Poppies for Christmas

by Stacy Renée Keywell

  “I’ll listen to you this time, kid,” I chuckled. “So, here we are, Christmas Eve.”

  “Yep. Christmas Eve.”

  “I never realized how much fun I would have spending it with another family, away from my own.”

  “We Davies do up Christmas right.”

  “It’s getting pretty late. I wouldn’t want to throw Santa off his schedule by staying up,” I yawned.

  “No, you wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “Well, I guess, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I guess so.”

  We both stood, cemented in our spots on the floor, staring at each other, neither of us moving. I wasn’t sure what to do. My mind instructed me to give her a hug, but my scared feet wouldn’t budge. “So I guess this is good night.”

  “I guess it is.”

  “All righty then,” I sighed.

  “All righty then.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yep.”

  “So, I suppose you’ll get all nestled in your bed.”

  “And you will dream of sugar plums dancing in your head,” Denver echoed my silly sentiment.

  I bid her a goodnight. I turned, and walked out of her room. She smiled, and kept her big eyes on me until she shut the door.

  I walked back to my room to wash up. A chattery din filled my room as other guests made their way to bed as well. Their voices buzzed, and muffled behind the walls. Showers poured. Toilets flushed. Sinks squirted. Toothbrushes clattered on counter tops.

  I yawned, and stretched out my limbs in front of my plush, comfy bed. My muscles ached from the constant activity. It was a good ache, a productive ache, a fun-filled vacation sort of ache.

  My mind, on the other hand, fogged up like a mirror after a shower with the steam from my conversation with Denver. I needed to wipe it clean in order to see clearly, but I also feared looking into that mirror. What would I see? Who would I see? I couldn’t quite face it yet. Images of Denver, Poppy, and Declan sprinkled the glass, vapors from the shower hidden in my inner thoughts. Where did I fit in the puzzle?

  I toweled my hair dry, and placed the linen cloth on my nightstand. Standing over my bed, I caught a glimpse of a beautifully wrapped, cellophane package. A clever, sneaky elf had crept into my room without my knowledge. On top of the package I found a tiny scroll tied together with a red bow.

  I pulled off the ribbon, and unrolled the paper. It said in some very indistinctive handwriting, “I’m glad you are here.”

  I couldn’t tell who wrote it. My heart beat rapidly

  Poppy? Part of me still desired her to want me here so badly it hurt. She was so lovely. She was so real, and so honest. I loved her style, her propensity to want to dance.

  Denver maybe? Another side of me bonded with that beautiful girl, and willed me to pursue her with all of my strength. She was so wacky, and fun to be around.

  Possibly even Declan? He seemed to trust me around his sister and girlfriend. He ignored my initial shock, oblivious to my poor reaction. He opened up his heart to me, and explained his love for his favorite superhero. He allowed his words to flow, even as he faced the difficult task of speaking his mind.

  But, I also feared that message on a deeper level. Were they glad I was here, or not? They all told me so, one way or another. But I was new, an outsider to their tight group. I hadn’t really known any of them until a day or so ago.

  I’m glad you are here.

  I snatched the package, and unwrapped my treat. Inside was a piece of chocolate shaped like a musical note. A wave of happiness, and guilt overwhelmed me. My eyes wet with tears. The Davies family went way, way, way out their way to make a virtual stranger feel at home. What a nice sentiment. What good deeds did I do to deserve such a warm reception?

  As I fell asleep I chewed on that notion. What did I do to deserve this?

  Poppies for Christmas

  Icing is just the tip of the icing. Or is it iceberg? I can’t remember and I don’t have time to figure it out.

  After such care and devotion to all of my key ingredients, I have produced two perfect, round, cooled vanilla cakes, each very beautiful, yet very unique. One is slightly bigger than the other, meant for layering. Like a relationship between two people, those two cakes clearly belong together. Layered in harmony. Musical, lyrical, full of song. Putting them together, like layering a song, seems easy, but putting them together takes precision and skill, like mixing the right music together.

  I must admit, I practiced putting together a strong relationship, and it filled me with guilt and waste. Nevertheless, now is the time for the true test to see how magical I can make the outcome of this sweet delicacy.

  Frosting makes the cake. Takes the cake? I am running out of clever thoughts.

  Frosting fans have identified their favorites. The consistency and flavor changes the outcome of the cake depending on preference. Whipped. Butter cream. Cream cheese. All yummy, except I envision my cake as more than a frosted treat, I envision my cake as a piece of art, a testament to my undying love. I envision fondant. I lightly frost the two cakes so the fondant will stick. I stack one cake on top of the other, laying the bigger layer on the bottom as the stable base. The larger body always needs to support the smaller more fragile one.

  Skillfully, I roll out my snow-white fondant as if I were handling modeling clay (something I played with when I was a child.) I pay close attention to avoid rips, tears, or inconsistencies in the distribution of thickness. Once it resembles a thin pizza dough, I place it over the two layers. I smooth out the fondant, cutting off the edges to fit, making a perfect circle.

  With some red fondant, I pinch small blobs and roll them into balls. I carefully flatten the orbs into delicate petals, covering several squares of parchment paper on trays as they await the transformation into dozens of poppy flowers.

  Poppies upon poppies. My hands mold the candy into floral shapes as I make poppies for Christmas. What a perfect way to celebrate. The crisp white backdrop of the fondant covered cake with the red petals, green leaves, and black pistil that make up the most enchanting flower, the most graceful flower, the most poetic flower, the most powerful and potent flower that ever blessed this green earth, the poppy.

  Even the word poppy strikes a note. Music to my ears. A beat I can dance to. What a perfect gift for a perfect girl. What an angel.

  How I love poppies for Christmas.

  Chapter 23

  December 25th

  Dexx

  Sleep came, and went in spurts. I fell asleep quickly in the comfy bed, but woke up sporadically. I squirmed. I squinted at the clock every hour, in fits of unrest. Anxiety prevented me from sleeping in on Christmas morning in anticipation of Santa’s promise of a nighttime visit down the chimney.

  I snuck down the stairs well before sunrise. The snow still glinted under the smiling moon. The trees cast wicked shadows around the house through the large glass windows. As if I were a mouse, I was one of the first creatures to creep and stir.

  I made my way down to the family room. Hot coffee and Danish rested on a long table near the window, facing the deck near the backyard. A dozen or so mismatched coffee cups clustered in front of the coffee urn, giving it a homey yet charming air, looking simply inviting.

  Steam from the hot coffee fogged up a spot on the glass, oddly in the shape of a Christmas tree. How fitting. How perfectly typical for the Davies household. Beads of water stuck to the glass like bulbs and ornaments. Condensation dripped, streaking the glass with strands of tinsel.

  “Continental breakfast.”

  A voice from the dark leapt out at me from the deafening silence. I jumped.

  “Continental breakfast,” it said again.

  “Huh?”

  I turned to find Poppy resting on th
e couch. She tucked her legs into her chest. Her arms wrapped around her knees. Dancer rested on a shaggy red snowflake pillow next to her. He chewed on a hollow white rawhide bone with his tiny white teeth. His black doggy lips curled in a satisfied smile. His pink tongue sporadically poked out the hole in the treat.

  Poppy held a steaming cup of coffee in a small floral mug. Grey kittens with pink bows rolled around her pink flannel pajama bottoms. She wore a creamy knit sweater. She pulled her hair back in the same satin bow as the kittens on her PJ pants. Her lips glowed with a glittery pink gloss that also matched the bows on her pants perfectly, as always.

  “The Davies enjoy setting out a continental breakfast for the early risers, but the good stuff comes later,” Poppy chitter-chatted casually. “And, I do not care if anyone calls me fat today, I am going to indulge in all of it. It’s Christmas after all.”

  “I thought those people left last night.”

  “They did, but in case there are any haters left, I do not care what names people call me today. I’m eating, tons!”

  “Who would call you names?”

  “Ha!” erupted from Poppy’s mouth. Dancer yipped at the sudden noise.

  “I mean, seriously, who?”

  “Merry Christmas, by the way,” Poppy skirted my question.

  “Um, thanks. Merry, uh, er, Happy, Christmas- Chanukah?”

  “Both. I suppose. Thanks!”

  Poppy pursed her shiny lips, and blew on the cup. Steam danced from the coffee, and swirled around her angelic face. It rose up around her head in a halo.

  I had forgotten how stunning she looked up close. I realized only one day had passed, but Poppy’s beauty frazzled my senses. My heart pitter-pattered, a crazy bongo drum thumping songs in my head.

  “Poppy, p-p-p-poppies, Poppy, p-p-p-poppies for Christmas.”

  “What are you thinking?” she interrupted my song.

  “N-Nothing. I was thinking about whether or not I should eat, I suppose.”

  “You should totally eat. Now. And later. Carpe diem, Dexx. When else are you going to get a chance to indulge like this? I haven’t eaten for months in order to make room for today.”

  “Doesn’t sound healthy.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Poppy, you made a joke! And, I think you actually used some sarcasm. Nice!” I nodded, appreciating her attempt at humor.

  It was so unlike the Poppy I met in the school hallway. She nodded, and blushed.

  Her jest sent my body into a frenzy. It pushed me to sit down very close to her.

  Smirking, Poppy scooted over. Uneasy with our close proximity, she made more than enough room for me, and several other guests on the couch. Self-conscious, she wrapped her arms even tighter around her body. Apparently, I had invaded her space, and had caused mild discomfort. Ill-at-ease enough for her to then spring off the couch.

  Dancer bounced off the couch after her. He found a nice spot near the window under the tree. He turned around in a circle three times, then plopped down to enjoy his bone. Poppy giggled. She sprinted over to the buffet table.

  Poppy picked up a white cup covered in trout evading cartoonish lures.

  “Coffee?” she asked as she handed me the cup.

  I stood up, and fixed myself a drink in time for several eager children to rush down the stairs, and plop in from of the Christmas tree.

  “Not yet!” Poppy laughed. She wagged her finger at them.

  A couple kids did a mad dash for the candy dish, and stuffed the front pockets of their jammies full with chocolates, and candy canes before running to the den to watch television, and play videogames. Dancer eagerly ran after them, bone in mouth.

  Poppy grabbed a flakey Danish. She nervously plucked off tiny pieces, and popped them in her mouth.

  I didn’t get it. Why did I suddenly make her nervous? One minute we were laughing, then the next, she acted all skittish around me. Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Something I did? Something I didn’t do?

  She never wanted to spend too much time near me at school either. Did she like me? Did she hate me? I liked her. Still. A lot. Maybe too much.

  I smiled, and took a couple steps back. Poppy rocked back, and forth on her feet, chewing.

  “Maybe I should go in the kitchen, and help with breakfast. They are going to serve tons of food. Tons! Please, excuse me.”

  Poppy did a half bow. Not quite like Declan, more like a polite curtsey. And with that, she was gone, leaving me to drink my coffee alone.

  Guests started milling around. They yawned as they climbed down the steps, and wandered into the family room. Filling their mismatched mugs with hot coffee, they greeted each other, hugging, kissing, wishing each other a Merry Christmas. Laughing, they huddled in clusters sharing stories.

  I recognized grandparents, cousins, and friends of the family. Names shot by me so fast last night, I hardly remembered a one. A few guests pleasantly wished me health and happiness, but I found myself alone and awkward. Craving a bit more interaction, a sudden bout of homesickness attacked my psyche, and spread. I missed my mom and dad. Then, it occurred to me, I missed Denver. Weird.

  It had only been roughly eight hours, but her absence made my heart ache. Seeing her smile filled me with the kind of joy that had been missing in my life for a very long time, or, perhaps, forever. I wanted to see Denver.

  A hyper-focused, and super nervous Declan stumbled down the stairs. His hands shook furiously. His jaw shot open and closed, like a goldfish searching for food in a small bowl. His eyes darted around the room. I immediately recognized his glare, he sought after his girlfriend. My guess, he woke up excited to see Poppy, but couldn’t locate her in her guestroom. Since she had woken up earlier, she probably didn’t wait for his arrival, or care to wake him.

  The frantic look in his eyes alarmed me. His presence was dark, and scary. He loudly cleared his throat. Raspy phlegm gurgled in his mouth, followed by animal-like grunts His body shook, and shivered, with rash tension and anxiety. Our eyes met. His lids narrowed angrily. I worried that he saw me getting too close to Poppy earlier this morning, but that wouldn’t have been possible. As amazing as Declan was, he wasn’t actually a superhero. He didn’t possess x-ray vision, or supersonic hearing. Or, did he?

  “P-o-o-o- . . .” he started stammering at me.

  “In the kitchen with your family.” I pointed toward the door.

  Instead of looking relieved, he seemed even more anxious. He wrung his hands.

  “O-o-o-o-h, I-I-I h-o-o-o-pe s-h-e-e-e d-d-d-i-i-i-dn’t s-s-s-e-e-e, o-o-o-o-h, n-n-n-e-e-e-ver mind!” He threw his hands up in the air, and ran to go find her.

  He whooshed past me like the bat, not stopping for anyone. Not his grandparents. Not his cousins. No one. Not even the people who addressed him, and wished him a Merry Christmas.

  Finally, Denver stumbled down the steps. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She looked fresh, clean, and beautiful. She pranced into the room. I ran over to her.

  “Merry Christmas! I missed you,” I blurted out, no sensor, without thinking about editing my thoughts.

  “You did?” she gushed. “Thanks! Merry Christmas right back at ya.”

  In a moment of bliss, Denver threw herself at me. I caught her in a hug. My heart soared in the air, then plummeted.

  Denver gently pushed me off of her. She coughed, and backed up a few steps. “Sorry, I got caught up in the moment.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  These girls were severely confusing me this morning.

  “Merry Christmas!” Dereck shouted. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

  He entered the room. He wore a green elf hat, with a jingling gold bell at the tip, on top of his head. It jangled as he walked. Debbie followed close behind. Her red elf hat also tinkled as she carried
a large tray of food. Bacon. Sausage. Biscuits. Gravy. She set the tray down to set up the breakfast buffet. Declan and Poppy came in with trays of eggs, fruit, pancakes, waffles, butter, and syrup.

  Hungry partygoers formed a line behind their hosts. They grabbed china plates which were decorated with green wreaths, red bows, little Santas, hopping reindeer, and dancing gingerbread men.

  Family and friends casually plopped themselves all around the house. Some ate on the couch. Some made their way to the den. Others ate in the dining room, while a few bundled up, and ate their breakfast on the deck in front of a low burning fire in the pit.

  I stood frozen in my spot. Scanning the room, I noticed a pattern. As Debbie and Dereck put down their trays, I could see large D’s woven into their wool sweaters. As Declan walked around the buffet table organizing the fruit, I noticed he too had a knit sweater with a large D in the middle. As Poppy turned around, I realized her sweater had a large pink P that matched her pajamas pants, and lip-gloss perfectly.

  Then, as I looked around the room, many of the guests, on the Davies side I presumed, wore their Christmas D sweaters this morning to match their hosts. I suddenly felt more out of place at the Davies home than ever.

  Denver galloped in front of me. She stopped a moment before we crashed. We avoided injury by a narrow margin. Her D sweater stood out as plain as the sun in the sky. I imagined a big red sign hanging over my head reading, “Dexx is the odd man out, again!”

  “Why aren’t you eating? Aren’t you hungry?” Denver chirped.

  “Famished!” I rubbed my belly. The smell of the food caused it to grumble embarrassingly loud.

  “Then grab a plate, silly!”

  “One thing, first. Was I supposed to bring a sweater or something? Because, I didn’t know about this . . . sweater thing.”

  I pointed at her large D in the center of her chest. My face flushed. I accidentally pointed at her boobs. My finger missed touching her by a thread.