Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
On Christmas morning, I wake up to a disruptive banging on my door.
“Hold your horses! I’m coming…” Groggy and lightheaded, I answer the door in my pajamas and nearly have a jump scare.
“Holly!” Aunt Cherry barges her way into the foyer. “Move aside so we can set up the food.”
“What the — What’s going on?” Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I peer over her shoulder to see everyone from last night, minus Mayor Thornberry, crowded in front of my house.
My gaze catches Elliot, dressed in a creamy white fisherman’s sweater, and carrying a giant tray of mashed potatoes.
“We were talking about you at the party last night,” Aunt Cherry says, “how grumpy and unpleasant you were to all of us, and we accept your apology.”
“I-”
“No, no.” Aunt Cherry holds up her hand.
“I know PMS when I see it. You could also be perimenopausal.” She swats me sympathetically on the arm.
“Those hot flashes will make a saint go on a rampage, believe you me. I’ve been there.
So I ran defense on your behalf. ‘Holly is too proud to come to us. We must bring the party to her.’” Suddenly, Aunt Cherry stops speaking and sniffs the air.
A knowing smile spreads across her face.
“But I can see you already started the party without us.”
I turn the color of my cherry red pajama set. “I didn’t inhale.”
“Sure you didn’t.” Tapping her nose, Aunt Cherry winks at me. “Merry Christmas, Holly.”
“Merry Christmas, Aunt Cherry,” I mutter and find myself facing Uncle Tony.
“Here,” Uncle Tony takes out his wallet and pulls out a handful of one-dollar bills, “Cherry says $20 wasn’t enough to cover the carpet cleaning. How about an extra $5?”
“Tony!” Aunt Cherry calls from behind me. “Don’t be cheap!”
Grudgingly, Uncle Tony slips me another twenty. “Merry Christmas, Polly.”
I step aside. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Tony.”
Victor and his family step up to the door. Their kids run past me, shouting, “Merry Christmas, Aunt Holly!”
Victor and Ivy approach, heads humbly bowed.
Ivy hands me a new sheet set wrapped in a red ribbon, which I grudgingly accept.
“Sorry about the mess,” Victor mumbles. “We meant what we said. If it’s a girl, we’ll call her Holly. If it’s a boy…” He frowns, consulting his wife. Ivy whispers in his ear and he grumbles, “Hollis? Really?”
Ivy narrows her eyes. “Victor…”
He makes a face, then sighs. “Alright. Hollis.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, standing back as they shuffle past me. “Stay out of my room.”
Paige steps up to my doormat, her shoulders braced against the prospect of another confrontation.
She looks wretched, her eyes rimmed with dark shadows. An awkward silence envelops us.
“Paige,” I say curtly.
“Holly…”
A knot of anxiety unravels in the pit of my stomach as I wait for her to say something. If she came back to chew me out, I’m not in the mood. I’m too defeated to fight.
Casting her eyes down to her shoes, Paige clears her throat. “I don’t really hate you,” she says, her voice cracking. “It’s just that…”
That tiny crack in her voice washes away all my anger.
While I was wallowing alone last night, my mom’s parting words played in my head like a broken record, haunting me.
Family may poo-poo on floor.
But poop doesn’t make family enemy.
Forgiveness.
I suppose the same goes for friends. It seemed pretty silly to throw away a decades’ long friendship over milk jugs and paint colors.
In her strange way, my mom is Confucius with a sun visor and a purple puffer jacket.
Whatever resentment Paige held toward me could be worked out.
Our petty squabbles were a result of a failure to communicate.
Ready to forgive and forget and go into therapy, I clasp Paige’s shaking hand.
“I’ll help you repaint your cafe whatever color you like.
And about those milk jugs…” My eyes water at the havoc those stupid milk jugs have wrought on our friendship.
They weren’t even all that pretty to begin with.
“From this day forward, you must tell me the whole truth. If you hate my jug choices—”
“I hate your jug choices!” Paige lets out a gigantic sigh of relief. “But I don’t hate you. I’m sorry I stood by while your uncle went to the bathroom in your living room. If he ever does it again, I’ll … I’ll swat him with a broom and make him clean it up.”
“Thank you, Paige.” I’m holding back the floodgates with all my willpower. “Merry Christmas.” Squeezing her hand, I give her an encouraging push inside.
“Oh,” Paige says, holding up a small gift bag. “This is from Manny. He’s working overtime to deliver those last minute Christmas packages, but he wants you to have this. I’ll set it under your tree.”
Dennis moseys up to me with a knowing glint in his eye. “You tried the…” He pinches his thumb and forefinger together, taking a drag of air. “If you like it, you know who to call.”
Shifting my gaze from side to side, I slip him all the cash Uncle Tony foisted on me and get a little something in return. “In case of crisis.”
Brian comes up to me as I’m slipping my gift-to-myself in my pocket. My good mood immediately sours.
“Holly,” he says, embarrassed.
“Brian.” He’s got a lot of nerve showing up here considering what he did. I’m about to tell him so when he blurts out, “I’m going to power wash your basement steps.”
“Given the gift you left behind,” I say, scrutinizing his blank expression, “I don’t think I want you anywhere near my basement steps.”
“Okay,” he shrugs, “will you accept a peace offering instead?” He hands me a small rectangular box wrapped in silver paper.
“What is it?” I ask, tentatively taking the gift.
“Gourmet nuts. The best of the best. Don’t eat it all at once.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“So can I stay for Christmas?” Brian asks, as if I’ve already forgiven him.
Exhaling a sigh of defeat, I hand the gourmet nuts back to him. “Put this under the tree. You’re not to go anywhere in my house without a chaperone.”
Brian beams. “Merry Christmas, Holly.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
My mom and sister step forward as a pair.
Mom clutches Jen’s arm. My sister is pale and distracted, her hair pulled back into a greasy struggle bun.
She also looked like she hadn’t slept a wink last night.
Alas, Jen being Jen, I can’t expect she lost sleep over our fight.
My heart skips a beat as I take in their grim expressions.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, last night’s argument pushed to the back burner as I take in the sight of my rebellious sister looking so dejected and meek. “Where’s Mayor Dickhead?”
“He’s gone!” Mom says. “Got cold feet.”
“Gone as in…?”
“That scumbag skipped town!” Suddenly, Jen bursts into tears and throws her arms around me, sobbing into my shoulder. “Just wait till I find him,” she wails. “I’m going to kill him!”
“It’s going to be okay,” I pat her on the back, “we’ll find him. Then I’m going to kill him. Come inside out of the cold and you can tell me all about it.” As I usher Jen inside, I whisper to my mom, “Any idea where he went?”
“Ask detective man,” Mom says, beckoning him to hurry inside. “Shut the door, Elliot. You’re letting in the cold.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, looking from one to the other.
Mom touches Elliot’s arm. “He working for us now. We hire him.”
My eyes widen as Elliot shuts the door behind him. Mom snatches his gift out of his hands and heads for the tree. “You two catch up,” she adds with a wink. “Need privacy.”
“You do move fast,” I say when we’re alone. “Just when you solved one case, another one awaits. The case of Jen’s missing baby daddy.”
Suppressing a sheepish smile, Elliot unwraps his scarf. “Thornberry will be an easy catch. He’s drowning in paper trails. I can’t say too much, but when it comes to insurance,” he shakes his head, “this guys cooks the books.”
Why am I not surprised? You can never trust a guy with a bolo tie.
Elliot studies my reaction. “You don’t seem too torn up that the mayor jilted your sister.”
“Oh, I’m furious,” I say, “but there’s a bright side to this.”
“Which is?”
“Now that Ivan’s skipped town,” I tilt my chin up, “I’m the only one running for mayor. I’m a shoe in to win.”
Elliot absorbs this new development with a nod. “Yeah, about that… there’s a new candidate.”
“Who?” My eyes widen. I consider the possibilities. “You?”
“No.” Elliot laughs. “I value my privacy. It’s Dennis. He’s running for mayor.”
“Dennis?” I blurt out. “Since when?”
“Since last night. We were all at your Aunt Cherry’s and Victor brought up the idea that Dennis should run. Cherry second it. I think they meant it as a joke, but Dennis took to the idea and officially threw his hat in the ring this morning.”
I glance over my shoulder. My new rival is at the buffet table, ladling up a spoonful of green beans, his mullet gleaming under the chandelier light. “Dennis?”
“It’s true. Heard his proposal for cleaning up Mapledale and I have to say, he’s got a lot of good ideas.”
“Dennis?”
“That’s Dennis Buckminster III,” he says dryly, “and don’t you forget.”
I peer at Elliot’s face to see if he’s joking. Oh God. He’s not joking. As the news sinks in, I snort. “Dennis is hardly competition.” I square my shoulders. “I can beat Dennis.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Victor pat Dennis on the back. Everyone begins congregating around Dennis like a scene out of The Godfather and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a dreadful thought: what if Dennis wins?
“Holly?” Elliot peers into my face. “What’s the matter?”
“Dennis is going to be elected mayor…” The blood drains from my face. I’m not a fortune teller like my mom, but I see it as clear as day. “Everyone loves Dennis. Everyone hates me. He’s a shoe in!”
I wait for him to tell me differently. But Elliot toes a scar on my hardwood floor. “The mullet brings the party,” he says apologetically.
I bury my face in my hands.