Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce

by Rachell Nichole

  “No. I was mad. Specifically at you. And her. For lying to me. When she died, I realized that’s what you’d been fighting with her about. Why you weren’t happy about planning that party for me. Why you were so miserable even though I thought she was going to be okay. You knew the truth.”

  He tugged on his right earlobe, rubbing it compulsively. It was a gesture she hadn’t seen in so many years it made her heart hurt. He hadn’t done that since before Mom died. “I don’t know if I ever apologized. I am so very sorry for the way we handled that.”

  She didn’t think her dad’s voice had ever been so thick with emotion. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat, but he didn’t look away from her, didn’t try to excuse his actions.

  “I know why you did it, even though I was so mad at you—at both of you—then. I think I’ve finally imagined what it would have been like for me those last few months if I’d known. We spent time together, Mom and I. A lot of time laughing and planning and having fun. I wouldn’t have gotten any of that if I’d known.” The tears started slipping down her cheeks, but she didn’t wipe them away. She was sad but also grateful. The pain that usually tore through her when she thought of her mom didn’t hit as sharply this time. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you, trying to put on a happy face, knowing the whole time I was going to lose her. Knowing she was…” She couldn’t finish.

  “Dying?” Dad said.

  She nodded, grabbing a napkin to dry her tears. He reached across the small table and took her hand in his. He squeezed her fingers.

  “It was hard. I won’t lie to you. Sometimes it was horrible thinking how you were going to feel afterward. But your mother… She wanted you to stop worrying. Wanted you to enjoy the time you had left with her, live in the moment, and stop being terrified of what tomorrow would bring. And I wanted to give her anything she asked for.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sniffling.

  He hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too.”

  * * * *

  “This is crazy,” Dad said as he took his seat next to Amy on the plane.

  “I know.”

  “I can’t believe you’re making me do this again.”

  “You heard her. She wants to see you. And me.” She put the armrest down between the seats and rested her elbow on it.

  The plan had gone beautifully. She’d sent a quick text to Mason after Dad had talked to Martha on the phone, agreeing to come for Christmas. She’d gotten an abrupt perfect in response, but that was it. She didn’t know what she’d expected. She’d completely shut down on him at the airport, refusing to let her brain or body torture her any longer. She’d barely made it through security before she’d become completely numb.

  “What if she changes her mind?”

  Aw, he was nervous. She knew exactly how he felt, so she smiled. “Everything will be fine.” She didn’t know if she was trying to reassure him or herself. The flight attendants came through to give them all the emergency procedure information, and she sat back in her seat.

  She’d driven herself crazy since getting home from Colorado, trying, and failing, to keep her mind off Mason. She’d accepted the job as the kindergarten teacher in Denver’s school district. This meant living temptingly close to the first man she’d wanted in a long time and being unable to have him. She gnawed her lower lip as the plane coasted through the air, bringing her closer and closer to Mason and his bright blue eyes.

  She knew every inch of his body now. She knew what he looked like when he was angry, when he was defeated or sad. She could catalog his mood based on the way he smiled and how crinkled the laugh lines around those deep blue pools got. She hadn’t spoken to him in almost three weeks, and with each day, the ache that had overtaken her got worse, not better. Pain got better with time. So why did she hurt so damned bad?

  She reassured her dad again a few times through the day. He didn’t seem to know how on edge she was, and for that she was grateful. Explaining away her mood over the past three weeks had been easy. She’d told him her anxiety was over the job. Moving away. Leaving him. All kinds of things. Everything except what was really eating away at her. When they finally landed in Austin, her nerves were wound so tight she feared her skin might explode at any second.

  It’s only a few days. You can handle a few days.

  She repeated this over and over again as her father sorted out their car rental and she grabbed their bags.

  He lifted hers into the car. “Jesus, what do you have in here, bricks?” he asked.

  She grinned but didn’t fess up. She’d sneaked a can of cranberry sauce into her suitcase when he hadn’t been looking. He wouldn’t get the joke, but Mason would. She was determined to be prepared this time.

  As they drove through holiday traffic toward Martha’s house, she had absolutely no freaking clue what she was going to say to Mason when they were face-to-face again. The sooner this fucking holiday ended, the better.

  Dad pulled into the driveway and turned to her. “You ready for this, Ames?”

  She barely stopped herself from shaking her head. The front lawn was green, not a snowman or plow in sight. But Martha’s house was decorated to the nines. Bright multicolored lights outlined each window and covered the tree in the front lawn. It wasn’t a fir tree but something wider, like an oak, still with all its leaves. A light-up sleigh and reindeer sat among the bushes, and plastic candy canes lined the walkway.

  She wanted to run back to the airport, but she had to do this. For her dad. So instead of screaming no, she nodded. He grinned, and they got out. After grabbing their bags, they headed for the front door. Dad rang the bell, and they stood waiting on the front steps. A second later, Martha opened the door.

  She looked gorgeous in a fifties-style wrap dress that came down to just below her knees. It was a bright red, with large green polka dots. Her hair was pulled back, and her makeup was flawless. Clearly she’d been as nervous to see Dad as he was to see her.

  “Martha,” Dad said.

  “Oh, James.” She pulled him into the house and hugged him. Amy sighed. Maybe this would work after all. She brought their bags in and closed the door behind her.

  “I’ll, uh, just bring these upstairs,” she said. They continued to embrace, neither paying her any attention. Amy wasn’t sure where to put the suitcases, actually. Was Mason here yet? She carried the bags up and set them inside the door of the room she’d stayed in when they were here last month.

  She couldn’t stop from staring at Mason’s closed door. Flashes of each time she’d sneaked inside to seduce him plagued her. She had to get out of there. After snagging the can of cranberry sauce from inside her suitcase, she took the back staircase into the kitchen. Only that was a mistake too, because they’d first been together right there. A flush infused her. She’d been on edge, bereft, ever since she’d left Colorado.

  But seeing her dad with Martha made her realize she’d made the right decision, even if it was killing her.

  “Hey,” Mason said, coming through the swinging door from the dining room.

  Her heart jolted, and she almost dropped the can. Her whole body froze as she took in the sight of him. He wore dark wash jeans, hung low on his gorgeous hips, and a soft red sweater stretched tight against his shoulders and chest. Her mouth watered, her womb clenched, her skin ached to rub itself all over him. She remained rooted to the spot.

  “Hi,” she said. Oh, that was wonderfully lame.

  “We did it,” he said.

  She nodded. “Dad was real nervous about coming down here.” So was I.

  “Mom’s been in a tizzy for three days. It’s been kind of funny to watch, actually. We did good.”

  “We did,” she said. She moved toward him. “Excellent job, partner.” She set down the can.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Figured we might need it,” she said.

  He laughed but sobered quickly. “Th
is is a lot harder than I thought it’d be”

  “I know. But you saw them. We have to stay strong. A few days. That’s it. We can handle it.” She hoped.

  “You’re right.”

  It shouldn’t have thrilled her that he was as unhappy about their decision to stay away from each other as she was. She didn’t want him to be miserable, not really, but if he’d been okay seeing her again, unaffected, not aching inside like she was, it would have been worse. He gazed at her with such longing she had to force herself to take a step back instead of leaping into his arms the way she wanted to.

  He turned from her, and she followed him back through the dining room and into the living room where Martha and her dad sat on the couch, holding hands.

  “I put the bags upstairs,” Amy said. “I just put them both in the room where I stayed last time, since I wasn’t sure what the sleeping arrangements were.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” Martha said. She shot a glare at Mason, and Amy cringed.

  Note to self, don’t be alone at all with Mason. It was better like that anyway. It would help her resist temptation, and resist she would. Martha’s look made it clear that she hadn’t changed her opinion of Amy’s relationship with her son. Had Martha forgiven him for lying to her?

  Amy tried not to let Martha’s look get to her, but it stung. She sat in a chair opposite the couch, and Mason took the chair beside hers. A huge tree took up the entire corner of the living room. It was beautifully decorated, as was the rest of the house. Red, green, and gold sparkled from every surface. Little Santa figurines and bows, presents and lights. She didn’t think she’d seen this much Christmas cheer outside of a store.

  “Mom goes a bit crazy for Christmas,” Mason said.

  Amy grinned. “I think it’s beautiful. Really, Martha, it looks great,” she said, turning toward her hostess. Dad had slung his arm around Martha’s shoulders, holding her close.

  “So the ham’s in the oven. It should be ready in another couple hours,” Martha said. “I’ve got a few other things to do in the kitchen.” She stood up.

  “I’ll help,” Amy immediately offered. She didn’t want to be alone in the room with Mason if Dad offered to be Martha’s kitchen assistant.

  Martha smiled, but it was tight. Amy sighed. Would she ever win Martha’s approval? As soon as the kitchen door closed behind them, Martha turned to her.

  “I think I owe you an apology, Amy.”

  She stood there, stunned. She didn’t understand.

  “I wasn’t mad at you over Thanksgiving. Well, maybe a little. Mostly it was that son of mine who incurred my wrath. How much exactly did you have to do with the love letter he wrote to me?”

  “Dad?” she said, trying to play dumb.

  “I’ve known your father longer than you’ve been alive, young lady. The fact that Mason thought he could trick me into thinking your dad wrote that letter tells me he has absolutely no clue who James really is. You should have warned him.”

  Amy laughed. “I’m sorry. I know Dad’s not the most romantic guy on the planet, but he is the most stubborn. I knew if you got the letter, the one that told you how he really felt, even if he wouldn’t write it, you would realize that he was worth taking the chance on. Even after Mason and I really screwed things up for you and your family.”

  “Well, thank you,” Martha said. She held Amy’s upper arms and gave her a little squeeze. “I’m glad you did it.”

  “My pleasure.” Amy’s throat was tight. She’d made sure Mason would be done with her by shutting him out, by pushing him to play matchmaker in the first place. But she still felt like she was lying to Martha by not telling her that she and Mason had continued sleeping together, if just for a little while.

  One of the many kitchen timers dinged, and Martha got to work. She directed Amy around the kitchen, and Amy gave herself over to the holiday cheer and helped Martha finish cooking Christmas Eve dinner. They even baked a few dozen cookies. She was grateful for the two hours to just embrace the joy of being bathed in Martha’s maternal holiday spirit.

  Martha would never be her mom, but Amy could imagine spending every holiday down here, laughing with Martha, sharing her memories and her joy. When the ham was done, Martha called for the boys to set the table. They came into the kitchen.

  “I’m telling ya, Mason. Watch some with me this week, and see if you’re not hooked,” Dad was saying.

  Mason shook his head. “I just can’t get into it.”

  “What?” Amy asked.

  “Ice hockey. It’s just not a Southern thing.”

  She smiled. Oh, her dad would change Mason’s mind. Of that she had no doubt.

  “Enough of that. Get to work, you two,” Martha said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mason grabbed the plates and forks and headed out of the room again.

  “Sorry, honey bun,” Dad said, kissing Martha on the cheek. Martha blushed and shooed him away. He grabbed two platters of food and scurried off. They were both back a second later with empty hands.

  They all finished bringing stuff out to the table and sat down.

  “Are your other sons joining us tomorrow?” Amy asked. “And Elly?”

  Martha shook her head, her expression sad. “They’ve decided to spend Christmas with their dad.”

  Amy shouldn’t have asked. It was clearly a painful subject for Martha to discuss. Mason shifted in his seat. Had he had something to do with them not showing up? She wanted to ask him. Wanted to comfort him, to wipe the worry lines from his brow. Instead she smiled.

  “Well, I’m sorry for them…because this looks delicious,” she said. “They’re definitely going to miss out.”

  “That they are, dear. That they are.”

  Amy let her doubts about Mason slide away and made an effort to enjoy the company and the meal, despite the way she yearned to be in his arms again. They ate and laughed, and she couldn’t remember a more perfect holiday.

  After dinner, they sat in the living room, and each chose a present from under the tree—tradition in the Rider household. Everyone got to open one present the night before Christmas. She’d left her suitcase and presents upstairs.

  Mason and Martha had already picked their presents, and so had Dad. Her gifts would wait until morning, then. What Mason would say when he opened his, she wasn’t sure. Martha handed her a box.

  “Here you are, dear,” she said.

  Amy smiled and held the box lightly in her lap. She wanted to clutch it to her chest. When was the last time she’d gotten a Christmas present? Probably last year at the school’s secret gift exchange. It had been something silly for her desk. She couldn’t even remember what now.

  “You first,” Martha said to Mason.

  He unwrapped a small package. “Ah, Mom. This is fantastic,” he said. She could tell that he meant it. He hugged his mom tightly, then held up the Blu-ray so the rest of them could see. Very Bad Things. He grinned, looking right at Amy, and then his smile faltered. She’d always loved that movie. She would have loved to lie on his couch, wrapped in his arms as they watched it. But that wouldn’t happen.

  “Okay, Mom, you’re next,” Mason said, seeming to shake himself out of the spell that had held them both captive for weeks.

  Amy recognized the box Martha was holding. Dad must have sneaked upstairs at some point during the evening while she and Martha were busy. Martha opened the box and gasped.

  “James,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

  Dad lifted the gold pendant from the box. It was beautiful, certainly, but Amy didn’t really know why it got such an emotional reaction from them both.

  He undid the locket, and Martha started really crying. She flung her arms around him. “I can’t believe you kept it all these years.”

  Amy’s heart melted just a little bit. Her dad might not have been the kind of guy who would write a love letter, but he sure as hell was romantic.

  He rubbed Martha’s back and helped her calm. She held the locket as if it were t
he most precious thing in the world. “My present will seem so…inadequate in comparison to this,” Martha said.

  “Whatever it is, I’ll love it. You picked it out, didn’t you?”

  Martha nodded. He grabbed the bag from the couch where he’d set it and pulled the red and green tissue paper out from the top of it. He reached in and took out a stuffed gator with a pirate’s hat. Amy looked at Mason. Did he think their parents were as crazy as she did? Her dad held the stuffed animal in his hand and waved it in front of Martha’s face. Then he roared. Mason’s eyes widened.

  “It’s the UNO mascot,” Dad said, catching her eye. “Your turn.”

  So it was. She unwrapped the shirt box and opened it. She knew immediately who it was from. She gazed at the slinky red dress Martha had made her try on in the department store. She lifted it from the box and smiled at Martha.

  “Thank you,” she said. She placed the dress back in the box.

  “You just looked so beautiful in it, I couldn’t resist,” Martha said.

  “Okay, then. Presents done. Now it’s time for the Grinch,” Mason announced.

  Oh, God, not that Jim Carrey travesty. She’d never been a big fan of holiday movies, but one year another teacher had lent her the movie to show the kids during a special Christmas night that the PTA had organized. She’d wanted to claw her eyes out twenty minutes in. But she’d sit through it tonight. The whole thing, without a word of protest. Because that was what you did during the holidays. You spent time with your family. No matter how painful it was.

  When Mason grabbed the neon-green cartoon disc from the stand under the television, she wanted to shout in glee. Thank the Ghost of Christmas Present! She settled back in the chair as he put on the cartoon version of the movie. He clicked off the lamps, and the twinkling glow from the tree made her chest tight. She didn’t think holidays would ever feel normal to her again without her mom.

  She smiled and laughed as Mason quoted lines from the movie, and as he sang every word in the songs. He was such a sweet guy. And so terrified of what might happen if he just let go of control, even a little bit. If he took a chance. Would he ever be sure of himself, positive he wasn’t his father?