The Plight Before Christmas(10)

“You both did.”

Another shriek sounds from above, and we both look warily toward the house.

“I’ll be out here until dinner,” Dad grumbles under his breath, sorting through the box of lights before hoisting a set over his shoulder and heading back up the ladder. Ready for a refill, I step inside and come face to face with my niece, who already has my height matched.

“Hey, Auntie Whit!” Gracie wraps her arms around my waist, hugging the life out of me. “Grammy told me you were here!”

“Oh she did?”

“And I’m sooooo glad.”

“Are you now?” There’s always a catch. I see my niece and nephew often enough, and by often, I mean I don’t miss milestones and babysit at least twice a month. Gracie and I are close, and the aunt privilege makes me privy to pertinent information that I relay to my sister in very creative ways—making me a hero to my niece while keeping her safe from herself.

“I missed you,” she squeaks, her tone full of butter up.

“Missed you, too.”

“Hey,” she gives me a syrupy smile. “Can I borrow your phone for a minute?”

“Not a chance.”

The smile disappears just as quickly as it came, and the child frightens me with the demon morph to her voice when she speaks. “We’re stuck in this stupid cabin and no phones? I didn’t even want to come here!”

“Lord,” I hear my mom grumble from where she stands in the kitchen. I know it’s on the tip of her tongue to scold her granddaughter, but she’s holding back because she doesn’t want to start off the holiday being the bad guy.

And this is where I come in.

“Gracie, stop shrieking. You’re giving me a headache. And if you behave,” I bribe without hesitation, “I might let you be my glam squad. And by the way, I brought everything from my last shopping trip to Ulta for you to fool around with.” I lean in on a whisper. “Grammy has gone to a lot of trouble to make this fun for all of us. So, if you promise to keep your bitching to a minimum, I might even let you have a few things. Deal?”

I can see the gears turning as she mentally scans through the perks of my proposed compromise. “Okay. So, can I do your makeup now?”

“I was hoping you would. Go get it. It’s all in the red bag on the top of my suitcase.”

My sister walks into the den/Elvis museum where we stand negotiating, an inflatable king mattress primed for whomever my brother deemed important enough to occupy it. Gracie brushes past her mother wordlessly and defiantly before racing out of the room, through the kitchen, and down the hall toward the stairs.

“You’re finally here,” Serena sighs, eyes weary as she makes her way toward me. I pull her into my arms, and we stand and hug for several seconds as my sister fake cries into my shoulder. “I’m never having sex again, like ever.”

When we break our hug, she looks in the direction Gracie fled, voice lowered. “Why, Jesus, why did I listen to Thatch when he got all thug love the first time we had sex and was all, “you’re going to have my baby.”

We both burst into laughter, mine more due to surprise.

“Thatch said that?”

“Trust me, it was a rare moment,” she grumbles, “I’m starting to think I imagined it.” She glances around the room, my father’s shrine to the King of Rock and Roll.

“I feel sorry for the poor bastard stuck sleeping in here.”

“Seriously,” I say, eyeing the room. “This really is embarrassing. Glad I’m not bringing someone new into the mix this year. The more crap he buys, the harder it is to explain.”

“He brought it all from home, so he didn’t have to get rid of it.”

“Gotta love Dad.”

Just as I say it, Dad curses, his lower half and the ladder in our peripheral through one of the three large study windows. We both laugh when he peers through it to see if Mom heard him curse.

“Doing all right, Daddy?” Serena booms, so he’s able to hear her.

He gives us a thumbs up before he disappears from view.

Smiling, I turn back to Serena, giving her wide eyes. “Mom said Gracie got her period?”

“She did, and I have to be honest, at the moment, I can’t stand her. You might want to play buffer for her the next few days. I’m not sure I can abstain much longer from tossing her off the cliff. Please help me. You’re the only one she listens to.”

“I’ve got this. But first, where is my baby?”

“He’s napping. Can you believe he slept through that meltdown? He’s avoiding Gracie better than Dad is.”

“And my other baby?”

“Thatch just laid down. I think he’s got PTSD from the six-hour road trip turned eight—because kids.”

“Poor baby. That bad?”

I look her over in her typical oversized hoodie, leggings, and messy bun as she nods. We share the same blonde hair color and build, but Serena beats me by several inches in height. Other than that, it’s glaringly obvious that we’re sisters.

“Thatch has no idea how to talk to his daughter at the moment. I swear I saw him tear up in fear last night when I told him.” She leans in conspiratorially. “I’m going to go clean out the garage if that’s okay?”