Santa Bring Me a Ryan

by Rene Penn

  Crap.

  Bryan couldn’t believe Jules smoked pot. At his family’s house! Right under his nose. He didn’t mind people doing it, but this wasn’t the time nor place. They weren’t staying with a bunch of friends at a beach house in Miami. This was his parent’s house. And though he didn’t think she’d be the type to do something so sneaky, she had thrown that crazy holiday party at work. She’d had him sign off on the procurement requests. And she may have been cozying up to his brother.

  Bryan growled with annoyance.

  “What?” asked his mother.

  “Nothing. I was clearing my throat.” He poured them cups of coffee and handed her over. His lips drew tight with every sip he took from his Like A Boss cup.

  ◆◆◆

  Jules picked up the phone from the nightstand in her room and called her father again. She’d tried him twice the day before. She’d left a silly voicemail singing “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” but he hadn’t called back.

  Just as she thought it would ring to voicemail again, her father answered.

  "Hey, Dad." She smiled. "I missed you yesterday. How was your Christmas?"

  He paused for so long that she said, “Hello?” She got off the bed and stood by the window, wondering if that would help the spotty reception.

  Her dad sniffed. “Hey, Pumpkin.” He sniffed again. And then he began to sob.

  “Dad? Dad! Is something wrong?”

  Her mind ticked through what it could be. Hospital. Heart attack. Car accident. The possibilities pulsed through her mind.

  Finally, his voice settled. “I miss your mother.”

  Jules crumbled to the floor.

  “And I miss you,” he said. “I wish you were both here.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? I had no idea you felt this way. Does mom know?”

  "No." She could hear him wiping his face, and a scuffling sound brushed against the phone. "She doesn't know. And please don't tell her. It's not appropriate to say something like this to your mom." His last words sounded clear again, as if he hadn't been crying. Like he'd had a momentary blip on the self-control circuit.

  “But if you tell her, maybe you guys can…you can fight for her.”

  "We're divorced, Pumpkin. We tried to work things out when we were together, but it was too late. I didn't do my part as a husband. I didn't support her enough with her career. I took her for granted. She deserved better. I agreed to go separate ways because it's what she wanted. I have to get used to how things are now."

  “Our new normal.” Jules wiped away a tear of her own and crossed her legs in front of her.

  The sound of a sleeve or a hand brushed against the phone again. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

  She had no idea her dad would have taken the holiday so hard. Had she known…

  “I should’ve come to Connecticut,” she whimpered.

  But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she recalled why she hadn’t.

  “I have to confess something, Dad. And I have to warn you: It’s really, really dumb.”

  She told him about her Dumb Thing, opting to spend Christmas alone, not wanting to choose between which parent to visit, not wanting to let the other down.

  When she finished spilling it all, her father said, “Jules, that is really dumb,” and chuckled.

  “I warned you,” she said, laughing at herself.

  “Why didn’t you tell us how you felt? Your mom and I could’ve come up with a plan.”

  Tears squeaked out. “I don’t know. I’m an idiot. Kerri suggested I had you guys draw for the shortest straw or wrestle in mud.”

  They laughed more. "How about I make it easy for you? Next Christmas, you see your mom, but I get you for this Thanksgiving and two Christmases from now."

  “Sounds good.”

  Why did that go so much easier than she’d played it out in her head? But her dad did call her crying. She hadn’t anticipated that in the least.

  “Tell me,” he said. “How are things going in Montana?”

  “Um, I have another confession.”

  Before the holiday, Jules had fed her dad the same lie as her mother, that she planned to visit Bryan’s family as his girlfriend. Now Jules told her father the truth.

  He said, "I hate to say this, but you've got some growing up to do. But don't we all. Here I am crying to my daughter about my ex-wife." He let out a low chuckle.

  Jules squeezed her eyes shut a moment. “I like Bryan. I want to be his girlfriend. I want his parents to like me.”

  "Just make sure that it's him you want and not just a warm body by your side for the holidays." His wisdom deafened her ears. "It'll all shake out. It always does. But if you want him, fight for him. At least you can walk away, knowing you tried."

  Several minutes later, they hung up. She gathered her clothes and took a shower. When she came out to head down to the first floor, Bryan came up the stairs. No “good morning” greeting. No “hello, sunshine” smile.

  He delivered the following question in a monotone shade of gray: “Did you smoke marijuana this morning?”

  What?

  Between the call with her dad and this—the morning was too much drama for the day after Christmas.

  “No, I didn’t smoke marijuana this morning. Why are you asking me that?”

  “My mother smelled it. And by process of elimination, she thinks it was you. So I’m coming to see if she’s right.”

  "It wasn't me." Her lip quivered. "I don't smoke weed. I tried it when I was in college. Only once, though. I didn't like it. I stuck with alcohol." Yikes. Admitting to underage drinking didn't sound good, either. But he wasn't her boss anymore.

  Bryan sighed.

  “Is that a sigh of relief? Or a sigh that you don’t believe me?”

  He looked down at her. “Relief. I’ll let my mom know it wasn’t you.”

  Her mouth opened, and then she said, “You weren’t sure?”

  “Honestly? No.”

  “I’m telling the truth.” Her lip kept quivering.

  She hated it when her stupid lip did this. Worse yet, when someone else noticed it. Bryan watched her lip intently, as if it were a sign showing her guilt or a grotesque caterpillar. She covered her mouth. "Can you please stop staring at my lips?"

  His gaze jumped to her eyes. “I can’t help it.”

  In a good way? Or a bad way? Wrong time to seek clarification—although, between the awkward questioning, she noticed chemistry between them. Maybe not like the sparks that had developed before. But a current still simmered in the air.

  "My lip trembles when I'm upset," she said behind her hand. "I don't want your mom to think badly of me. And now she does. First, the power outage, and now this." But being accused of smoking weed would undo her previous damage control.

  “I saw all of the electronics plugged into the outlets in your room yesterday.”

  Jules held back a squeal. “I’m sorry. Okay, I may have had something to do with the power outage—”

  “Jules,” he muttered with a bit of disappointment.

  “But I didn’t smoke weed.” She moved her hand away from her mouth. “I swear.” Her lip quivered mercilessly. She grabbed his arm. “Please tell her.”

  “I’ll tell her.” He grinned a little. A bit stiff. Guarded. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Fine.” The tension thickened between them. “Is everything okay, you know, with us?”

  “Sure.”

  She searched his face, wondering where their chemistry had gone and if it would come back. Were the answers scrawled like a map on his chiseled chin and cheeks?

  Since she’d arrived, they’d made quick progress, moving from coworkers to more. But in less than twenty-four hours, the progress they’d made had unraveled just as quickly. It wasn’t gone yet, though. She could feel it.

  “Maybe I can talk to Kathy myself.” This time, she wouldn’t let one of the Blakely brothers speak up in her stead.

  “No.”

 
“Okay, I can find out who’s smoking. Or we can look together.” But as she said it, her brain rumbled at the idea of being a rat. “I don’t want to tattletale on anybody, though.”

  “Neither do I. Look, I’ll tell my mom it wasn’t you. Maybe it was a neighbor or something. The wind could’ve brought a smell over this way. Or someone could’ve walked by.”

  Jules didn’t believe those scenarios, either. The nearest house was a few acres away, and the Blakely’s cabin was set many yards off the sidewalk.

  “How can I make it up to your mom?” She'd done it before. She could do it again.

  “Don’t worry about…”

  She whispered. “I want to make it up to both of you.”

  His face softened a little, and hope filled her lungs.

  ◆◆◆

  It took a bit of verbal arm-wrestling, but Jules convinced Kathy to let her make dessert for everyone. Trusting her with the oven was a leap, Jules realized, especially after what had happened with the turkey and ham. But she assured Kathy that she'd stay awake since she'd be the one doing the baking. And Kathy assured her, with a slight surliness, that she'd stay in the house the whole time.

  Jules winced at that, but at least they’d made a deal.

  The marijuana thing never came up.

  Bryan drove Jules to Rosauers grocery store, where she buzzed through the aisles to get ingredients for a cheesecake. She propped open a glass door in the dairy section and placed Philadelphia Cream Cheese packages in the handbasket that Bryan held.

  Jules wanted to freak out, knowing that she was grocery shopping with a guy the day after Christmas. And not just any guy. Bryan Blakely. Her ex-boss. Yes, the situation deserved a full and total freak-out, but the circumstance couldn’t allow it. Grocery shopping with him meant nothing if his mother thought Jules was a stoner.

  One thing she’d learned in the short time she’d spent with the Blakely family: they were close. And if she wanted in with Bryan, then she had to be in with all of them. And leaving a sour taste in the matriarch’s mouth wouldn’t get her anywhere with Bryan.

  They left the dairy section and walked toward the aisle for graham crackers.

  “Are you sure you want to make cheesecake? Let me rephrase that. Do you even know how to make cheesecake?” Bryan asked.

  "Sure. It's my go-to dessert. The only one I know how to make. Pillsbury cookies from a tube don't count, right?"

  He frowned. "Oh, boy."

  "I won't accidentally poison anyone if that's what you're worried about."

  He arched his brow. “That did cross my mind.”

  Jeez, he had zero faith in her. Like her work at JSA.

  Note to self: Do not make poisonous cheesecake. Even better if it's at least four out of five stars.

  She grabbed a box of graham crackers and set them in the basket. Bryan shuffled things around to make room. “Hey, so, I’ve been wondering…”

  Her breath caught. Maybe this was it. He was going to ask her to be his girlfriend.

  She could think of better places to do it than in the middle of the grocery store. But, hey, this would certainly be memorable.

  Pausing in the aisle, he asked, “How did you guys get the cooked turkey yesterday?”

  She swallowed back disappointment.

  “Did you come here to get it?” he pressed.

  “Maybe.” She bit her lip and kept walking.

  Within twenty minutes, they finished up at the store and made it back to the house. She popped open her laptop, pulled up the cheesecake recipe that had been a hit every time, and got to work. Kathy came in now and again, as Jules prepared the graham cracker crust.

  “Would you like any?” Jules pointed to the Honey Maid box.

  "No, no," Kathy said, as if she were passing through the kitchen to pick up a piece of lint.

  Jules meticulously beat together the cream cheese, sugar, sour cream, and other ingredients. Before long, she poured the batter into a pan and placed it in the oven. She set the timer on the stove and took a seat at the breakfast table, shying away from the chair she'd napped in—bad karma.

  Kathy popped in the kitchen again, her eyebrow raised. “It’s in the oven?”

  Jules smiled. “Yes. When it’s done, we can put it in the fridge. And it’ll be ready in time for dessert later.”

  “Good. Well, thanks again for—” Kathy shrieked. “Agh!”

  “What is it?”

  Kathy pointed to a spider crawling on the wall. Given her reaction, it seemed silly to ask if she was afraid of spiders.

  “Oh.” Jules examined the brown body and long legs. “I can kill it if you want.”

  "Usually, Paul handles the bugs. He and Bryan are out shoveling, though. It must be coming in to get warm."

  Jules couldn’t pass up an opportunity to step in. “I can take care of it.” She removed her shoe, ready to whack the thing to a pulp.

  Kathy stopped her. “Paul catches them and releases them outside. But do whatever you want to get it out of my kitchen.”

  Hmm… two options.

  If it were Jules’ home, she’d take a shoe to the spider and be done. But what if she splattered bug guts on Kathy’s nice wall? Ew. Not good. Option two, catching it in a glass and letting it outside, could guarantee a clean wall and increase Jules’ brownie points. The casino hadn’t cha-changed in a while. And Jules longed to hear the sound.

  “Can I use a glass?” she asked.

  Kathy stepped away from the cabinet. “Whatever you want.”

  Jules grabbed a glass while Kathy found a piece of paper, folded it, and handed it over. Jules positioned herself near the spider, but not too close in case it had the power to hop and attack her face. After a couple of attempts, Jules coaxed the spider into the glass and maneuvered the paper over it. Step one done.

  Kathy opened the door for her, and the dry cold air blasted Jules like a freezer. A phone rang from somewhere inside the house.

  Kathy said, “Let me grab that. You got it okay from here?”

  “Yep.”

  Jules crouched down on the shoveled deck, tipped over the glass onto the snowy yard, and the spider crawled away. Not hard at all. Step two done. Pleased about accomplishing her mission, she stood up to head back inside.

  A blur of yellow fur raced by at break-neck speed.

  “Tigger,” she yelled.

  Oh no!

  With a glass, a sheet of paper, and no coat, Jules ran after the dog. She hoped that Bryan and Paul would see her. But they must’ve gone to the back of the house. She followed the dog down the street, toward the trail, calling his name over and over. Her chest burned from the cold, high-altitude air, and her legs slowed down.

  She couldn’t lose Tigger Blakely, but her body was giving up. The distance between her and the dog stretched farther and farther. Panic was about to set in. And then, a miracle happened. The dog turned around and let out a single bark, as if to say, “Hey, where’d ya go? C’mon.”

  “Tigger,” she called out, her throat like fire. “It’s time to go home!”

  Maybe the dog sensed her angst because it started back in her direction.

  Her shoulders slumped with gratefulness.

  The canine must've pitied her, saw her quivering lip from far away with its doggie laser vision, and sensed she was about to collapse from lack of oxygen. She didn't have the lungs of a runner. Or a jogger, for that matter. Tigger had tested her. If he'd kept going, she would've passed out in the snow. The spider she'd set free minutes ago would've found her and attacked her face—payback for putting it back out into the cold elements.

  The dog trotted up to her, his legs galloping like a beautiful small horse. He played coy, moving away from her like he wanted to run again. A game, she realized.

  She whistled like Bryan had done when they’d played fetch with Tigger the day before. Her whistle wasn’t as authoritative as Bryan’s, but it helped. She then turned her back on the dog and began walking back to the house, the whole time whispering und
er her breath, “Please let Tigger be following me. Please, God, don’t let me lose the family dog.”

  Within seconds, she heard the light metal sound of his collar, and Tigger was at her side.

  “Good boy.”

  They made their way back toward the house. With the stress of losing him gone, the freezing temperature had kicked in.

  She opened the door to the house, surprised at the chaos brewing inside. Kathy, Paul, Bryan, Helena, the teenagers, and Shirley frantically buzzed around.

  “What’s going on?” Jules asked.

  Bryan shot her a look. “A bird flew in. Did you leave the front door open?”

  Images scrolled through her mind like a photo gallery. Kathy had opened the door, Jules had let the spider go, and Tigger had run away. And nowhere in that slew of images did she see herself closing the front door.

  Crap!

  Before Jules could respond, defend, or deny, Tigger tore past her, skidding into the house. The labrador who'd played coy moments earlier turned into a four-legged maniac with bird on the brain. The bird flapped, and the dog chased, and Little Bonnie yelled with delight. Tyler and Tarron laughed, running alongside Tigger, not helping matters.

  During the melee, someone tripped over the electrical wire for the Christmas tree lights, toppling the whole thing over. Kathy shrieked with her hands on top of her head. Helena ran to grab a towel because the water bowl for the tree had tipped over, too. The teenagers made themselves scarce before they could get into trouble.

  Bonnie tripped and let out a bloodcurdling scream, repeatedly asking her mom to kiss her booboo. But Clara couldn't see it and kept kissing the wrong spot. More screaming. Dave and Paul tried to wrestle the tree back to an upright position, while Bryan picked up the ornaments and the tangled string of lights. Jules wanted to crawl into the oven with the cheesecake. All the while, the bird perched on a beam near the twenty-feet ceiling, looking down at everyone from on high. And Jules could've sworn it was smirking at them.

  ◆◆◆

  After cleaning up the fallen and broken ornaments from the tree, Bryan took Tigger down to the basement and closed the door. Coaxing the bird from the ceiling would prove more productive without a barking predator, ready to swoop. Bryan went to the study on the main level and sat at the computer. A quick search online could help. He clicked on the top result when his mother walked in and closed the door behind her.