The Plight Before Christmas(7)
She pulls away, frowning at the sight of it. “Well, crap. Maybe your father can tinker with it.”
“No, it’s okay. I was going to buy a new one anyway. It’s past time.” She looks over to me with concern.
“I’m okay. Really. It’s been a rough month. Seeing this place and knowing they aren’t here has me a little emotional. I miss them.” I study Mom’s profile as she glances back at my car. At sixty-one, she’s still beautiful, effortlessly so. She’s never dyed her hair a day in her life, and despite that, it’s still predominately blonde. I take after her in that way, along with my eye color and petite build. We’re on the shorter side, both 5’2. Though Mom looks incredible without too much fuss, it now takes every bit of my toolbox to make me look presentable.
At thirty-eight, I can still pull off a hat trick or two, though my sun-kissed, dewy days are mostly behind me. Mom gazes around the property—her childhood home—and I can only imagine twice as many memories are swimming around in her mind.
My grandparents took a Notebook sort of exit. Two years ago, Grampa Joe passed away, and just days later, after she’d comforted my mom, Grammy joined him. We were told they passed due to natural causes, but we all knew better. After fifty-one years of marriage, they couldn’t last without the other. And while it left us all devastated, it comforted us that they went together.
Mom stands next to me, seeming lost in her thoughts as a gust of icy wind kicks up. “You okay, you know, being here?” None of us have been back to the cabin since the funeral, and before that, it had been years. Normally, Grammy and Gramps made the trip to Nashville because we all lived there at one point. They swore they didn’t mind traveling, though Grampa Joe’s driving scared us half to death.
“I got a little blue when we first got here, but it’s good to be home. It feels…right. Come inside,” she rubs her shoulders, “it’s freezing.”
I step into the house with her on my heels and gasp at the sight before me. “Oh, Mom! It looks incredible!”
“Yeah?” She surveys the house with me, a pride-filled smile blooming on her face as I take it all in. “I tried to do it like Mom, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recreate it like she did.”
Grammy left nothing untouched with her holiday décor and annually emptied every single box of decorations without fail. If there was a stray bow left in the bin, she made use of it. The Christmases we spent here in North Carolina were nothing short of magical. It feels the same now as I stand in the entryway, completely awed by my surroundings, inhaling the familiar citrus and spice in the air.
“Did I ever tell you about the time that she wrapped all the cabinet doors and the coffee tables in wrapping paper?” Mom’s smile widens, and I shake my head. “She did?”
“Sounds insane, I know, but it looked amazing. She was so good at this stuff.”
“Well, don’t be so modest. You are too. It’s absolutely perfect.” Full credit to my mother. It feels like I’ve been transported back in time. Just to the right of where we stand at the entry, the banister of the staircase that leads to the second floor is draped with real garland, holly, and gradually dimming white lights. Just ahead is a long hall that leads to the kitchen. To the left of the entrance is a large, cozy living room with a cathedral ceiling. The view from the vantage point where the house sits on the cliff is spectacular due to the snow-covered mountain directly across the street.
The furniture, though slightly outdated, is overstuffed and comfortable, making it feel lived in and cozy. A wood-burning and massive stone fireplace takes up most of the wall opposite the hall. Just next to one of the A-frame windows sits a gigantic pine tree covered from bow to trunk in twinkling lights, tubs of ornaments stacked next to it in preparation.
The entire house is cloaked in Christmas, lit up like a carnival, and soaked in varying shades of red, green, silver, and gold.
Just across the living room, oversized ornaments hang from the ceiling over a carefully decorated and large dining room table.
Grinning with pride, I soak in the feel of it. Martha Stewart doesn’t have shit on Ruby Collins.
Nat King Cole croons out about chestnuts on an open fire as the memories flood me. Everything about the setup reminds me of a time when things were much simpler—when life was so much easier to navigate. When the bulk of my life seemed like something to look forward to more than reflect on. Life-changing decisions weren’t so absolute because it felt like I had all the time in the world.
Eyes glazing with sentiment and happiness, I turn to my mother, and she stares back at me, her expression lit with satisfaction at my reaction. My voice shakes when I speak. “Mom…”
“It’s like they’re here, isn’t it?”
“It’s just how I remember it.” I yank her to me and hug her again, a little sob escaping me. “I didn’t know how much I needed this.”
“Oh, Sweet Pea, me neither. Merry Christmas. I’ve been missing you.”
“Merry Christmas. And I’m sorry I haven’t called much lately.” Feeling relieved and more excited about the days to come, Mom and I gather ourselves, wiping away our emotions, twin smiles on our faces just as a shriek comes from the loft room above.
“Give it back, right now!” Gracie, my nine-year-old niece screeches. Like most single-digit kids on the verge of hormone explosion, she acts more on the verge of thirty…until she melts down.