Holiday Magic

by Fern Michaels

  “Perfect.”

  “Elf you.”

  “You got it.”

  “Elf you and the reindeer you rode in on.”

  “Too far.”

  “Should I ‘rein’ it in, ‘deer’?”

  “Tara.”

  “Okay, okay—but seriously—I have a question.” Nadine’s silence was Tara’s cue to go on. “Get him out of what?” Tara said, throwing her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What are we getting the elf out of? Is the little guy stuck somewhere? Don’t tell me it’s the chimney.”

  “Tara,” Nadine said, dragging her name out into infinity. Uh-oh, Tara knew that tone all too well. Definitely time to stop elf-ing with her. And, yes, Tara knew she had nobody to blame but herself. As she knew, it was just last year, while visiting Nadine, that Tara had dropped the F-bomb on Christmas Eve. Her niece, Tiara, named after Tara—only with an extra i because she was slightly more precious—glommed onto the colorful new word and not only repeated it, but began singing it with gusto, to the tune of “Jingle Bells.” She was only a year old at the time. Tara thought this proved her niece was some kind of genius, but Nadine couldn’t get over her humiliation enough to see it that way. Especially when Tiara said it to the Santa at the mall.

  Santa: “Have you been a good girl, Tiara?”

  Tiara: “F*&k you.”

  Once again Tara tried to point out how impressive it was that Tiara was using it correctly. Once again, Nadine did not see it that way.

  And she was never going to let her forget it. But does she mention the fight that preceded the foul word’s shooting out of Tara’s mouth? Does she say one word about calling Tara “almost middle-aged” in front of the entire family? Almost middle-aged, single, childish, and childless, were Nadine’s exact words. It was impossible to argue with single and childless; they were just facts. Childish—yes, sometimes Tara did act a bit childish. She preferred to think of herself as carefree. But “almost middle-aged” stung Tara to the core. And slightly terrified her. Which was exactly what Nadine was trying to accomplish. Her twenty-six-year-old, married-mother-of-one sister was trying to terrify her into getting married and having children. Tara was thirty years old. Almost middle-aged. Tara was totally confused about what middle age was even considered nowadays, what with vitamins, and medical breakthroughs, and anti-wrinkle creams, and lasers, and scrubs, and injections, and dermabrasion, and MILFs and Cougars, and Desperate Housewives. Still, the prospect was terrifying.

  Nadine’s suggested remedy, marriage and children, was no less daunting.

  Time and time again, Tara had explained to Nadine how difficult it was to date in New York City. Nadine would point out that she could move. Then Tara would tell her how much she loved her job. Nadine would ask her if her job tucked her in at night or sang to her, or made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world.

  And then Tara would tell her to elf off.

  It was a pattern they were stuck in, a never-ending loop. And not only was Nadine doing it again this year, she’d ramped up her game. She was on the pulpit yet again, this time preaching, of all things, Internet dating. Nadine, who was a virgin when she married her high school sweetheart at eighteen. And even that, Tara always suspected, was just because Nadine had let her then boyfriend (now husband) Phil honk her boobs at the Sadie Hawkins dance.

  While Nadine prattled on, Tara glanced at her bookshelf and calmed herself by staring Zen-like at her favorite book of all time, Great Expectations. She absolutely loved it, and used it to motivate herself whenever she was down. If little orphan Pip could claw his way out of despair, then so could she. It was fitting then, that this latest challenge was rearing its ugly sibling head during the holiday season. After all, her favorite book opened on Christmas Eve. And just because her little story opened in her studio apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and her favorite little orphan’s tale began in a village churchyard, didn’t take away her feelings of kinship; Pip was still her rock. Even if he was only seven—way under middle age—in fact, it just proved how connected they all were. Struggle, pain, and hope, were universal, timeless, and bonding.

  True, Tara was speaking to her sister, and not an escaped convict (although a case could be made), nor was her sister trying to cajole her into cutting off her shackles (although a case could be made), but being the subject of another matchmaking plot was just as hideous. Tara cradled the phone between her shoulder and neck, tapped her fingertips together, and pondered how to deal with this latest upset. What would Pip do? she asked herself.

  Squeak, was the only answer that came to mind.

  It was beginning to dawn on Tara that expectations came with expiration dates. Now that she was thirty, when it came to her love life, certain people had expectations of their own. Namely, that she would start lowering hers. “You’re too picky” was a refrain she’d been hearing a lot lately.

  “Did you get my Christmas gift?” Tara heard Nadine ask. This was the subject she’d been dreading; she’d rather listen to the lecture again than venture onto this land mine.

  “Yes,” Tara said. She didn’t want to upset her sister anymore, so she forced herself to use an upbeat tone and wandered into the kitchen. There, she took her frustrations out on the poor, fat tomato sitting on the cutting board. She stabbed at it with gusto and watched slimy red juice ooze out of its fleshy, lonely heart.

  “And?” Nadine said.

  “Not interested,” Tara said. So much for not upsetting Nadine. The words escaped from her mouth before she could sound her internal alarm. She dumped the sliced-up tomato into a bowl and rinsed off the cutting board. Silence. Nadine was probably counting to ten.

  “So you’re not even going to look?” Nadine said. “Because you have more or less three weeks. And if you just happen to find someone you like—as long as you get a thorough background check—he is more than welcome to spend Christmas here with us.”

  Oh. My. God. Tara sucked in a mouthful of air and tried to hold it. She failed, and choked. Not only did Nadine expect her to go on a first date, she was assuming Tara would like the candidate enough to go on a second date. In Tara’s experience this was like trying to catch not one, but two shooting stars in the sky. Furthermore, on the off chance Tara should happen to catch two shooting stars in the sky, Nadine’s brilliant plan was for Tara to immediately invite her new two-date man to spend Christmas with her and her family in Montana. Priceless. It confirmed once and for all what Tara had always suspected. Nadine was certifiably insane.

  “What a marvelous idea,” Tara said. Nadine started rattling off the list of things she had to do to get ready for the holidays. As she listened, Tara glanced at her one Christmas decoration, a miniature live pine tree on the windowsill. It was too frail to hold any ornaments, but came with a base wrapped in gold foil and topped with a fat red bow. Tara suddenly saw herself arriving at her sister’s house with the tree and pretending it was her date. She could even dress it in a tuxedo. “This is Bob,” she would say. “We’re in love.” She stifled a laugh as she imagined Christmas tree Bob sitting in one of Nadine’s massive dining room chairs, barely poking his little ferny head above the table.

  Nadine suddenly stopped talking. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” Tara said. She took the knife and mimed cutting her throat. Then she dropped it in the sink and walked over to her office, a cramped space between the front door and the refrigerator. She sat down at her new Apple computer, an early Christmas gift to herself. She clicked on the Web site minimized at the bottom of the screen, and watched as a photo of a ridiculously gorgeous, smiling couple came to life on her screen.

  Soul Mate Central

  Nadine had gifted her with a six-month subscription. This, after Tara explicitly told her she was done with dating. She was going to resign herself to the fact that no one was ever going to match her “Must Have” list, which truth be told had whittled do
wn to a “Would Like to Have” list, then had further disintegrated into a proclamation: “I Will Not Date Serial Killers.”

  No need to go into any of this with Nadine.

  Tara clicked on the member log-in box and typed her screen name into the space provided. Sexy Sous-Chef. She winced at the name, but every rendition of Tara had already been taken. She didn’t know who all the other “Tara”s were out there, but she hoped for their sakes, they were having better luck than she was. “Since I have you to thank for this, I thought I might read you some profiles and get your take on them,” Tara said.

  “Wonderful,” Nadine said. She sounded so happy. Tara almost felt guilty. “I want to see their pictures too. Should I pull up the site?” Tara didn’t need to have the Web cam turned on to picture her sister perfectly. She was probably sitting in her den, an immaculate yellow space where television was banned, and books reigned supreme. She would be curled up in the velvet orange-and white-striped chair she’d reupholstered herself. Her tiny feet, housed in lavender slippers, were tucked behind her. Her delicate hands would be wrapped around a ceramic mug of peppermint herbal tea. And although she’d be listening to every word Tara said, her eyes would be gazing out onto their acres and acres of snow-drenched land, under that big, blue Montana sky. At least that’s how Tara liked to picture it. Like The Waltons. Or Little House on the Prairie. They even trekked out into the woods every year to cut down the perfect Christmas tree. It was ideal. Tara loved their ranch, too, and would have been thrilled to spend more time there if not for the fact that during the holiday season, her normally semi-sane little sister morphed into a Holiday Hitler.

  Tara used to enjoy Christmas. The idea of it anyway. The simple things made her happy. The tree at Rockefeller Center, the windows at Saks, the ice skaters in the park. Twinkling lights, shiny presents with fat bows, the promise of a snow fall on Christmas Eve, carolers belting out cheery songs, little sleep-deprived children hopped up on sugar and Santa. Who didn’t love all that? Keep it simple, enjoy the small treats, that was Tara’s philosophy.

  But let’s face it, there was another side to Christmas, a dark side. The money, the stress, the worry, the travel, the members of your family you’d never even say hello to on the street if you weren’t related, and when it came to Nadine—the planning, the to-do lists, the assignments. Yes, when it came to Christmas, Tara was an impartial observer, but Nadine was a doer.

  This year’s “mass Christmas letter” and “dinner duty details letter” had yet to arrive, but they would, oh, they certainly would, and until then, Tara would be seen tiptoeing around her mailbox like it was a minefield. Internet dating was starting to seem like a pleasant distraction. Tara turned her attention back to the computer screen.

  “Forget what the men look like for now,” Tara said. “Let’s just concentrate on their glowing personalities.”

  “Good idea,” Nadine said. “Looks aren’t the most important thing anyway. I mean look at Phil. He’s not exactly the strapping man I first married.” An image of Phil, tall, skinny, hairy, rose to Tara’s mind.

  “Right,” Tara said. She clicked open the first dating profile. “First of all, I had no idea New York was overflowing with so many bald men who own slightly used catamarans and practice ‘On Deck Yoga.’” Nadine’s laughter filled Tara’s ears. Tara laughed along with her.

  “You like sailing,” Nadine said.

  “Don’t you think the tops of their naked little heads get cold in the wind?” Tara said. Nadine laughed again. This was what it was all about, making her sister laugh. When Tara was in high school and Nadine was still in elementary, Tara used to make her laugh so hard Nadine would actually pee her pants. Ah, those were the days. There was no greater pleasure in life than making someone else wet themselves. And despite their many differences, Tara and Nadine shared the same wicked sense of humor.

  “Don’t be so critical,” Nadine said. “Bald men can be sexy.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want bald men practicing yoga on their sailboats. I don’t want to Internet date. I don’t want to date at all. I have Pete and Henry.”

  “Your bartender and your doorman do not count as boyfriends,” Nadine said.

  “They do in New York.”

  “Read more,” Nadine said. “I only have about five minutes before Tiara wakes up from her nap.” Tara clicked on the next profile and stared at the man before her. Tara wasn’t a cruel person, but she did wish Nadine could get a load of this one. If Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh mated with an obsessive-compulsive basset hound, this is what their love child would grow up to look like.

  “I have been told I have a sparkling personality. I have so many intrests it would be impossible to list even one of them.” Tara paused for emphasis. “And apparently, spelling isn’t one of his ‘intrests’,” she said, “for he spelled it i-n-t-r-e-s-t-s.” Nadine laughed.

  “Loser,” she cried. “More.” Tara sat up straight, smiled in anticipation, and clicked on the next one.

  “I enjoy a good conversation, even if it is about nothing at all.” They howled in unison.

  “He thinks he’s Seinfeld,” Nadine said.

  “They’re all Seinfeld,” Tara said. “Without the talent, money, or sense of humor.” She went on to the next. “Relationships are great, all of them take a little work, but hopefully not TOO much work.”

  “Never been married,” Nadine said.

  “Show me a couple who has fun doing nothing, and I’ll show you true love,” Tara continued, her mood rising with each quote.

  “Lazy and cheap!” Nadine yelled. “And he’s definitely been married.” A wicked smile spread across Tara’s face as she geared up for the last few. She’d saved the best for last.

  “Being an avid comic book reader, I’m seeking the gal who can put the Wonder back in Woman,” Tara read. Nadine shrieked with laughter. Tara wiped away happy tears.

  “Okay that’s enough,” Nadine said. “I should have knitted you a scarf.”

  “Wait,” Tara said. “There’s one more.” She was laughing so hard, it took forever to spit it out. “I have a fondness for the squirrels in Thompson Square Park,” Tara shrieked. It was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. She was afraid she was going to pee her pants this time. She looked around for a paper bag. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to hyperventilate. It took her a full minute to realize she was the only one laughing. “Come on,” Tara said. “That is hysterical.”

  “He didn’t say he fondles the squirrels,” Nadine said. “He said he’s fond of them. He’s an animal lover.” Silence swept in like a winter wind. “I’m sorry you hated your Christmas gift.”

  “I don’t hate it,” Tara said. “Honest. I’m just having fun.”

  “You’re all alone. How fun is that?”

  “Elf you,” Tara said. She was joking, but apparently Nadine didn’t see it that way. There was a click, then the hollow rebuke of a dial tone. Tara called back. It went directly to voice mail. “I love you,” Tara said. “And I’m not alone. I have you, and Tiara, and Mom, and Dad, and the formerly-strapping Phil.” Tara made kissing noises into the phone and hung up. She tried to tell herself it was going to be okay, but she knew it was far from over. Nadine was going to milk this until Tara found the love of her life on Soul Mate Central and brought her new gift to Montana to be opened and inspected by the Lane Clan and the formerly strapping Phil. Oh, it was just like Nadine to stir up trouble during the holidays. Ho, ho, horrific, as usual.

  Chapter 2

  Later that evening, riding the downtown Number 1 train to work, Tara couldn’t help but wonder if Nadine was right. Was she too picky? Was it time to let go of her expectations and just see what happened? Her last relationship had ended spectacularly. It had been Broadway-worthy really. He threw a huge fit at her place of work, a little French restaurant named La Fleur. All because she canceled a date with him at the last minute. True, it was New Year’s Eve, but she had no choice. The owners of La Fleur had family in from F
rance, and if she hadn’t agreed to work that evening, she feared she’d never rise out of the ranks of sous-chef. She was shocked she wasn’t fired anyway, after Gary Manning stormed into the restaurant a few minutes after midnight and erupted like Mount Vesuvius. Very anticlimactic. Her only saving grace was that the French visitors absolutely loved their front row seats to American Men Misbehaving. It wasn’t the only time Gary had thrown a fit, but it was his public debut. He was a lawyer, who, when angry would actually stomp his feet, and if he lost a case, they wouldn’t make love for days. It was two months of fun followed by six of hell. She vowed the next man she dated would be different. Easygoing. Laid back. Not the type she would meet working in the restaurant business, or in Manhattan at all for that matter. Nevertheless, she had her work. Even more exciting, she was about to become head chef at La Fleur, a position she’d been coveting for six years. It was the best Christmas gift a girl could ask for.

  La Fleur. It had been love at first sight. The cutest little French restaurant in all of Manhattan. It was owned by Yvette and Stephan, a wealthy French couple. Wedged in between Union Square and Gramercy Park, it quickly became a mainstay for tourists and locals alike. Fruits, vegetables, and flowers were plucked fresh every day from the Union Square Farmers Market; eggs and meats were exclusively purchased from a private farm upstate; and truffles, oils, and attitudes were imported directly from Paris.

  Fresh and direct herself from the Culinary Institute of America, Tara had wined, dined, and stalked Yvette and Stephan until they hired her. She visited the little gem no less than a hundred times before they even acknowledged her presence. She courted them like lovers, looking her best whenever she came in, alternating friends (who weren’t on diets) to go with her, tasting everything on the menu, complimenting them nonstop, finishing everything on her plate, and appropriately moaning over every new creation they put in front of her. Psychology books will tell you that people love it when you say their names. Well Tara knew that chefs (and lovers) loved it when you said “mmmmmm,” and “yummmmm,” or, “Oh my God.” Tara said them all, often. She gained fifteen pounds during the courtship, but it was worth it. She was hired. And, happily, after sweating her butt off in the kitchen, she quickly slimmed down to her pre-courtship weight.