First Christmas

by Trevor McCall

  “I would have asked about your day,” he said.

  Maybe, he did have that courage.

  Chapter Four

  Greta stood by the front window in the dining room watching the snow pile up in her driveway. Aubrey texted her ten minutes ago that she and Kyle were no more than ten minutes away. Of course, Greta remained by the front window ever since getting that text. It demonstrated the degree to which she couldn’t wait to have her daughter back for Christmas. Part of her desire stemmed from how much there was to do.

  It was hard to admit, but she hadn’t been able to face decorating the house for her first Christmas without Scott. Just yesterday, she’d gone out to the shed and been overwhelmed with emotion. She brought one box back from the shed and called it a day. With Aubrey here, things would feel natural again. Perhaps, she would even be able to think of the traditions as honoring Scott’s memory—rather than emphasizing his loss.

  Based on the last few texts they exchanged, Greta could tell Aubrey forgave her for surprising her with Kyle at the airport. The initial meeting between the two was always destined to be the stickiest part of her Christmas plan. Since that part had now been pulled off, Greta reasoned, it would be easier sledding the rest of the way. Things would come up that would require them to spend time together.

  Greta knew she could ensure things came up, even if she had to take steps to make sure they did. She was thinking about how much it would please Scott if those two would, at least, settle their differences when she saw headlights approaching on the tiny lane that led to her house. She ran to her entryway and quickly threw on a hat, coat, and gloves. She then stepped out onto her porch so she would be outside when Aubrey and Kyle arrived. She wanted this reunion to take place as soon as possible.

  Aubrey opened the passenger’s side door of Kyle’s truck before Kyle came to a complete stop. She jumped out of the truck yelling, “Mom,” at the top of her voice. She then did a high-step version of a sprint through the shin deep snow until she gained the porch and enveloped her mom in a forceful hug.

  “It’s so good to see you, Aubrey,” Greta said with eyes that were slightly misted.

  “It’s so good to see you too, mom.” Aubrey held the hug. It felt so wonderful to be home. It was like all the negative energy Aubrey collected in New York City, revolving around her job and her fiancé, fled from her body the moment her mom put her arms around her.

  Kyle deposited Aubrey’s suitcase against the front door. He knew when he was a third wheel. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he said.

  “Thank you so much for bringing my little girl home safely to me. I owe you, Kyle.” Greta said sweetly.

  “Mom!” Aubrey used an uptick in the tone of her voice to protest the diminutive her mother used when describing her.

  “Now Aubrey, no matter how old you are, or how far from home you get, when you come back home and stand on this front porch, you are, and will always be, my little girl.” Greta settled the mock dispute with a finality only motherhood allowed. Greta then gave Kyle a hug that rivaled the one she gave Aubrey for the amount of love it contained. “Besides, Kyle deserves to be thanked for bringing you home in this near blizzard weather so I could have you for Christmas.”

  Kyle waved off the need to be thanked. With most people the dismissal would be an act of false modesty easily seen through. Kyle wasn’t most people. “Don’t mention it ma’am. It was no trouble at all.”

  Greta refused to let it go, “I know your mother much too well to believe she didn’t raise you to accept thanks when it’s offered, Kyle Immanuel Morgan.”

  Kyle had lost track of how many times people referred to him by using all three of his names. Mrs. Lough kicked it off at seven o’clock that morning. After that it was a three-name blur. “Yes ma’am.”

  “I’ll call her tomorrow. We’ll arrange a dinner sometime before Christmas as thanks for your good deed.” Greta wasn’t offering a thank you dinner, she was requiring it happen. It was one of her ploys for ensuring Aubrey and Kyle spent time together.

  Kyle saw the message in the dots, and accepted the invitation, “Yes, ma’am.” He took a step backward. It was time to make good on his promise. He would leave these two alone so they could catch up.

  “Kyle?” Aubrey stopped him.

  Kyle halted half-on, half-off the porch. “Yes?” As hard as he tried, he could not keep a hint of anxiety from entering his voice when he replied. He hoped she would offer him an olive branch of some kind that would encourage him to see her more before she left.

  “Thank you for,” maybe the cold and the snow thickened her brain, but she felt overpowering nostalgia in the moment, “letting me be vulnerable.”

  “Anytime.” Kyle felt that was a pretty substantial and specific olive branch. It made him happy. He stepped off the Wilson porch and somehow kept himself from turning to look at Aubrey before he reached his truck. The self-control required to pull that feat off was enormous. By the time he stepped onto the running board, Aubrey and Greta had picked up Aubrey’s suitcase and gone inside. Kyle smiled as the porch light went off in front of the Wilson family home. He was happy. In fact, today was the happiest he had felt in years.

  The happiest he had felt in twelve years to be precise.

  *

  Aubrey slept soundly in the room she grew up in. Unlike most empty nesters, her parents hadn’t appropriated it. After she graduated from college and quit coming home on a regular basis, they hadn’t turned it into a workout room, or second office neither of them used. It looked the same as it did when she last lived in it full time. There were pictures of her playing soccer alongside pictures of her playing guitar in the band her and Kyle formed during their junior year of high school with two other classmates. ‘The Briars’, they’d called themselves. She couldn’t remember anymore what the name was meant to signify. At the time, it felt like the world depended on the band’s name. High school had a way of exaggerating the importance of trivial things, like band names.

  Aubrey continued to sleep until the sun peeked around her curtain and spilled light onto her face. She woke with a big yawn and bigger stretch. She slid her feet out of her bed and into a pair of slippers. They waited just beneath the curl of the blanket’s edge. She wore cozy flannel pajamas which made her look warm and only a door or two down from the neighborhood of Christmassy. A touch greener and redder, and they might have passed.

  Aubrey wound her way into the hall and then down the stairs and into the kitchen. She smiled when she saw her mom standing at the stove making eggs, bacon, pancakes, and biscuits. No doubt her mom set everything on the counter moments after waking, so she could begin making breakfast as soon as she heard Aubrey stirring upstairs. Her mom prided herself on an uncanny ability to finish cooking meals at the exact instant people wanted to sit down and eat them.

  Aubrey slid into her usual seat at the table and pushed a box of Christmas decorations out of the way. This was the one and only box Greta retrieved from the shed the day before when the strong emotions related to Scott and this being her first Christmas without him overwhelmed her. Behind the box, a Christmas Countdown Calendar in the form of a tiny Christmas tree with two presents underneath it was revealed. In that moment, the presents said there were ’03 days ‘til Christmas’. Obviously, Greta had updated the calendar just after setting out the food for Aubrey’s breakfast because the presents were telling the truth about the number of days until Christmas.

  “I used to love this,” Aubrey said as she picked up the calendar.

  Greta turned away form the stove to look at Aubrey and see what she held. “Put it in your room then. I have another one we can use out here.”

  Aubrey nodded. She set the Christmas countdown back on the table. “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “I believe even you young people still refer to this act as making breakfast, dear,” Greta replied with playful sarcasm. “Although, if the morning shows are to be believed, you probably get most of your breakfasts from a blender
these days.”

  Aubrey was up to the challenge. “Touché on the blender burn. It is accurate. But, as for your general comment about making breakfast, I have to retaliate by asking if you’re planning on entertaining a family of eight?”

  Greta wouldn’t bite. “We need our energy. We have to get all the ornaments out of the shed.” She broke off. It looked for a moment as though she might cry. “I’m sorry Aubrey, dear. It’s just you know how much your father loved Christmas.” She dabbed at a spot of moistness in the corner of her left eye. “Our first Christmas without him, and I’ll barely have the decorations up by Christmas Eve. It’s pitiful”

  Aubrey stood and crossed the space to the stove to give her mom a hug, “that’s what you’ve got me here for.”

  “I know it dear.” Greta leaned into the hug. She was so thankful to have her daughter home with her. “I don’t think I would have made it if you hadn’t come.” Greta scooped two fried eggs from the pan. She set them down on a plate already loaded with bacon and biscuits. She handed the plate to Aubrey. “When you get the chance, you tell Victoria I owe her one.”

  The phone in Aubrey’s pajama bottom pocket dinged. She took it out and looked at it. She had just received a message from Victoria. It was in all caps and contained just one word, ‘EMERGENCY’.

  Aubrey pointed at her phone, “speak of the devil.”

  “And Angels appear?” Greta knew she was being mischievous calling Victoria an Angel. Her daughter’s overall pleasantness prevented her from being cruel in her descriptions of Victoria, but her mom would have to be really poor at reading between the lines to not know her daughter’s true feelings. She also knew Aubrey wouldn’t excuse herself from the hot breakfast she made for her without explicit permission. Greta obliged. “Go make your phone call. I’ll keep this warm in the oven.”

  “Thanks mom. You are the best.” Aubrey gave her mom a peck on the check.

  As Aubrey floated away into the living room to make her call with more privacy, Greta called after her, “wait until after you’ve shoveled the walk between here and the shed to see if you still want to thank me.” Greta added this last out loud but under her breath so her daughter wouldn’t be able to hear it, “because you may change your mind.”

  Aubrey sat in a rocking chair staring into the backyard. The same backyard that held so many of her Christmas memories about her dad. She remembered how her mom would hardly have the leftovers from the Thanksgiving feast transferred to Tupperware before he would be beating a path to the shed to start unpacking the Christmas decorations. Or how he would add one strand of lights to the outside decorations every year until mom started saying things like ‘there are now two human structures visible from Space—The Great Wall of China, and The Wilson Family Christmas House’. She was in the middle of these delicious memories, when Victoria answered without offering so much as a perfunctory hello.

  “I warned you leaving would not be good.”

  No one other than Victoria had the same ability to crush all the good cheer out of Aubrey in one sentence or less. Walter would be a close runner-up for sure, but Victoria was a lock for the cake. Aubrey dreaded whatever answer Victoria would give, but she still had to ask the question. “What’s happened?”

  “Mr. Clarke has happened.”

  “I need more…” Victoria was so angry she wasn’t going to let Aubrey get above three consecutive words. Even when she wasn’t angry, she didn’t really let Aubrey get above three consecutive words.

  “Mr. Clarke is developing cold feet.”

  “Did you tell him that at this moment he would likely owe us millions in consulting fees if he backed out?” Aubrey couldn’t imagine Mr. Clarke would continue to have cold feel once he realized that fact.

  “Of course, I told him. What do you take me for, a novice?”

  Victoria was going to make her draw it out syllable by excruciating syllable. “And?” Aubrey asked.

  “He said he would gladly pay the fees from his personal checkbook if that’s what he needed to do to stop the deal.” The disgust in Victoria’s voice was palpable.

  “I’m so sorry, Victoria.” Petrified, or horrified, would both be better descriptions of what Aubrey felt, but she decided she should at least feign composure.

  “Don’t be sorry. Ask me how you’re going to fix it?” Victoria enjoyed toying with Aubrey, the way an unhungry cat treats an unfortunate mouse that happens across its path.

  “Victoria, I can’t come back. My mom…”

  “Yes, yes, your mom needs you.” Aubrey imagined Victoria rolling her eyes as she said this. “Fortunately for you, you don’t have to come back to New York to fix this. As unbelievable as this may sound, you are in the perfect place to fix this right where you are.”

  “I am?” Aubrey agreed with Victoria’s assessment of her statement’s believability.

  “By some amazing stroke of good fortune, for you, I have inside information from Michael Small, the VP of the Eastern Virginia Region of Clarke’s Department Stores, that Mr. Clarke will be visiting one of his stores in the town of Marion, tomorrow. A town which happens to be less than forty miles from where you are in Timberville.”

  “Of course, The Clarke’s store at The Shenandoah Mall.” Aubrey couldn’t believe her good fortune. She shopped there a hundred times while she was growing up if she shopped there once. She knew exactly where it was, and the proximity to her own hometown meant it wouldn’t even disturb too much of her time with her mom if she were forced to spend a part of her vacation there.

  “I want you to meet him. Warm his feet.”

  Aubrey had been right. Victoria required she spend part of her vacation there. There was no sense in fighting it. No sense in protesting she was on vacation. No sense in asking if, perhaps, Beth could handle this one. “What time will he be there?” Aubrey looked around the room for a pen and pencil. The compulsive side of her felt the need to take notes even though there was very little chance she would forget.

  “Michael said the visit is scheduled from ten until noon.” Victoria replied.

  “Anything I need to know from your recent negotiations with Mr. Clarke?”

  Victoria sighed. The only part of this whole conversation that caused her disappointment in herself was about to escape her lips, “I upped our offer.”

  “To what?” Aubrey squinted with one of her eyes the way people do when they’re braced for information they don’t want to hear.

  “Two and a half billion.” Victoria acted as though this offer didn’t reveal her desperation to own Mr. Clarke’s company.

  “Wow, his feet must have gotten very cold.” Aubrey realized, as soon as she said the words out loud, she’d allowed too much surprise to infect her voice. Victoria would take that as an insult to her deal-making skill.

  “Perhaps, if my highly regarded and extremely well-compensated acquisitions analyst had been here by my side instead of visiting what was left of her family for the holidays, my offer wouldn’t have climbed as high as it did.” Victoria said coldly.

  Aubrey noticed how little sympathy Victoria had for her when she heard ‘visiting what was left of her family’. She wondered what happened to Victoria in her life that caused her to believe treating people like that made them work harder for her. “I’ll meet Mr. Clarke at his store tomorrow. I won’t let you down, Victoria.” Aubrey meant it too. She would do her best to ensure she saved the deal, whether Victoria deserved it or not.

  A long silence on both ends drug on for several seconds. Victoria wanted her ensuing point to marinate in heavy quiet. “Just so you know, saving this deal isn’t a request, Aubrey. It’s an order. You can stay in Timberville the rest of your life for all I care if you lose this deal, because you won’t have a job with me.”

  Victoria hung up without waiting for a reply.

  The call over, Aubrey resumed gazing into the backyard full of her memories. She felt sad over the loss of her father, especially after her boss treated her so poorly. If he had been he
re, she would have sat down with him at the kitchen table and talked it out until they found a solution together. She remembered how he was the one she went to about the most about important things. She was a ‘daddy’s girl’ if ever there were one.

  The flood of memories, which started by looking out into that snow-covered back yard, gained momentum. She recalled the times in college when she emailed her father her papers before they were due. Ostensibly, she’d been gaming him for grammatical advice. As an English major, he was, hands down, the best grammarian in the Wilson Family tree. What she really wanted though, she now saw, was for him to tell her how great her ideas were, and how proud he was to be her father. Of course, he never let her down, either. He always came through with the edits for the comma splices she requested. More importantly for her confidence, he also managed to say, in a dozen different ways, she was the smartest and most creative person he had ever met.

  She felt the tear tracking down her cheek and brushed it away with her hand. She came here to be strong for her mom. She couldn’t let herself be found crying by the window while she looked at the tire swing which still hung from the old oak tree at the fence line. Why were the tears coming anyway? She experienced these things in the summer. Christmas was not the time to go through them again. Especially not this Christmas, not when her mom needed her so much.

  As though Greta could tell Aubrey was thinking about her, she entered the room carrying breakfast on a tray. “I’m sorry but I was invited in by the silence. Plus, you know how I can’t stand to let anyone eat cold food. Have a seat in the rocker. You can eat right there.”

  Aubrey did as she was told and sat down in the rocking chair. Her mom handed her the tray. “Thanks.” Aubrey looked into her mother’s eyes to make sure she saw how much sincerity was going into what she was about to say. “Thank you for asking me to come home this Christmas. I believe I needed to see you as much as you needed to see me. Maybe more.”