Home for the Holidays

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “It didn’t!” I pause, then give him a sheepish smile. “Okay, maybe it did. It’s not you, though, it’s the circumstances.” I point to the mistletoe. “Really.”

  “Whew,” he says, pretending to wipe his brow. “That’s a relief. I thought maybe I was losing my touch. So what did she say?”

  “That there’s a good chance Stinkerbelle and the Fairies is going to be published.”

  “Emma!”

  “Wait—don’t get too excited. She said she can’t promise me anything yet, but she showed it to one of the editors at Loomis and Sons, and they really liked it. She should know more in a few weeks.”

  “What do you mean, don’t get excited? That’s fantastic news! Congratulations!”

  “Thanks. But I’m not telling anybody yet besides you and my parents, and maybe Jess. I just don’t want to have to explain if nothing comes of it, you know?”

  He nods. “I totally understand, Em. But still, congratulations!” He kisses me again, and we head back to the dining room.

  Mrs. Chadwick made Gigi’s Thai Butternut Squash Soup. I’m really glad, because it’s my favorite thing on the menu at Pies & Prejudice. Well, besides all the treats, of course. I always order it when Mom and I go to lunch there. I love how creamy it is, and I especially love the topping, a crunchy-tangy mix of chopped peanuts, cilantro, and grated lime peel. Yum.

  We carry our mugs into the living room and find a spot on the floor next to Jess and Darcy. I smile at Jess, and she jangles her charm bracelet at me, sending the little heart on it flying. I’m really glad that whole thing with Jonas Bates was a figment of my imagination. She and my brother just seem to fit together like two puzzle pieces.

  Mr. Chadwick flips on the TV, then slips a disc into the DVD player. He dims the lights as calypso Christmas carols start to float from the speakers.

  “What’s going on?” asks Mr. Delaney. “Please tell me there isn’t some Betsy-Tacy dance I wasn’t warned about.”

  Jess leans over to me. “Dance of the Maypole Maidens?” she whispers, and I nearly choke on my soup. That was her father’s only—and totally disastrous—attempt at hosting book club, back when we were in sixth grade.

  Mr. Chadwick laughs. “Nope. No dancing on the menu tonight. Calliope’s parents put together a slide show of our cruise, and we thought you all might like to see it.”

  “Ooh, yes, please!” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid.

  Across the room from me, I notice a funny look on Becca’s face.

  “Don’t worry, it’s brief,” her father continues. “Nothing worse than having to sit through slide shows of other people’s vacations, in my opinion.”

  “Count me as weird, then,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid. “I love looking at other people’s slides.”

  A title fades in on the TV screen: The Chadwicks and the Wongs and the Great World.

  “I can tell your mother had a hand in this, Calliope,” says my mother.

  Mrs. Chadwick laughs. “No point trying to deny that, is there, Becca?”

  I watch her and Megan. I’m beginning to think that Cassidy is right. Something’s up. Usually the two of them are joined at the hip, kind of like Jess and me. Well, Jess and me when Darcy and Stewart aren’t around. But tonight they’re sitting on opposite sides of the room, and Megan’s been sticking to Gigi like a burr.

  The first slide comes on. It’s Stewart, gaping up at the ship. He looks like a total dork. Everybody laughs.

  “It was big!” Stewart protests.

  “So’s your mouth,” my brother tells him.

  The twins think this is hilarious and collapse on the floor, howling.

  “Look at those bathing beauties!” says Mrs. Delaney as a picture of Megan and Becca by the pool flashes on-screen.

  One after another, the slides follow in quick succession: Stewart and his grandfather, frowning in concentration at the Scrabble board. Stewart and his grandfather, triumphantly holding up a trophy. Mrs. Wong and Mrs. Chadwick, bent over their scrapbooks. Gigi showing off her stateroom door, which has been wrapped to look like a Christmas present. Buffet tables. Stewart on the surfrider. Stewart wiping out on the surfrider, which sends the twins into gales of laughter again. A three-story Christmas tree, with huge crowds of people milling around.

  “That was Christmas Eve, remember?” says Mrs. Chadwick. “Check this out—they made it snow.”

  The next slide proves her right.

  “Ooh,” chorus the twins. “How’d they do that?”

  “Soap flakes,” says Mr. Chadwick. “Right, Stewart?”

  Stewart shudders and makes a face. “Yep. They didn’t taste so good.”

  There are lots of pictures of Megan and Becca: Megan and Becca getting pedicures; Megan and Becca all dressed up for a party or something; Megan and Becca bowling, skating, swimming, sunbathing, and snorkeling in water that’s impossibly blue.

  “Stop!” groans Darcy. “You’re torturing us! I want to be there right now!”

  “Who’s that?” asks Jess, as a pictures of a good-looking guy in a white uniform comes up. On one side of him is Becca, and on the other, Megan.

  “The captain’s son,” says Gigi. “Isn’t he handsome? And so polite—very French.” Megan’s grandmother loves anything French.

  “His name was Philippe, and Megan had a crush on him,” says Mrs. Wong.

  Megan’s face goes beet red. “Mom! I did not!”

  Another picture appears. Philippe is pointing at something in this one, and it looks like he’s giving a lecture. Megan and Becca are both listening intently.

  “What’s he talking about?” I ask.

  Mrs. Chadwick looks expectantly at Becca, who shrugs and doesn’t reply, so Mrs. Chadwick turns to me. “The ship. He was very proud of it.”

  “He certainly was,” says Gigi, her dark almond eyes twinkling.

  I see Megan and Becca exchange a glance, and then Becca looks away, scowling. Cassidy shoots me another I told you so look.

  Mr. Chadwick turns the lights back up as the last slide—an early-morning shot of the Miami harbor—fades to black.

  “Wow, what a trip.” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid sighs. “That’s a memory to treasure for a lifetime.”

  “Yes indeed,” agrees Mrs. Wong. “Right, Megan?”

  Megan just grunts, and Cassidy gives me and Jess Winona eyes again.

  “So,” says my mother, “is it time for the next question?” She fishes in her pocket again and reads it aloud: “Would you like to live in Deep Valley? How is it different from Concord?”

  Jess sighs happily. “I’d love to live in Deep Valley. All those parties and picnics and dances and fun.”

  “We have plenty of fun here in Concord, don’t we?” says her mother.

  “I know, but it’s different somehow.”

  “That’s because it’s a book,” says Cassidy.

  “Yeah, but it was based on real life,” Jess replies stubbornly.

  We talk for a while about fictional versus real places, and the choices authors make in writing about those places.

  “There don’t seem to be any really serious problems in Deep Valley,” says Mrs. Wong, “aside from the occasional squabble over a boy. Everybody’s so happy all the time.”

  “Just the way I like it,” says Jess. Her family had a couple of rough years back in middle school, when her mother moved to New York for a while to pursue her acting career, and then when they almost lost the farm.

  Megan and Becca both vote for Concord, and I’m undecided. “Deep Valley because I want to go to high school with the Crowd and hang out with Betsy talking about writing, Concord because I already have my own Crowd, and I have Stewart to talk to about writing.”

  “Awwww,” says Darcy, and I flick a peanut at him.

  Stewart swats me with his napkin. “So are you saying the character I’m most like is Betsy?”

  I grin at him. “If the shoe fits.”

  He pretends to be insulted. “Couldn’t I at least be Tony or Joe? Or maybe Cab
Edwards?”

  His mother’s mouth drops open. “Stewart Chadwick!” she exclaims. “Have you been reading the Betsy-Tacy books?”

  He shrugs sheepishly. “What can I say? I got curious.”

  My brother thinks this is hilarious. “Ooh, Chadwick, wait until we get to the rink tomorrow. I’m going to tell the guys that you joined the Mother-Daughter Book Club.”

  “Darcy,” says my mother severely. “If you keep this up, I’ll tell everybody about your Little Mermaid pajamas.”

  “WHAT?” shriek Dylan and Ryan.

  Darcy hates it when my mom teases him about this. When he was little, he desperately wanted to be Ariel when he grew up. He had the pajamas, the movie poster, the CD and DVD, and he knew all the songs by heart.

  “I think you just told them, Mom,” I say.

  She grins and turns to Cassidy. “How about you, Cassidy? Deep Valley or Concord?”

  “Deep Valley for sure, at least in the winter. They’re always out on the ice.”

  “That’s Minnesota for you,” says her mother. “But seriously, what else draws you to Deep Valley?”

  I look at Cassidy, who still hasn’t said whether she’s going to be moving or staying, and I wonder whether the appeal of Maud Hart Lovelace’s world is its sense of permanence. Sure, the characters grow and change over the years, but most of the changes are happy ones, and there’s an abiding sense of stability in the books.

  “But seriously,” Cassidy replies, “I’m still hungry. Can we move this dinner party along?”

  “Cassidy Ann!” her mother scolds.

  My mother flaps her hand. “Not to worry. Let’s skip to the next Big Reveal.”

  “How about we start with a mom this time?” suggests Mrs. Wong. “Is there a present here for Calliope?”

  My father holds up a brightly wrapped box. “This was on the hall table.”

  He passes it to Mrs. Chadwick, and she opens it. Her face softens when she sees what’s inside.

  “A gnome!” she cries in delight. “A little garden gnome!”

  The small creature is wearing blue overalls and a pointed blue hat, and he’s pushing a wheelbarrow full of flowers. The card reads: For Grossmama Muller from Grosspapa Muller—Du bist mein Blümchen, Mama.

  “What’s a bloom-shin?” asks Ryan.

  “A flower, right, Jess?” their mother replies, and Jess nods.

  “Who’s it from?” asks Mrs. Chadwick, and Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid raises her hand. “Thank you, Clementine. It’s delightful, and so appropriate for my work.”

  “I had to get Wolfgang to help me with the German,” Cassidy’s mother tells us, referring to her old friend and colleague who’s now the fashion director at Flash magazine.

  “And now it’s Becca’s turn,” says my mother, as Mrs. Chadwick happily hangs her ornament on the tree. “Do you have a guess as to the identity of your Secret Santa?”

  Becca glances at Jess, and I see the muscle in her jaw clench. She shrugs.

  “Well then, would Becca’s Secret Santa please reveal herself?”

  I hop to my feet. “It was me!” I announce proudly, glad in a way that it turned out to be Megan who gave me all those crummy presents, and not Becca. I feel better now about the time I spent making her ornament. Reaching into my purse, I pull it out and hand it to her.

  She takes it from me and stares at the wrapping paper, then opens it. She looks puzzled when she sees what it is: a tiny pennant with DEEP VALLEY HIGH printed on it in felt letters.

  “Read the card,” her mother urges.

  “‘To Betsy from Joe: Wish I could join you at the game this weekend, but I have to work. Cheer our team on for me, okay? Your friend, Joe.’”

  “Good job, Emma!” says Mrs. Chadwick. “It’s perfect. Hold it up, darling, so I can get a picture for Gram.”

  Becca gives the pennant a feeble wave.

  “What do you say?” her mother prompts.

  “Thanks, I guess,” Becca replies.

  “What do you mean, you guess?” snaps her mother. “Where are your manners?”

  Becca glares at her. “What I mean is, one good gift doesn’t make up for a bunch of crummy ones.”

  I stare at her, shocked. “Rebecca Louise!” thunders her mother.

  “It’s true, Mom! She gave me some really mean stuff.”

  “Well, maybe that made up for all the stupid stuff you gave somebody else,” says Cassidy.

  “What stupid stuff? I didn’t give anybody stupid stuff!” says Becca, her voice rising. She looks around at us all. “You don’t like me—you never have. I thought it was Jess, but now I see you were the one behind it, Cassidy. You probably gave Emma the whole idea for the goat thing.”

  “Goat thing?” I look at her blankly.

  She whirls around to face me. “Don’t play dumb. You and Jess and Cassidy ganged up on me, I know you did!”

  “Rebecca Louise!” her mother repeats. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “You want to know how Concord is different from Deep Valley?” Becca’s face is flushed with anger. “I’ll tell you how it’s different—people pretend to be your friends here when they really aren’t, that’s how. They hate me, Mom! They always have. I’ll never be part of their little circle, their Sistren, and this just proved it.”

  She looks over at Megan, who’s gone pale beneath her tan. “I wish I’d never joined this stupid book club!” And with that Becca throws down the pennant and stomps out of the room.

  Nobody moves.

  I look over at Jess and Cassidy. Now what?

  CASSIDY

  “Later Betsy and Tacy had a serious hour alone. They made their New Year’s resolutions, and when she got home Betsy wrote them down. Never had she made such serious, such sobering resolutions. She resolved to work harder at school, to read improving literature, to brush her hair a hundred strokes every night, not to think about boys . . .”

  —Heaven to Betsy

  My mother marches down to the end of our upstairs hallway and yanks on the door leading to the turret. Flinging it open, she flips on the light and points to the stairs with one perfectly manicured finger. “Go! Now! All of you!”

  I hesitate, but only for a split second. It’s pretty hard to defy my mother’s Queen Clementine voice, especially when it’s combined with the evil witch mother eye of death. Make that five evil witch mother eyes of death: Mrs. Wong, Mrs. Hawthorne, Mrs. Delaney, and Mrs. Chadwick are all lined up along the hallway behind her, glaring at us. It’s like face-off time at the rink.

  I slink through the door sheepishly. Emma and Megan and Becca and Jess are right behind me.

  “And don’t you dare come down until you’ve sorted this mess out!” my mother calls up the stairs after us. “Ridiculous, girls your age acting this way.” She slams the door shut.

  In the confusion after Becca’s meltdown, our mothers pounced on Emma and Jess and Megan and me, wanting to know what had happened. We tried to explain, but since we were still kind of in the dark too, it was complicated. Tempers flared. Voices were raised. Stanley invited the dads and brothers to go on ahead with him and Chloe to our house, and they were only too happy to escape.

  After they left, my mother threw up her hands. “You girls are not going to ruin the party for the rest of us,” she sputtered. “You need to sort this out, and you need to sort it out now.”

  “But we didn’t do anything, mom!” I protested.

  “Well, someone made Becca unhappy about something, and I suspect there’s more than enough blame to go around,” said Mrs. Wong.

  The other mothers and Gigi all nodded.

  “Dr. Weisman taught me long ago the importance of making the punishment fit the crime,” my mother continued. “So here’s what we’re going to do, if you other moms agree. Since it’s New Year’s Eve, this is a perfect time to make a fresh start. Out with the old and in with the new, as they say. You girls will come with me while you tend to your daughter, Calliope. Bring her along as soon as you can. And then,
while those of us who are adult enough to act like adults—as opposed to bratty teenagers pretending to be adults—enjoy the wonderful cucumber-pomegranate salad I’ve prepared, you five girls will sit together until you sort this out. You’re old enough to do it by yourselves this time, without our help, or our interference.”

  Mrs. Hawthorne nods. “I heartily agree, Clementine. You girls got yourselves into this mess, and you can get yourselves out.”

  And that was that, and now here we are.

  “I feel like Rapunzel,” grumbles Jess, stumping up the turret stairs behind me. She emerges into the small, circular room and plops down on the window seat, leaning her crutches against it.

  Emma wraps her arms around herself and shivers. “It’s freezing up here!”

  “That’s why my mom chose it,” I reply morosely. “I heard her say so to Mrs. Wong. She figured the less comfortable we were, the less time we’d waste squabbling.”

  I can hear the wind whistling through a crack in one of the diamond-paned windows, and I put a pillow over it and open the grate at the base of the window seat. We keep it closed unless someone’s up here, because my mother says there’s no point heating rooms we’re not using. “It’ll warm up before too long,” I tell my friends. “Well, a little, at least.”

  Becca doesn’t say a word. Her mascara is still kind of smeared from her tears, and she’s got a grim expression on her face.

  “Who wants to go first?” I ask.

  We all look at each other. Nobody replies.

  “Well, I for one don’t intend to stay up here all night,” I tell them. “I’m starving, and I want the rest of my dinner.”

  “You’re always starving,” says Becca. “Shut up!”

  “Make me!”

  “C’mon, guys,” says Emma. “You heard what they said, we have to sort this out.” She sighs. “Okay, I’ll start. I’ll confess, I thought my Secret Santa gifts were from you, Becca.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I thought it was some kind of mean joke you were playing. I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you thought it was me,” Becca says stiffly. “That’s my whole point. You don’t like me, and you never have.”