The Holiday

by Jane Green

‘Yeah, but on Everest they give you an oxygen tank and chocolate bars.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that the next time you’re puffing past the second floor landing. Anyway, I just thought of something. What is this mistletoe for?’

  ‘It’s for me.’

  ‘For you and Mr Perfect,’ he said.

  What did he think? ‘You have a problem with that?’

  He didn’t answer right away. ‘How are things in the animal kingdom?’

  ‘Frigid. I’m here with Maddie and Jason.’

  ‘What about Vlad?’

  ‘He’s at home.’ I did another quarter turn away from Jason and Maddie, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me anyway. ‘Guess what?’ I hissed into the phone. ‘She just picked him up.’

  ‘I thought he was from her hospital.’

  ‘He was a head-wound case. Jason probably thinks I’m nuts. I promised him Norman Rockwell, and instead he’s getting drunks, quarrelsome parents, and crazy Russian dudes.’

  ‘So how are Jason and Maddie getting along?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason. I was just looking at them together this morning. Jason looks like something she would have had made to order.’

  What was he trying to do, make me jealous? I felt a snit coming on, but instinctively my eyes strayed over to Maddie and Jason. They were in profile, pointing at some exotic variety of goat, laughing. They did look Dentyne-ad wholesome together.

  And what about Jason’s little Vlad the Inhaler joke? I had never heard him crack wise like that before. It was as if he’d been showing off a little for her.

  I shut my mind to this line of thinking. Isaac was just trying to stir something up. Although why he was being such a fiend, I couldn’t say. ‘I gotta go,’ I told him.

  ‘Okay. I’ve just lost feeling in my right big toe.’

  ‘Are you still coming for dinner? Assuming Vlad or my brother doesn’t burn the house down between now and seven o’clock?’

  ‘In that case, I heard about a great Italian place we can go to,’ Isaac said helpfully.

  ‘Comedian.’

  Jason, Maddie, and I tromped through a little more of the zoo, enjoying the relative warmth of the snake house before going to stare at the empty panda enclosure for a few moments. In all my years of living near DC, the most I’d ever seen of the pandas was the occasional glimpse of dirty white fur visible behind a log. Today we didn’t even get that.

  ‘We should take a picture in front of the giraffes,’ I suggested. For one thing, the giraffes were inside a heated building right now.

  ‘Oh, did you bring your camera?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘No – didn’t you?’

  ‘I left all my camera equipment in Boston this year,’ she said. ‘I had to travel light.’

  How could she have left her camera? She was the family’s unofficial photographer. ‘You always take pictures.’

  ‘Sorry – not this year.’

  My $200 haircut. The matching sweaters. My camera-ready boyfriend. No photos? It was heartbreaking.

  Was no one going to cooperate with my one and only perfect Christmas?

  I confess I was still in a stew when we got back to the car.

  ‘I guess we could stop by a drugstore and get one of those disposable kind, if you really want pictures,’ Maddie said from the backseat.

  It didn’t help my mood any that I was so obviously transparent. I swung around. ‘I can’t believe it, Mad.’

  ‘Can’t believe what?’

  ‘You!’ I said. ‘Ever since you were old enough to talk you’ve been the Christmas drill sergeant. Now you’ve completely flaked out.’

  ‘Just because I didn’t bring my camera?’

  ‘That – and also Vlad. Stopping at boarded-up houses doesn’t make you suspicious?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re being so judgmental!’ Maddie crossed her arms over her chest, which was rising and falling in angry little heaves. ‘I thought I could count on you of all people to understand.’

  ‘Understand what? That you’ve decided to stage a powderpuff reenactment of Easy Rider?’

  Maddie’s thin shoulders started convulsing, and she dashed several tears off her face. ‘No. That I’m trying to change.’

  ‘You’re changing, all right.’ Changing into a nitwit.

  ‘I’m just trying to be more like you!’ she howled, reaching for a Kleenex. She of course had a neat little packet of them in her jacket pocket.

  I gawped at her in disbelief as she honked into a tissue. Had I heard her correctly? Had she said like me?

  ‘Don’t you think I know what you think of me?’ she howled. ‘That I’m too enthusiastic, too perky, too perfect?’

  My mouth opened and closed several times.

  ‘Well, of course you think that,’ she said, waving away my mute protest. ‘It’s the truth. I am too perfect. Even my therapist thinks so.’

  ‘Your therapist?’ This was the first I’d ever heard of her seeking professional help.

  ‘Dr Howell said I need to learn to be more spontaneous – or to just be.’

  I frowned. ‘Who is this doctor? Some sixties throwback?’

  ‘He’s a very competent therapist,’ she said, still sniffling. ‘I did months of exhaustive research on psychologists and psychology before I called him.’

  Of course.

  She looked up as if she’d just been caught in a trap. ‘Oh, God! That sounded terrible, didn’t it?’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Maddie, for God’s sake. You can’t go nuts with this. Researching a doctor for months is a lot more understandable than spending that much time researching the best way to make oatmeal.’ Which, honest to God, she had actually done once.

  She slumped, and looking at her, I felt terrible. What had happened to bring on this crisis? ‘Look, I hope nothing I said –’

  ‘No – of course not,’ she answered, cutting me off. ‘It’s all me. I had realized for some time that I just had an unsustainable desire for perfection. I mean, look at you! Your life is so …’ Half-assed, I believe was the word on the tip of her tongue that she was too polite to voice. ‘… and you’ve always been much happier than me.’

  Where did she get that crazy idea?

  I glanced anxiously over at Jason, who was staring grimly ahead at the road. Poor man. He must think the entire Ellis family was composed of nothing but flakes. At some point I would have to reiterate that we were actually very normal.

  ‘You were so smart not to position yourself as some insanely brilliant overachiever,’ Maddie went on. ‘I mean, Mom and Dad just don’t have the same expectations for you. You don’t have to feel this pressure all the time!’

  ‘Well, uh …’

  ‘Oh, sure, they rib you about going to graduate school,’ she said, sort of clucking dismissively. ‘I mean, that’s sort of a joke.’

  I was feeling emotionally whiplashed as we pulled into the driveway. I wanted to reach out to Maddie, but I was beginning to suspect she thought I lacked expertise to get anywhere close to feeling her pain. And what was this BS about my not feeling pressure? Had she ever had to endure Dad telling her that it was never too late to become what she might have been?

  Jason left the Saab idling in the drive for a few moments – I thought to give us the opportunity to wind down or for Maddie to fix her makeup. His jaw was still set in that anxious way I’d noticed before. After a few moments, he turned in his seat to face Maddie. ‘You can never be too perfect,’ he said gently, putting his hand on her corduroy-covered knee.

  Maddie’s eyes widened. Mine, too, probably. I kept staring at his hand, as if I could will it away from her leg.

  I couldn’t.

  ‘If that’s who you are, so be it,’ he said. ‘Some people probably tie themselves in knots trying to become more like you.’

  There was a silence, during which I could feel my face turning red. Was it just Isaac’s phone call making me zany when it came to Jason and Maddie, or was t
his really weird?

  Jason gave her a squeeze. ‘Don’t see perfection as a curse; count it as a blessing. Embrace that trait as part of who you are, and then try to work with it.’

  Wow. I’d never heard him come out with any pop psychobabble like that before. It was as if the man of my dreams was suddenly morphing into Dr Phil. ‘Sometimes even the best therapist can say something that sends you down a mental rabbit hole,’ Jason said. ‘Believe me, I know.’

  Jason had been to a therapist? That was the first time he had mentioned it. But, of course, now that I thought about it, it seemed likely that he would have. He probably had a lot of issues from his weird childhood.

  When Jason finally switched off the engine, Maddie got out of the car quickly. I wondered if she felt awkward after having spilled her guts. And then having a near stranger spouting Oprahisms at her.

  Still, I was grateful to Jason, despite his emphasis of the touchy in his sudden touchy-feeliness. ‘Thanks for jumping in. I was having a hard time thinking of anything to say.’

  ‘No problem. I’ve done stuff like that a lot, actually.’

  I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘You’re a bond trader and part-time psychologist?’

  He chuckled. ‘No, actually, I’ve been involved in Big Brothers for a long time now. I’m sort of used to hashing out family problems with people.’

  ‘You never told me about that.’

  He raised his brows. ‘Well – it never came up. I always feel uncomfortable about talking about volunteer work. It would sound too much like tooting my own horn.’

  ‘I was hoping we would be able to have a moment tonight to exchange gifts,’ I said, meaning a moment not in a car. ‘Christmas morning is sort of nuts, and public …’

  He flashed me a high-wattage smile. ‘Sounds like you’re hoping for a lot of gratitude for your gift.’

  Heat crept into my cheeks, but I couldn’t help tossing off saucily, ‘I might.’

  He leaned over and gave me a peck on the nose, and then a slightly longer kiss on the mouth. This is more like it, I thought, my enthusiasm for this trip returning.

  When we pried ourselves out of the car, the first flakes of snow were falling out of the sky.

  ‘Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas!’ Jason proclaimed.

  Chapter Six

  In the house, everything was disturbingly the same. There was no ‘Nutcracker’ music booming through the house, and no tantalizing smell of dinner getting started that would presage a holiday feast.

  Ted and Vlad were on the living room couch watching ESPN through heavy-lidded eyes, and Mom was sitting in the recliner chair, listening to her book on headphones. Jason said he had something he needed to do quickly, and he disappeared upstairs. I stayed down with the others.

  I waved at Mom and she slipped the headphones off.

  ‘When’s dinner?’ I asked. I didn’t want to be pushy, but …

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Mom said. ‘It’s all taken care of.’

  My head was practically swiveling. ‘How can that be? Everything’s just the same as it was before we went to the zoo.’

  ‘Then you didn’t notice the piano.’

  I pivoted toward the old Steinway, which was decorated. I had to admit that. But where were the sledding monks? In their place, there was a Christmas village (the misplacement of it offended my newfound reverence for tradition), but it was sort of an abomination of a village. Scrooge and Marley’s Counting House was right smack in the middle of the little Alpine buildings. And Fezziwigg’s Delivery Wagon was parked on the fake pond. Not next to it, mind you. Right on top of it. I glared at the display for a full minute, my indignation gaining steam, before I was finally able to pronounce this conglomeration simply not acceptable.

  Mom laughed. ‘Just move the wagon off the pond, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘But there’s hardly any room –’

  ‘Well, don’t blame me. Vlad did it.’

  ‘Vlad?’ I twisted toward the couch. His eyes slowly dragged themselves away from the football game on television to glare at me. You gotta problem with my snow village? those eyes asked.

  I wondered briefly whether he was packing heat in his backpack. I smiled. ‘Looks nice!’

  He nodded cautiously, then turned back to the TV.

  ‘Since when do you outsource the decorating?’ I asked Mom. ‘And where are all the walnut people? And why is the attic so neat?’

  Mom kicked the footrest of her chair abruptly, bringing herself upright. ‘If you don’t mind, Holly, I’m getting sick and tired of your nit-picking. Just because this is the one year you decided to participate –’

  ‘I’ve always participated,’ I argued. ‘I’m here every Christmas.’

  ‘Yes, to snigger at everything.’

  ‘I never –’

  ‘You always laughed at my walnut people,’ she said. ‘But now when you want to impress your boyfriend, you act as though you can’t get enough of them. Well, news flash! We’re not all here to perform on cue for you.’

  She jammed on her headphones, grabbed her huge box of tapes by its handle, and flounced out of the room. She looked like someone running away from home.

  I stood in the middle of the room, my ears stinging. I was steamed – but it was a chastened kind of steamed. Maybe she was right. Partially. I had always taken all the labors everyone went through for granted.

  ‘Nice going,’ Ted grunted at me.

  I turned to the piano. Maybe it was the house, or being around my family, but for the first time since I was thirteen I had the urge to dig my hands in my pockets and whine that they just didn’t understand me. But I was an adult now – nominally – and I tried to channel my frustrations to productive ends. I moved Fezziwigg’s Delivery Wagon off the skating pond. But then I discovered why it had been put there in the first place. There wasn’t enough cotton fluff to hold all the buildings and the wagon. So it either had to go on the pond or be stuck off by itself next to the metronome. Defeated, I rolled it back down on the pond.

  I managed to laugh at myself as I made my way to my bedroom. Obviously I needed to chill out. It was natural that I was tied in knots, actually – I wasn’t used to feeling responsible for someone else’s Christmas vacation. I had dragged Jason down here, and so far things weren’t quite what I had expected. Minimal Christmas cheer, minimal romance. But so what? Next year – when hopefully everyone would be acting saner and all the crystal angels and inflatable polar bears would be in place again – Jason and I would probably be laughing about all this.

  I flopped back on my bed and clasped my hands together on my stomach. God I hope Isaac found that mistletoe. Right now it felt like my only hope.

  A light tapping at my door made me sit up suddenly. Jason was standing in my doorway, looking around the room with a half smile. It was an odd mix of the old me – my student desk with a pink Princess phone on it, my Last of the Mohicans poster, a corkboard full of pictures and mementos – and my parents’ attempt to assert their dominion over my room. Mom had put a Laura Ashleyesque coverlet on the bed, and Dad’s HealthRider exercise bike stood in front of my dresser.

  ‘Come in,’ I said.

  He had something hidden behind his back and I felt a little surge of curiosity. He sank down on the bed next to me, pushing Mr Fabulous away with an uncomfortable nudge of his elbow. ‘You said you wanted to exchange gifts in private.’

  Actually, I had envisioned us getting together after everyone else had gone to bed – a stroke-of-midnight moment, maybe, in front of the odorless tree.

  But apparently Jason hadn’t planned the present swap for optimum romance potential. He brought out his gift and handed it to me. ‘Well, so … here.’

  It was too large for a jewelry box. From the looks of it, I expected a small clothing item maybe. Very small and featherlight … lingerie, perhaps? (Just what I needed.) What the hell was it? I wondered, suddenly overcome with curiosity. I reached around to my bag and got out his present from m
e.

  We sat side by side and unwrapped. Jason was faster than me. When he lifted the lid of the box he drew in a sharp breath. ‘Wow!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is sooooo great!’

  He jumped up and wound the huge muffler around his neck. It did look great, but he was sort of overreacting – like a floozy in an old movie with a new fur coat. ‘Where did you find this?’

  ‘We saw it together,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Did we?’ He frowned, obviously having forgotten.

  But how could he have forgotten? How? He was an elephant. He even remembered the name of Isaac’s ex-girlfriend, a person I hadn’t mentioned more than once, I’m sure.

  He grinned as he fingered the soft wool. ‘That makes it even better. More personal.’

  I should have gotten him a watch, I thought, kicking myself.

  I took the lid off the small white box in front me and found a wall of tissue paper. When I peeled away that layer, I realized he had fooled me completely. There was no slip of silk – just an envelope. My heart thumped – some kind of love note, maybe? Or one of those hand-printed cards that promised, ‘This card good for one romantic winter getaway.’ I had a friend whose boyfriend had done that for her birthday once.

  I ripped open the envelope and a Barnes & Noble gift card fell out onto the carpet.

  ‘Oh!’ I bent down to retrieve the card, then bashed my head against my desk when I lifted my head. The Princess phone let out an incidental jangle as my head crunched. I winced. ‘Oh!’

  Jason reached over. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, his face twisted in sympathetic pain.

  I nodded mutely, waving my gift card at him. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘I knew you liked books,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I assured him. ‘Love ’em.’

  I gave bookstore cards as gifts all the time. To coworkers.

  He frowned as he peered at my scalp. ‘Did you break skin?’

  I shook my head. A gift card was a practical gift. Flexible. It shows that he really wants me to have what I want.

  It also meant that he didn’t even bother to guess what I’d want. This from a man I’d watched spend an entire day racing around Macy’s trying to find just the right thing for his office’s mailroom clerk. Was this his way of sending me some kind of signal?