If Ever(82)

“You’ve been obsessed with eating skinless chicken and spinach smoothies, so I haven’t had much chance,” I say pointing my fork at him. “Mom taught me a few recipes before she died. I make a mean meatloaf too. I have her recipe box. People don’t use them anymore, but I love it because it’s got her handwriting on the recipes. Some are even written by my grandmother.”

“She’s gone too?” He lifts his fork to take a bite.

“Yeah, the same cancer as my mom.”

Tom lowers his fork. “Are you worried you might get it?”

It’s obvious it worries him. “I was for a while, but then I had genetic testing done in college. By some miracle I don’t carry the same gene. It’s the one good thing my dad ever gave me, healthy DNA."





27





London

Saying goodbye to Chelsea, even for a week, was like ripping out my soul, but she said she has loads of plans with friends to keep her busy.

We held our own Christmas celebration last night after my show complete with candlelight and holiday music. She brought oyster stew, a disgusting tradition her mother passed down to her, and I brought fruitcake, an equally awful family habit I blame on Gran.

Chelsea was floored when I handed her the light blue Tiffany’s box and seemed delighted by the silver unicorn necklace inside.

“How did you know?” she dangled the delicate piece from her fingers.

“You like unicorns?”

“Since I was little. I was obsessed with them. Here.” She handed me the necklace and brushed her hair aside.

“Well, this one is because you are beautiful, smart and feisty; a rare find, like the magical unicorn.” I clasped the delicate chain around her neck, thinking of Max’s comment of how difficult it is to hold onto a unicorn.

“I love it,” she said after admiring it in the mirror.

Chelsea presented me with a beautifully wrapped box with a gold bow, biting her lip nervously. I couldn’t imagine what it was. When I tore off the foil wrapping, I discovered a brown leather messenger bag.

“For your auditions... sorry, I mean meetings,” she teased.

The soft leather held my monogram. Inside she’d included a folder containing a dozen of my head shots.

“I put everything in there that I thought you’d need. That way you won’t have to be stressed when you’re trying to get out the door.”

“That’s for your scripts and music,” she explained of another folder. “And I put in those special candies that help your throat, a water bottle, tissues, a toothbrush, and a mirror to make sure you don’t have any spinach stuck in your teeth from your smoothie.”

Each pocket contained every possible item I’ve wished for when out on an audition. She thought of everything, and the leather bag is exactly what I would have picked had I thought about it.

And now she’s across the pond, and I’m wheels down at Heathrow, reverting into a giddy boy peeking out the window. When I spot my mum, she’s a tad grayer and Dad’s a bit heavier than when I saw them on the opening night of Crossing Lines. With a grin and a wave, I’m swept into Mum’s arms and pounded heavily on the back by Dad.

The moment we reach home, Mum stuffs me with homemade biscuits. The tree is in the same spot in front of the picture window as when I was a kid, filling the room with the lovely scent of pine. While the ornaments are mostly new, I detect a few old ones from my childhood tucked within the boughs. My eyes are heavy and I yawn from more than twenty-four hours without sleep.

“Tom, you’re dead on your feet. Go lie down. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later,” Mum says.

With one more hug, I stumble happily to my old room. It’s been transformed into a craft room where Mum’s latest craze appears to be beadwork. There are stacks of clear trays with every size and color of bead imaginable. There are racks of finished necklaces, bracelets and earrings, making the room look more like my sister’s instead of mine.

My bed’s still here albeit covered with a floral bedspread and flouncy pillow shams, which I toss in the corner. I kick off my shoes, pull the blinds, and climb under the comforter to crash until the rest of the family invades.





Much later, I wake to a tiny hand slapping my face. The hand then grabs a fistful of hair and yanks.

“Ow!” I open my eyes and stare into round blue eyes. “Who’s this?” I smile, lean on my elbow, and take my niece’s little hand in mine. She grips my index finger and gahs. Her dark hair sticks straight up like a kewpie doll.

My sister, Hannah pops up from the side of the bed along with my three-year-old nephew, Jasper. His eyes are nearly as round as his sisters. He sizes me up.

“Bella, meet your Uncle Tom.” Bella bats her baby blues and gurgles, revealing two tiny teeth.

“Hello, Bella, aren’t you the little beauty.” She smells of baby powder and innocence. I shift my attention to my nephew. “Hello, mate. Do you remember me?”

He nods eagerly. I try to Skype with my sister to catch up and see how the kids are growing, and selfishly so they’ll know who I am. Jasper was only a year and a half last time I was home.

“Well, get on up here.” I slide over to give him room.

Hannah lifts him and he scrambles onto the bed smelling of apple juice and fudge. “You’ve grown so big.” He smiles, still too shy to speak. “Oh my gosh. I’ve got something in my pocket. What is it?”