouth.
Mr. Bush has been a frequent flier at the clinic since he adopted a beagle puppy with an insatiable hunger for Poligrip and resin the year before.
“I was in the shower yesterday, and the next thing I knew, Noodle burst through the curtain, grinning up at me like he was in a damn canine Crest commercial.”
My eyes fall to Noodle, who cocks his head to one side and lets out a triumphant rooo, rooo, roooooo.
“You stop that,” Mr. Bush scolds the dog. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”
The beagle grunts and begins turning circles, his hind end wiggling.
Kayla kneels to scratch Noodle behind the ears, and he takes the opportunity to give her a big, slobbery smooch.
“Thanks, Noodle,” Kayla says. “You’re a real ladies’ man.”
Mr. Bush beams. “Just like his daddy.”
“Right.” I give him a polite smile. “Okay, you know the drill. I’m going to borrow this little guy for a few minutes to make sure there’s nothing lingering in his tummy.”
“Okey dokey,” he says, handing over Noodle’s leash.
I click my tongue, and the pup trots beside me as I lead him to the back with Kayla on our heels. Once we’re in the lab, she lifts him onto the X-ray machine so I can take a scan of his abdomen.
Lucy cackles when she glances up from the wall-mounted tub, where she’s working up a lather on an elderly Pomeranian, to catch a glimpse of the first patient of the day.
“Noodle,” she cries. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, but he did,” I say, stepping over to the laptop on the counter to view the images from the test. As I suspected, he already passed everything he managed to swallow.
“How many sets of dentures has the man been through now?” I ask as I move Noodle to the steel table in the center of the room to check his vitals. “Four?”
“Eight,” Kayla deadpans, giving the pooch a squirt of spray cheese to lick off her hand to keep him still.
“Wow, really?” I raise my brow. “That many?”
“You know he’s only coming here for the cheese at this point,” Lucy teases.
“Hey, it keeps him calm.” Kayla shrugs before turning her hazel eyes on me. “So, how was your Thanksgiving? Did you guys talk to your mom?”
“We did.” I sigh as I move my stethoscope along the curve of the dog’s belly. “It didn’t go like we hoped.”
“She’s putting it mildly,” Lucy says. “It was a disaster.”
Kayla gives me a sad smile. “What happened?”
Lucy and I recount the entire fiasco, including how our mother ended up in a heap on the floor with her undies showing.
Kayla shakes her head. “I can’t believe it. Your mom has always seemed so…poised.”
I remove my stethoscope and sling it around my neck.
“Things have been different since Dad died. She’s been different.
Sometimes I think she forgets that losing Dad has been hard on us too.
All I know is, we can’t handle another holiday where Mom spends the day waxing nostalgic.
The holidays are hard enough without Dad, and doing all the things we enjoyed with him only makes his absence feel bigger. ”
“I’m sure it’s difficult for her to think about celebrating the holiday differently,” Kayla says, anticipating my every move and handing me the thermometer. “In a way, those traditions probably feel like the last thread connecting her to your dad. She’ll come around.”
“It’ll take a Christmas miracle for that to happen.” Lucy turns on the hose to rinse the Pomeranian, which causes it to snarl like a possessed gremlin. “Dad always said she was stubborn as an old goat.”
“That must be where you get it from.” I stick the thermometer beneath Noodle’s tail, and he lets out a dissatisfied whimper, narrowing his eyes at me. “Hey, you did this to yourself, buddy.”
“I’m just saying, when our mother is set on something, she cannot be deterred. Case in point: she went to the doctor for a sinus infection and came home with a fiance?e for me,” Lucy explains.
“Didn’t she also set up Ben and Ellie?” Kayla asks.
“She did,” Lucy answers before looking back at me. “So, it’s inevitable she’ll make sure you get coupled up too. Might as well accept your fate now.”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Oh, that’s right. Lindsey Haggerty doesn’t believe in love,” Lucy teases in a singsongy voice. “She doesn’t believe in the fairytale.”
“What do you think, Noodle?” I ask, cupping the pooch’s face in my hands. “Do you believe in love?”
In lieu of a reply, the beagle unleashes the loudest fart I’ve ever heard come from a dog, or any living being, for that matter. Truth from the mouths of babes. Or from the butts of mutts.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say with a laugh. “Anyway, it’s not that I don’t believe in it. I just don’t need it to be happy.”
I know that kind of love exists because I’ve witnessed it through my parents’ marriage and again through my siblings and their significant others.
But for me, it’s not worth the risk because it can all be lost in the span of a single breath.
At best, when the other person decides your darkest parts are simply too much to deal with.
At worst, when the person you love more than life itself is taken from your world with no explanation or goodbyes—when they’re alive one minute and gone the next.
“Okay, Mr. Noodle,” I say, scratching the pup on top of the head. “You’re good to go.”
“Let’s get you back to Mr. Bush, you little tooth thief,” Kayla says, scooping the dog into her arms and placing him on the floor. “How much do you want me to charge him?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. He’s on a fixed income. It didn’t take that long anyway.”
Lucy and Kayla exchange a knowing glance.
“What?”
“It’s just no wonder everyone within a seventy-five-mile radius wants to come here,” Kayla answers. “You’re good at what you do, and you have a kind heart.”
“And you’re almost as cute as me,” Lucy quips. “We’ll get you married off yet, Linds.”
I roll my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“But first we just need to get you another date with that smokin’ hot firefighter,” she adds, and Kayla emits a high-pitched squeak.
“Hold up,” Kayla says. “What? As in, that super cute guy from the other day? Oliver?”
I huff out a breath and shoot daggers at Lucy with my eyes. “Seriously, how does your head fit through the door with your big mouth attached to it?” I turn to Kayla. “I was going to tell you.”
“No you weren’t, you dirty little liar,” Kayla says with a grin, looping her arm through mine. “Now, spill.”