Worst Christmas Ever

by Mallary Mitchell

  OK—maybe the dress wasn’t ugly as far as the fitted square-neck bodice went. The tulle cap sleeves were nice. The underskirt, though short, was a nice quality fabric. But kudos galore to the brilliant salesperson who’d convinced Lexa that this hideous hue was a lovely color for a winter wedding. And the poor groomsmen hadn’t fared much better. Their gray tuxes were nice, but the lavender shirts not so much.

  She hurried to the bathroom off her bedroom to get a quick shower. Once she got out, she pulled her hair into a haphazard ponytail. Later, she’d put it into a bun for the wedding. She shivered a bit and made a mental note to adjust her thermostat.

  The small house was a rental. Its den was cozy, and the dining and kitchen area were quaint, but storage was at a premium, and the house wasn’t her style. She’d painted and added a personal touch here and there, but one day soon she’d buy or build a home and make it her own.

  Because Max was her business partner and sometimes needed to pop by when she wasn’t in, she’d given him a key. By the time she emerged from her room dressed and ready, Max had let himself in and had settled in his favorite spot.

  With the breathtaking mistletoe kiss still in the forefront of her mind, she was almost afraid to meet his gaze.

  Please Lord, don’t let him regret it, if it’s Your will. And I seriously hope that it is. Amen.

  Dark curls fell past his cheekbones. “No way am I going alone to your mother’s brunch while you sleep in.” She saw no regret in Max’s smoldering gaze.

  Be calm. Nothing’s changed. Except she wanted to kiss him again.

  “You’ve eaten at the house before.” She went for an air of nonchalance as she put on a pair of modest diamond stud earrings and pulled on the nude stilettos that coordinated with the shoes of the other bridesmaids.

  “Not without you at my six. If the CIA ever needs interrogators your mom is a shoo-in. Are you really sure you want to wear those high heels?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Just be careful, you could put out an eye with those things, and Carl’s awfully young to lose an eye.” He reclined in her soft leather chair. He’d been here hundreds of times before to grab a set of plans or a bunch of samples. Today was different; she was different.

  They had stepped over some invisible line that couldn’t be uncrossed. They were something she promised she would never be part of again. They were a couple and had been for a while without her even realizing it—or maybe they weren’t. He hadn’t actually made any grand gestures. Things just felt different. But could she let go of her fears of failure and rejection?

  “Ready?” He raised his brows.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  She held up the tea-length tulle dress. “Would you call this color guacamole or pickle?”

  “I would say it’s more of an okra.” He adjusted his tie as he peered into her treasured oval antique mirror mounted on the sitting room wall.

  He looked great.

  She guessed her attire was adequate. She’d chosen her brunch outfit based on what wasn’t wrinkled. A simple taupe blouse with a blush-colored lace skirt were on tap for the morning.

  She dreaded donning the bridesmaid dress. All she needed was a pair of wings to accessorize with the tea-length tutu and she’d look like a fairy. An okra-colored, zombie fairy. That could be a movie, too. “I will be so glad when this wedding is over. I should have just left the country and let them have it without me.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders and leaned in close. “Think of it as a roller coaster. Unfortunately, the only way to get off is to go through the entire ride. Just remember I’m here, and better, God’s here for you. You don’t have to do this alone. What was that verse in the pastor’s message last week? ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.’ Trust Him. Keep that in mind as you go through this situation. It will all work out, I promise.” He moved away, retrieved her light gray coat, and held it out for her.

  “How will it?” She shrugged into its comforting warmth and plodded, if one could plod in stilettos, from the house to his truck.

  “I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways?” “Well, that’s not directly in the Bible, but His thoughts are definitely beyond our understanding…” He flicked his wavy hair back, and she wondered if he hadn’t shaved last night or he already had five o’clock shadow at noon. “Speaking of mysteries.” He held up the dress and jiggled it. “Why?”

  ****

  “Will your dad be attending?” Max drove with one hand on the wheel.

  Sara Jane crinkled her nose. Her dad was a sore subject. “No. He’s fully invested in his new family. Uncle Brendan is giving Alexa away. Dad refused to even speak to Mom, and Lexa begged me to intervene.”

  Max glanced from the tree-lined street where he’d spent his childhood across the street from Sara Jane. She had a few wisps of hair escaping her ponytail. He longed to brush her cheek with his free hand and pull her close and not let go.

  “Did you speak with him?” he managed.

  Sara Jane shrugged. “Yeah. I tried to convince him to come to Georgia. He said no. He wasn’t going to leave his family at Christmas.” She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “And it’s OK. He and Mom don’t need to be in the same room unless some sort of mediator is present. And we really aren’t his family.”

  After parking in the circle drive that lead to the big house, Max followed Sara Jane up the stairs to the deep porch where he’d spent many evenings hanging out and hoping Sara Jane would realize the proverbial guy next door was the love of her life. Instead, they’d partnered—at everything. He’d even hoped for that bio lab moment where they discovered their love over mitosis. It didn’t happen. But now, she was looking at him differently.

  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Instead, he studied the outside of the home as if admiring the quoin corners and the white bricks that framed each window, rather than her sweet smile and laughing eyes.

  Following Sara Jane’s lead, he hung her bridesmaid dress and his coat in the closet just off the foyer. The house was already full. Holiday music was punctuated by laughter, conversation, and the occasional noise of appliances.

  They walked through the living room past the staircase with its white railings, to the family room which opened into a large kitchen. The caterers had apparently already dropped a variety of brunch foods.

  The whirr of a food processor stopped as they entered the kitchen.

  “Yay, you’re here.” Sara Jane’s Aunt Jenna had open packages of cream cheese and a bowl of fresh strawberries on the marble counter before her.

  Didn’t they sell that stuff at the grocery store?

  She turned to hug Sara Jane. “It’s so good to see you too, Max. Today’s the big day.” She nearly shouted to be heard over the drone of a coffee grinder. “Brendan! Brendan, turn that thing off.” She pointed to her husband. “Brendan is on a coffee kick.”

  Sara Jane’s uncle gazed their way. “Only dark roasted, freshly ground Columbian coffee served here. You will taste the difference.” He yelled over the drone of the mill. “How are you, Max?”

  “Fine.” Max extended his hand and Brendan stopped the grinder long enough to shake.

  “Your mom’s almost ready to start serving. You two had best walk on to the dining room.”

  “OK.” Sara Jane picked up a scone and broke it in half, offering Max half her pilfered wares.

  Blueberry. She knew he loved blueberries and these were amazing.

  She glanced his way before retrieving two more of the biscuit-like triangles.

  “Wait just a sec.” Jenna called, beckoned them closer, and leaned in. “Sara Jane, would you happen to remember that porcelain bride and groom that belonged to your grandparents—the one that Brendan and I used on our wedding cake?” Jenna wiped her hands on a white towel, worry creasing her forehead. “The one that Riley and Lexa want placed on the
top of their wedding cake?”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Brendan packed it, but it’s disappeared.” Jenna gave a little grimace. “If it doesn’t turn up they may be using Christmas ornaments as a cake topper. Can you covertly keep an eye out?”

  “Sure.” Sara Jane assured between chewing and swallowing. “I can even make some lame excuse after we eat, and Max and I can go hunting for the thing.” She glanced at him. “Is that OK with you?”

  Any alone time with Sara Jane was better than time with the wedding party, which was no party at all. “Sounds great.”

  “Sara Jane? Is that you?” Augusta popped into the kitchen area. “We’d like to get started.”

  ****

  “What exactly are we doing in the basement?” Max ducked out of the way of a childhood’s worth of toys and barren Christmas trees from years past.

  “If the cake topper has disappeared, that means someone probably put it somewhere to keep it safe or hid it for one reason or the other.” She looked over her shoulder as they walked through the poorly lit space. “I noticed Sam creep from the basement just as we were sitting down, and he didn’t eat much. Add those together and you get a kid trying to hide something. Watch out, spider web.” She made a weird squeal and backed into him.

  He stepped back and smacked into the beam he’d just ducked to avoid. He put his hand on this aching head and found wet warmth.

  “Oh, no, are you hurt?” She turned. “Let me see.”

  He lowered his blood-covered palm.

  “Upstairs.” She pointed. “There’s a bathroom no one uses in the laundry room.”

  A trickle of blood oozed from the crown of his head toward his collar as Sara Jane led him into the lavatory and had him sit. She grabbed a handful of tissues and gingerly mopped the blood from his hair.

  “I think you need stitches.” Sara Jane was so close in the tight space that he was having a hard time concentrating on anything but her proximity as she held the tissues to the crown of his head.

  He reached up and winced a bit at the amount of blood still flowing. “Head wounds bleed a lot. I’m fine really. I have some butterfly closures in my truck. No reason to go get stitches.”

  She grinned. “You just don’t want them to cut your curls.” She ran a hand through his hair.

  “No, I don’t want my hair cut.” He hazarded a glance her way. Her brow was knitted. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Come on. No one ever goes up to my old room. I’ll get you settled, and then go get the bandages.”

  “But the cake topper needs finding.”

  “A cake topper is not medically necessary. Treating that gash is.”

  She leaned into him and he brushed her forehead with his lips. He stood, washed his hands and grabbed another handful of tissues. “I can manage this.”

  Her “OK” was a bit breathy as Sara Jane dropped her tissues in the toilet and flushed.

  Max opened the door and walked out into the laundry room with Sara Jane close behind.

  Her Uncle Brendan stood, arms crossed and brows furrowed with Sam at his side. He was probably on his way to get his shotgun and make this a double wedding.

  “What were you both doing in the bathroom together?” Sam voiced the obvious question.

  “We were in the basement. Max is a bit tall. He hit his head.”

  “Why were you in the basement?” Sam asked. Then, he paused. “Hey, you’re bleeding.”

  “Say, Sam, could you and your dad take Max to my old bedroom?”

  “But it’s all quiet up there. Everyone is down here.”

  “Yeah. He needs to have some quiet. I’m going to get ice and some bandages. I’ll be right back.”

  Uncle Brendan didn’t say a word.

  4

  “Where are you going?”

  The grating tone from her mother stopped Sara Jane at the foot of the attic stairs. In one hand, Sara Jane clutched her ugly dress and discarded shoes and in the other, she held the butterfly closures. She’d need to make a second trip for ice.

  “Up to my old room.”

  “I really think you need to be here with the rest of the wedding party. How do you think your sister feels when you show up late, leave the table as soon as the last bite of food goes in your mouth, and you and Max go off to who knows where?”

  “Not as bad as I did when the groom cancelled three days before the wedding.”

  “Oh, is that it?”

  Sara gave an inward groan. She hadn’t intended to dredge that topic to the surface. “No. Sorry, but I really need to—”

  “And what’s this about you and Max in the bathroom? Sam announced it to everyone. Sara Jane I am shocked at your lack of…decorum.”

  “It was nothing like that. Max hit his head. We tried to stop the bleeding in the bathroom. Right now he’s in my old room. I need to get up there and check to see if he needs to get to the hospital or if these bandages will do the job.” Sara Jane waved the strips.

  Mom’s face changed for just a moment. “Is he OK?”

  “He will be.” Sara glanced at the stairs wanting desperately to make a break for it.

  “Oh. Well, that makes much more sense.” Her mother seemed to process the information. “One of the groomsmen is a paramedic. Let me get him to take a look at Max.”

  “Thanks.” Finally free, Sara Jane rushed up the stairs.

  Max waited in the part of her old room that hadn’t changed much. The far end was once again being used as an attic. Her old futon, however, still was perched in front of the window. Max sat there. She crossed the hardwood floors, noting a few drops of blood on one of his shoulders.

  “Sam told me Max was hurt.” Aunt Jenna hovered at his side.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Max started to stand, but Jenna pushed him back in place.

  “Stay still and keep that ice on there.” Jenna ordered. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t asked you to help me look for that stupid figurine, this wouldn’t have happened.” She threw back her head and looked up at the ceiling as if in plaintive prayer.

  “You do know that I was with him. Had I not screamed and ran backwards when I walked into that cobweb—”

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing. I didn’t duck fast enough.” Max spoke as he maneuvered on the seat cushion as if seeking out a comfortable spot on the futon.

  “Stop squirming. You’re as bad as Sam.” She peered at his injury and repositioned what looked to be cloth wrapped around a small bag of ice on his head.

  “FYI, your aunt is scary.” Max whispered as he leaned over, his hand holding the ice in place.

  Sara Jane sat beside him and brushed his hair from his eyes. She wanted to soothe his brow and dote on him, but it appeared Aunt Jenna had that covered. “How’s the bleeding?”

  “Nearly stopped.” He flashed her an impish grin. “I think you need to kiss it.”

  “Not at present. You’ll need to wash your hair. And that shirt.” She pursed her lips. He no longer lived across the street but on the edge of Winterville. They could leave now and make it to his place for him to change and shower. Then, they could rush to the church, but if someone here could look at his head, it was well worth staying.

  Footfalls on the creaking stairs alerted her to someone approaching.

  “What’s this I hear about someone getting injured?” Lexa ran over. “Max, you’re a mess. What did Sara Jane do now?”

  “Sara Jane didn’t do anything. I just hit a low beam…”

  “She took you to the basement? Was she trying to show you that rotten old furniture she’s been collecting?” Lexa rolled her eyes. “Why, Sara Jane? Why? Are you trying to sabotage this day? We have two hours and he needs a new shirt and you, have you even looked at your skirt? Good thing you have your bridesmaid dress.”

  “Oh, yes.” Sara Jane tried not to show her real feelings. “Goodie.” Lexa’s glare indicated that perhaps she should have tried harder.

  Mom entered with a groomsman at her heels. The long mother-
of-the-bride dress gave the impression she was floating across the floor.

  Mom wore the same questionable green as the bridesmaid dresses, but her sheath dress had a cornmeal colored, lace overlay, giving her the appearance of a deep-fried, breaded okra pod. Mom gave a grand gesture to Max. “Max, how are you? This is Shawn. He can fix your head. You’ll have to ask Sara Jane for the details.” Mom paused as she spied the bridesmaid dress crumpled on Lexa’s old dresser. “I’ll just hang this in the closet. You do know we need to be at the church in about two hours.” She tapped her bare wrist as if fixing the gaping hole in Max’s head could be placed on a timetable.

  Shawn had already begun to assess the cut with obvious skill. After the rudimentary check Shawn frowned. “This really needs stitching.”

  “I have bandages.” Sara Jane offered the items from Max’s medical kit.

  “They’re really not going to do the trick here.” He put a hand to his chin. “If only I had some quick-setting glue.”

  Her well-used, trusty art kit maybe, just maybe had some glue in there. “I may have something.”

  Shawn continued speaking and Sara Jane began poking around her former space. She found the box stashed behind a picture her mom had brought up from one of the downstairs rooms. Removing the box, she sifted through color pencils and brushes.

  “Here it is!”

  “Great.” Shawn took the cyanoacrylate glue and pinched gaping sides of the wound together. He leaned over to address Max. “Let me warn you. This will sting.”

  Max gave a grimace as Shawn allowed drops of the liquid to hit his scalp. “That’s worse that the original bump. Thanks, Shawn.”

  Mom gasped, but she wasn’t watching the procedure.

  “You ruined the dress already, Sara Jane. Didn’t you?” Alexa walked over and when she looked into the closet she gave a high-pitched wail. “How could you?” Lexa turned to face Sara Jane. “You accused me of keeping things from you. Is this how you pay me back?” She pointed dramatically toward the closet. “Are you trying to dramatize me?”

  “The word is traumatize, but in your case, dramatize might just be better.” Sara Jane sighed. What? Were her shoes scuffed?