Chapter 17 Lindsey #3
Willow nudges Lucy with her elbow. “I’m beginning to think your mom singing is some kind of urban legend. Nobody else can back up your claims.”
“It’s true,” Ellie says. “I’ve heard it.”
Oliver shifts in his seat, resting his arm over the back of the chair. “You should get up there. I want to hear you sing.”
“That makes two of us,” Ron agrees.
Willow raises her hand. “Three.”
“You should do it, Myra Jean.” Rose gives her an encouraging nod. “For old times’ sake.”
“She used to sing ‘Santa Baby’ every year,” Ben says. “Always got the crowd going. She even won a couple times. The prizes weren’t near as good back then, though.”
“Is that right?” Oliver asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You should do it, MJ. I’ll even sing with you.”
My mouth falls open. “Really?”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Mom says, her gaze dropping to her lap.
“Please, Grandma,” Noah begs. “Please sing.”
Mom smooths the invisible wrinkles in her holly-green cashmere pants. “Sweetheart, Grandma hasn’t sung in a long time, and I just don’t think I’m up for it.”
“C’mon, Grandma,” Emily pleads. “I want to hear ‘Baby Santa.’”
Mom chuckles and scrunches her nose. “I don’t think so, sweetie.”
Lucy stands with a sigh. “Well, I guess you guys are stuck listening to me and Lindsey, then. I’m going to put our names in.”
“I wanna go too, Aunt Lucy,” Noah pipes up. “I want to sing.”
“Oh yeah?” Ellie asks. “What song?”
Noah presses his lips together, his eyes squinted. “Mmm…‘Jingle Bells’!”
“No way,” Lucy says, pressing a hand to her chest. “That’s my favorite. Come on. Let’s sign up.”
I glance back at Mom, and she gives me a wistful smile as Eddie O’Donnell returns to the stage.
“How’re we doing, Loving?” Eddie asks and is answered with raucous applause.
Oliver places a hand on my knee, and when our eyes meet, all is calm and bright for the first time in what feels like forever.
“Give it up for Gruff, everyone! I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a more, um, enthusiastic version of ‘The Little Drummer Boy,’ Eddie says with a polite smile as a balding man in a leather jacket, motorcycle boots, and a pair of reindeer antlers exits the stage with a guttural yell.
“Enthusiastic?” Kayla shout-whispers in my ear. “All I got was a ‘great job’ and Mr. Sons of Anarchy is enthusiastic?”
“I’m not so sure he meant it as a compliment,” I say. Gruff’s performance consisted of him screaming the words like he was fronting a metal band.
Aunt Rose cocks her head to the side. “Is it just me or is Gruff kind of sexy.”
“It’s just you,” Lucy, Kayla, and I say in unison.
Oliver shakes beside me with laughter.
“That’ll be a tough act to follow, but someone’s gotta do it, and that someone is…” Eddie opens the folded red paper in his hand and laughs. “This is cute. Next up, we have someone by the name of Grandma MJ singing ‘Santa Baby.’”
The audience chuckles, and I gasp.
“What?” Mom inhales sharply, and we all turn to look at her. “Lucy!”
“Yay, Grandma!” Noah claps, and his sister joins in.
Lucy clamps a hand to her mouth. “Oh shit. Mom, I swear I didn’t know.”
“Noah, did you put your grandmother’s name in?” Ellie asks, and he nods. “You shouldn’t have done that, honey. Grandma doesn’t want to sing.”
“Now, where’s Grandma MJ?” Eddie squints, peering into the crowd with his hand shielding his eyes.
“Here!” Noah shouts, pointing at my mother, whose face has turned the color of a cranberry.
“There she is. Come on up, Grandma MJ,” Eddie says, and the crowd cheers.
Mom freezes, and Ron places a hand on her shoulder. “Myra Jean? Are you all right?”
A few more seconds pass, and Eddie tries again. “Don’t be shy, Grandma. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”
The audience’s cheers grow louder.
Aunt Rose glances at me, a question dancing in her eyes.
I open my mouth to speak for Mom, to tell Eddie there’s been a mistake, but before I can get the words out, Oliver is on the stage.
“Sorry, Eddie,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “There’s been a change of plans. I’m Oliver, and I’ll be performing in MJ’s place.”
The women in the crowd scream their excitement. Meanwhile, my heart is gooey, like the icing on my mother’s famous caramel cake.
“Sounds like they approve,” Eddie says. “Let’s hear it for Oliver singing ‘Santa Baby.’”
I watch with wide eyes as the opening notes of the song begins to play, and Oliver shimmies his hips to the rhythm, eliciting a series of hollers and giggles that turn his cheeks pink.
“Um, what exactly is happening right now?” Kayla asks, her mouth dropping open when Oliver begins to sing, terribly off-key in a wobbly tenor.
I’m laughing with tears in my eyes as he croons about asking the big guy in red for a convertible and a yacht.
He catches my eyes and gives me a subtle wink, and I smile, shaking my head in disbelief.
Oliver saw how uncomfortable my mother was and didn’t hesitate to take the attention off her.
His voice quivers, and beads of sweat are dotting his hairline.
I think back to the day we went to Antonio’s, when he told me how he used to want to be in the New Kids on the Block but didn’t like to sing in public.
Oliver isn’t comfortable on stage, but he got up there anyway. He did it for her. He did it for me.
I turn to find my mother quaking with laughter, her hands tucked under her chin.
She locks eyes with me and smiles, and for a second, it takes my breath away.
I’m not shrouded in grief or nostalgia or longing for days past, and neither is she.
We’re right here, in this moment, with the soundtrack of Oliver’s wonderfully awful singing in the background.
She’s here with us at a place she swore she’d never return.
It’s a step I didn’t think she’d make, but I’m so thankful she did.
Mom leans forward and squeezes my shoulder, and before I can register what’s happening, she’s strutting toward the stage. The audience cheers in delight as Oliver takes her hand and gives her a twirl. Eddie appears from the side to hand her a mic, just in time for her to start the next verse.
A lump forms in my throat as her rich alto fills the air.
I look to Lucy, who is smiling and wiping tears from her eyes, and then to Ben, who hoots, pumping his fist in the air.
Ron is watching her, wonderstruck, as though she’s the most enchanting person he’s ever seen. It’s a look I’ve seen before.
“She’s incredible,” Willow says in my ear. “And she looks so happy.”
I nod, swiping my fingers beneath my lashes as my mom sings the song Dad always requested of her.
I never really understood why that was the song he asked for instead of something prettier like “The Christmas Song,” but as I watch my mother throw her head back in laughter between verses, without a care in the world, it becomes clear.
Dad loved it because this is Mom at her best—silly and bursting with joyful energy.
My mom is leading Oliver in a box step, and when he catches my gaze, I swear my heart skips, like a prized record I’ve listened to so much I wore it out. Oliver is the reason Mom came to Mistletoe Fest to begin with, and he’s the reason for the smile etched across her face.
The song is drawing to an end, and Kayla puts her arm around me.
“You okay?” she asks.
I give her a nod as Mom and Oliver take their bows to wild cheers and a standing ovation. She wraps him in a bear hug, and they exit the stage, catching high fives and pats on the back as they return to their seats.
“Grandma MJ and Oliver, everyone,” Eddie booms. “Keep that applause going. Wasn’t that incredible?”
“You were amazing,” I say with a chuckle.
“I’m glad you think so because I was terrified,” Oliver admits. “Do you think your mom had fun?”
“Definitely,” I say, unable to take my eyes off this beautiful, thoughtful, dream of a man, for fear that if I do, he’ll disappear, and I’ll find he’s been a figment of my imagination all along.
“Hey,” he says, touching my cheek. “What’s that face for?”
I want to thank him for helping to bring the best parts of my mother back to life—for caring about me enough to see how important she is to me. But my words get lodged in my throat.
So I do the next best thing and kiss him instead.