Oh, it was going to be a long day. It was almost enough to make Allison want to reach for the eggnog. Almost. Instead, she poured herself a glass of water and took a fortifying sip.
Sandi was in the kitchen now. “I’m just keeping it in there to stay warm, Connie. I told you that.” Sandi shook her head. “She takes one cooking class at Shoreline and thinks she’s Julia Child.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, it is. Now quit acting like you’ve got PMS. We all know you’re too old,” Sandi added with a wink at Allison. “We’re going to open presents before dinner.” She turned and led the way back to the living room where Carissa was sweeping the last bit of broken lamp into a dustpan. “Thank God we pulled up the carpet,” Sandi said. “Hardwood makes cleanup so much easier.”
Given the way things happened in their household, stainless-steel floors that could be hosed down would have been the best bet, if you asked Allison. What would their family have been like if her mother had lived? Surely not this.
All the furniture had been arranged to face the artificial fiber optics tree, a vision in changing colors and Hallmark collectible ornaments. Everyone settled in with a cup of eggnog or beer bottle in hand. Boozle settled on Allison’s feet.
Allison wrinkled her nose. The room smelled of pine-scented candle, male sweat, and…oh, yuck, what had they fed Boozle? Allison removed her feet from under the dog’s hindquarters and relocated to the sofa. Sitting next to Aunt Connie beat the heck out of smelling Boozle.
Dad played Santa, passing around presents. “Here’s a big one for you, Sis,” he said to Aunt Connie, handing her a shirt box. Wonder what it is.”
“An inflatable man,” said Sandi, and snickered at her cleverness.
“I don’t need a man to feel good about myself,” Aunt Connie informed her. “Unlike some people.”
Meanwhile, in the background the radio station Sandi had found was playing “We Need a Little Christmas.”
“Hey,” said Dad, distracting Sandi by jiggling one of Allison’s presents at her. “I’ll bet there’s something good to eat in here.”
“Oh my God, my hips,” protested Sandi, rolling her eyes.
Aunt Connie removed the lid from her box and pulled out a hideous, multicolored sweater. “This is a 2X. I don’t wear a 2X.”
“Oh, I thought I had the right size,” Sandi said, opening her present. “You can return it.” To Allison she said, “Thanks, Allie, but I’m on a strict holiday diet.” She handed Allison back the tin of fudge.
Allison looked down at the sad little tin she’d carefully put together. What kind of person gave back a Christmas present because they didn’t like it? Sandi could at least pretend to like it and then regift it later. That was proper Christmas etiquette, wasn’t it?
“Well, I’ll take it if she doesn’t want it,” said Joey, snatching it out of Allison’s hands. He pulled off the lid and dove in.
Now Sandi was pulling the wrapping off a large box, joking, “This is one big bottle of perfume.” As the wrapping fell away it became plain to see that it didn’t hold another box that might eventually lead to a small perfume box. Instead, it was…
“A Thigh Master!” Sandi cried in disgust. If looks could kill, Dad would have been as dead as the Death Valley turkey waiting in the oven. “You got me a Thigh Master?”
Dad’s round face lost its anticipatory smile. “You said you were unhappy with your thighs.”
Sandi looked at him like he was insane. “So?”
“Well, I saw this on eBay and I thought you’d like it.”
“It’s used?” Sandi said in disgust. “You bought me a used Thigh Master for Christmas? I wanted perfume and you bought me a used Thigh Master!”
“Okay, fine,” Dad said with a scowl. “I’ll put it back up on eBay and get you some perfume.”
“And you’d better not go looking for it on eBay,” Sandi snarled.
Dad snatched a box out from under the tree with so much force the tree did a frantic hula. “Here, Allie, this is for you.”
“From your Dad and me,” added Sandi.
“Thanks,” Allison said. She knew she didn’t exactly sound excited, but so what? Sandi hadn’t been excited about the fudge. Well, what did you expect, she scolded herself, that your stepmother would suddenly become your best friend?
She opened the box and pulled out a stack of books: How to Succeed with Men; If I’m So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single?; Dating for Dummies.”
“Dating for Dummies. Ha! That’s a good one,” said Joey, reading over her shoulder.
She picked up the last book. Stop Getting Dumped! “I didn’t get dumped,” she protested.
But Sandi was too busy pouring herself another cup of eggnog to notice. Allison ground her teeth.
They should have been close. Sandi had wanted a daughter, or so she’d said, and Allison had needed a mother. What they’d each gotten instead was a rival, and the disconnect was complete when Sandi realized that the child she’d inherited would rather be a spectator and a homebody than a cheerleader, a caterer instead of a party girl. And now, apparently, someone who was destined to be a love reject.
“A secondhand Thigh Master,” Sandi was muttering. “Who on earth gets his wife a used Thigh Master for Christmas?”
Dad was now looking distinctly uncomfortable. Tomorrow they’d be in the mall and he’d be making amends.
Allison watched as Sandi took a healthy slug of eggnog and then slammed it down on the coffee table with an angry slosh. Are we having fun yet?
Sixteen
The opening of presents turned more rowdy as the afternoon wore on. The men laughed uproariously over such treasures as a beer-toting reindeer that sang “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” Dad, the outdoorsman, was given slippers shaped like a trout, complete with glass eyes.
Aunt Connie gave Sandi a kitchen timer, starting fresh hostilities.
“I have a timer on my stove, Connie,” Sandi said, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed.
“You might have an easier time working this one,” Connie said with artificial sweetness.
“Oh, that’s funny,” Sandi snapped as a chorus crooned “Silent Night” over the radio. All is calm; all is bright.
Not for long, thought Allison nervously. Aunt Connie’s tongue and Sandi’s temper—they mixed as well as oil and water.
“We’ve got to get going,” said Carissa, standing. Carissa always knew when to scram.
Allison looked at her watch. Okay. It had been long enough. She could scram, too. “Actually…” she began.
“Aw, no.” Dad protested. “We’ve got to have dinner. Sandi went to a lot of trouble.”
“We have to get to my parents’,” Carissa said firmly.
“Come on Rissa,” said Joey. “We’ve got time for some turkey.”
“We’re having turkey with my family,” Carissa said.
“Well, we can have some here, too,” Joey decided. “Can’t leave old Ed here by himself.” He gave his friend a playful shove that almost sent Ed off the couch and toppling into the tree.
Carissa didn’t seem to care about Ed. She was already giving Sandi a goodbye kiss on the cheek.
“Oh, stay a little longer, honey,” begged Sandi. “We hate to see you run off.”
“They’ll probably be the only ones who don’t get poisoned,” Aunt Connie predicted under her breath.
She was drowned out by Joey booming, “I’m not ready to go anywhere. I told you I want to eat here at my parents’ first. Now, we had this all decided.”
Or at least Joey had.
“Sorry,” Carissa said to Sandi, “we really do have to go. I thought we’d be eating sooner.”
“Well, I’m not going,” said Joey, crossing his arms in a show of manly independence. It might have been easier to take him seriously if he hadn’t hiccupped.
“Suit yourself,” said Carissa. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”
“Now, wait just a damned minute.” Joey jum
ped up, listing a little in the process. He reached out to steady himself, catching a handful of Christmas tree and tipping the thing into the wall.
“Joey!” cried Sandi. “Be careful.”
He righted himself after trampling two shirt boxes, and gingerly put the tree back in place. Meanwhile, Carissa was already putting on her coat. “You can’t leave!” he hollered at her.
“Yes, I can,” she yelled back. “I’ve got the car keys.”
“How the hell am I supposed to get home?” he demanded.
“Ed can drive you. You’re too drunk to drive anyway.” Carissa glared at him. “And you promised you’d only have two beers.”
“Looks like someone’s sleeping on the couch tonight,” predicted Dad in a pathetic attempt to cut the tension.
“Right along with you,” snapped Sandi, making him scowl.
“Ha!” bellowed Joey. “Lately I’ve slept on the damned couch more than in my own bed.”
“Thank you for sharing,” said Aunt Connie sarcastically while Ed sat hunched on the couch, staring at his feet, probably wishing he were elsewhere.
Allison sure wished she was.
“I may as well become a monk for all the love you show me these days,” Joey yelled at Carissa.
Carissa’s face turned Christmas-stocking red. “Maybe I’d show you some love if you weren’t a sweaty, unshaved, beer-breath slob. Ever think about that?”
Joey burped in response.
“I’m this close to filing for divorce, Joey.” She held up two fingers an inch apart. “Go ahead and push me.”
“Kids,” shouted Dad. “Come on, now. It’s Christmas.”
Joey crossed his arms. “She called me a sweaty slob.”
Carissa had resumed her march to the front door. “Go ahead. Stay here and drink yourself senseless. I have a real party to go to.”
Joey gave her the old one-finger salute. “I didn’t want to hang out with her family anyway,” he announced as the front door slammed shut. “They’re all boring. Boring!” he added at the top of his voice as if Carissa could hear him all the way out on the street. Maybe she could.
Right now boring sounded wonderful to Allison.
For a moment an awkward silence hung over the room. Dad broke it, rubbing his hands together and proclaiming heartily, “Well, I’m hungry. When’s dinner, hon?”
“About two hours ago,” said Aunt Connie.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” grumbled Sandi. She left her chair and started for the kitchen.
“I’ll help you,” said Aunt Connie grimly.
This meant World War Three was right around the corner. Allison longed to stay rooted to her chair, or, better yet, follow Carissa to safety, but it seemed wrong to let hostilities erupt without doing anything to try and stop them. “I’ll help, too,” she decided, and reluctantly followed her stepmother and aunt to the kitchen.
She left Joey on his cell phone yelling at Carissa for ruining Christmas.
“Son, watch the tree,” Dad cautioned. “Boozle, no! Don’t eat that! Joey, grab the fudge. Why’d you put it on the floor anyway? Watch the tree!”
From the dining room Allison heard a whoosh of branches scraping against the wall and the soft crunch of breaking ornaments but decided not to look. She knew she’d already have enough to deal with in the kitchen.
She arrived in time to see that the turkey was now out of the oven. Aunt Connie had been right. It should have come out hours ago.
“I told you,” Aunt Connie was saying.
“It will be fine,” Sandi insisted. “Just take the rolls out of the package and put them in the bowl.”
So much for Grandma’s biscuit recipe.
Aunt Connie looked shocked. “You don’t want to heat them up first?”
“Okay, heat them up. I don’t care.” Sandi threw up her hands. “Why do we always have to do the holidays here?” she wailed. “I wish my mother-in-law was alive,” she added, and began to cry.
Connie’s hard exterior crumbled at that and she actually came over and put an arm around Sandi’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through it.”
There was hope for world peace. Allison smiled.
“Now,” Aunt Connie said briskly, “Allison, why don’t you put the peas in the microwave and I’ll mash the potatoes.”
“I’ll make the gravy,” Sandi said with a sniff.
“Do you want me to do that?” asked Connie.
“No. I can handle it.”
Allison wasn’t so sure as she watched her stepmother slosh drippings from the turkey pan into a large skillet. Some of the drippings made it in, but more landed on the burner. Oh, that didn’t look good.
“Um, Sandi, I can do that,” Allison offered.
“I’ve got it,” Sandi snapped, and cranked up the burner.
This started a cozy grease fire on the stovetop.
Sandi let out a surprised squeal and grabbed the half-consumed glass of water Allison had left behind on the counter. Allison and Aunt Connie both cried, “No!” just as she threw the water on the fire.
With a spatter and a demonic hiss, the flame spread like some special effect in a magic show, making Sandi jump back with a howl. “Fire!” she shrieked. “Oh, my God, we’re on fire!”
“Where’s the baking soda?” Aunt Connie demanded, diving for a cupboard.
Dad was in the kitchen now with Joey right behind him. “What’s going…oh, my God!”
Now the flames were licking at the wall behind the stove and one of the side counters. The radio was blasting “There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays.”
“Joe, get the fire extinguisher,” barked Dad. “Girls, get out of the kitchen!”
He didn’t have to ask Sandi twice. She was already on her way, screaming like her hair was on fire. It was a wonder it wasn’t.
Allison would have followed her but now Ed was blocking the doorway, gawking, and Joey was running back in with the fire extinguisher. Meanwhile, Aunt Connie was pulling things out of the cupboards like a cop with a search warrant, muttering, “We just need baking soda.”
Dad swept her aside with a mighty arm. “Get out of the way, Connie.” He turned off the burner, then grabbed the fire extinguisher from his son and aimed, spewing a white stream at the stove.
A moment later everything was covered with gook and the kitchen smelled like a toxic dump. As for the turkey, it lay buried under a drift of chemicals. For a moment, everyone stood in silent awe, while from the living room a holiday chorus crooned, “Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”
“Well,” said Joey, “there went dinner.”
Seventeen
Allison had been so young when her mother died she barely remembered her. Dad, Grandma always said, was a bad boy with a good heart. He gave up his bad-boy ways when he married Allison’s mother, and their life was like a storybook romance up until the day her mother died. Then her father returned to being a bad boy.
But Allison’s grandmother had been a constant: the resident babysitter when Dad came out of mourning and decided to date (his euphemism for hitting bars and chasing bimbos). She’d also been the chauffeur, the sharer of Nancy Drew and Babysitter Club adventures, the keeper of secrets, and the queen of the kitchen. Allison’s favorite after-school haunt had been her grandmother’s house, located a convenient four blocks from home. In its sunny kitchen she had learned the art of making pie crust (“Don’t handle it too much, dear. It makes the crust tough”), and the secret to fluffy biscuits (“Always use half cake flour, and add an egg”). With her grandmother so close by it hadn’t felt strange to live in a home with only echoes of femininity left behind from her mother. Before Sandi came on the scene her father often took Allison fishing, but she never complained when he went hunting with his buddies and left her at her grandmother’s, a bastion of doilies, pretty knickknacks, and kitchen gadgets. When she was older and found herself overwhelmed by Joey’s teasing and Sandi’s lack of interest, she could always run to her grandmother. And w
hen she decided to try catering for Suzanne’s events her grandmother had given her a gift certificate to their favorite kitchen shop by the Pike Place Market so she’d have the best possible tools. She was an ace baker and confectioner and the fudge she had made this year was her best ever. Now Grandma, the one person who really understood and cared, wasn’t around to share it. Except you still have your memories of her, Allison reminded herself as she drove away from the scene of Christmas carnage.
It was a relief to return to the little house that had been her grandmother’s. It was hers now, free and clear. She’d updated the kitchen, making it state of the art, but the rest of the house she’d kept pretty much the way it had been when Grandma was alive, taking comfort in the antiques and vintage decorations. Her pretty Christmas tree sat in the bay window, decked out with fat, colored bulbs and blown-glass ornaments. The scene was set for a perfect holiday.
She turned up the heat, hung up her coat, and then settled on the couch with a cup of peppermint tea and the snow globe. “You weren’t much help today,” she told it. She idly shook it, watching the flakes swirl. When it settled to reveal the same scene it had showed her earlier, Allison sighed and set it aside. Maybe it was broken. Maybe it would like to go home to Mrs. Ackerman.
She looked out the window. This had been one of the worst Christmases ever. Where were the grandma and the tea service that the snow globe had promised her?
She could almost hear her grandmother whispering in her ear, “Life is what you make it, dear. Sometimes you have to go find your happiness.”
She tapped her cup thoughtfully. What could she make the rest of this day into?
She left the couch and wandered toward the one room where she’d always found happiness: the kitchen. Moving on autopilot she pulled out measuring cups and spoons, one of Grandma’s old Pyrex nesting bowls, and her favorite mixing spoon. And smiled. Happiness wasn’t that hard to find when you looked in the right place.
Half an hour later the kitchen smelled of melted chocolate, and the scent of almond extract danced in her nostrils. Another hour and she had a platter filled with cookies. She covered it loosely with foil, then went to fetch her coat and car keys.
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