Nick released Chrissy’s hand so quickly it caused the dishwater to slosh up and over the sink rim, sending droplets scattering onto the tile, the kitchen window and the cabinets.
“Thanks, Mom,” Nick sputtered. He cleared his throat with a quick cough. “We’ll get those cleaned up.”
Like she could sense she’d interrupted something meaningful, Grace tilted her head as she crept closer. “Everything okay in here?” she pried in the way she’d perfected over the many years of motherhood.
“Yes, everything’s fine, Mrs. McHenry.” Chrissy folded and unfolded the dishrag, then shoved her hair from her face and plastered on a confident smile. “We’ll get these washed right away.”
“Take your time,” Grace said as she walked out of the room in unhurried, backward steps, still sizing up the situation she’d stumbled upon. She nodded, then added with a knowing smirk, “Take all the time you two need.”
Chrissy
THEY HAD TEXTED back and forth all evening, and every time her phone dinged, Chrissy would jump, startled by the alert. They didn’t have cell phones when they had dated as teenagers, only sharing notes during passing periods and in classes when they assumed their teachers’ eyes were averted. Texting was new and the earnest excitement coupled with it was just as foreign.
Nick: I’m glad Kevin brought you home to join us for dinner tonight. And I apologize again for the carrots. You weren’t meant to see those. ;)
Chrissy: I still think it’s silly that you didn’t even serve them. You don’t have to accommodate my picky eating habits.
Nick: Mom never wants anyone to be uncomfortable. She takes pride in her home being a welcoming place.
Chrissy: It has always felt so welcoming to me. Now, if I could only make my home feel the same.
Chrissy cozied up with a mug of cider and a book again, a second attempt at the previously unsuccessful night of planned relaxation. Unfortunately, she was met with the same outcome. She picked the book up in between exchanged texts, but her attention remained concentrated on her phone and not the story unfolding on the pages.
Nick: I’m sure your home is very welcoming, Chrissy. I can’t imagine it being anything but.
Chrissy: The half-decorated Christmas tree screams otherwise.
Chrissy glowered at the bleak tree before her. The cranberry garland was lovely, and the flocking was just her taste, but the lack of ornaments made its presence feel generic, like it was a department store tree and not one meant to bring warmth and cheer to a lived-in home.
Nick: You know what would solve that?
Chrissy: What’s that?
Nick: More decorations. Come on, Chrissy, I thought that was a given. Too easy.
Snickering, Chrissy smiled to herself. She had always adored Nick’s wit and the silly jokes and puns he effortlessly bantered.
Nick: I made a batch of those salt dough ornaments if you’d like a few. Doris gave me a recipe and I didn’t realize it was doubled. My Charlie Brown tree can’t even hold them all. Want me to bring some by?
Chrissy gasped. She was already in her yoga pants and sweatshirt with her hair in a messy topknot. She certainly wasn’t suited for a night of entertaining.
Chrissy: Right now?
Nick: If you’re not busy. Plus, I’d really like to see the old Miller place. I won’t stay long.
Chrissy: Sure.
That works, she began to type, but quickly deleted the text, realizing it wasn’t the most inviting reply.
Chrissy: I’d like that.
Nick: Great. I’ll be by in ten.
That wasn’t enough time to throw her home into a presentable state, so Chrissy decided to leave it be. There were dirtied dishes accumulating in the sink, but she’d done her share of dishwashing that evening. They could wait until morning.
Taking in her plain reflection in the hall mirror, she pulled in a sharp breath and opened the door when Nick arrived within ten minutes just as he stated he would.
“Hey there, Chrissy.” He smiled sweetly at her like they hadn’t already spent the good majority of the day together. “I come bearing gifts.”
The tray of dough ornaments looked like something collected from a kindergarten classroom. Chrissy’s heart squeezed at the endearing sight. “You made these?”
“I did,” he boasted. “I know they’re not the most attractive things, but you said you needed decorations, and I think they’ll do a sufficient job.” He looked around her and into the home. “Wow, Chrissy. This place is amazing.”
“I should hope so, after all the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve put into it.”
“I hope not literally,” Nick said.
“Yes, literally. And money. A bit of that, too.” Chrissy took the plate from Nick and placed it onto the side table in the foyer. “Would you like the official tour?”
“Absolutely. I thought you’d never ask.”
They spent the next half hour meandering the Victorian home, room by room. Chrissy pointed out all of the notable additions and repairs she’d made to each area, mentioning the historical aspects she had tried to preserve during the renovation. Awe painted Nick’s face, deepening with every square foot of the house they covered.
Chrissy wondered what thoughts filled his head—if he placed himself into the home and its story the way she knew he had once before. There was something hidden—trapped, almost—behind Nick’s hazel gaze that she couldn’t decipher, no matter how intently she studied him.
That inability made her insecure with doubt. Had she done the house justice? Were the changes she’d made for the better? Or had some of the home’s historical integrity been lost in the fresh layers of paint, in the new trims and repaired moldings? There was a hope for approval that she didn’t know she needed, and it left her wordless with worry.
They ended the tour at the base of the Christmas tree, admittedly, a humdrum finish.
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” Nick said, finally.
Chrissy eased out the relieved breath she’d been harboring deep in her lungs. “Really?”
“Well, maybe one thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“This tree. It really could use some more ornaments. It’s only half-decorated.”
Chrissy couldn’t keep the roll from her eyes. “Well, it’s a good thing I know just where I can find some.” Quickly, she retrieved the plate she’d stowed in the entryway. She hadn’t looked at them thoroughly when Nick handed them off earlier, and she was grateful he was tucked away in another room now when she gave them a closer inspection.
They were absolutely hideous.
Nick hadn’t been exaggerating back at the candle shop—he really didn’t have much in the way of creativity.
She tried to silence the snicker that threatened to sputter out, but masking it took an effort she couldn’t muster.
“You made all of these?” she asked, hiding her giggle behind a cupped hand.
“Sure did.” Pride pulled at the corners of Nick’s lips.
“They’re…”
“You don’t like them.”
“No, no. It’s not that I don’t like them.”
“It’s okay, Chrissy. You don’t have to like them. You already know that I don’t like the flocking,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t think these particular ornaments could possibly make it look any worse.”
“Nick McHenry!” Smacking his solid chest with her hand, Chrissy sneered. “The flocking is beautiful!”
“That’s your opinion,” he teased, readied for another friendly swat that didn’t come. “And I think these ornaments are miniature works of art. My opinion.”
Selecting a particularly misshapen looking snowman from the tray, Chrissy held it up at eye level between them. “This is a work of art?”
“It’s Slushy!”
“You mean Frosty,” she corrected.
“No. I mean Slushy, the snowman Dad and I used to build outside the store. Frosty’s much hipper, trendier cousin.” Nick snatched
the ornament from her hands. “You don’t think it looks like him?”
“Oh my gosh! I forgot about that snowman. You know, your dad hasn’t built it since you left.”
“Well, we have big plans to bring Ol’ Slushy out of retirement this year, so be on the lookout for his impending debut.”
“I’m eagerly awaiting it.”
Chrissy hung the disproportionate snowman on the tree and reached for another ornament to place on the barren branches. There were cutout gingerbread men and snowflakes and presents and cocoa mugs, each one less impressive than the last. Still, Chrissy took comfort in their homemade appearance. Nick wasn’t ever what she would consider crafty. She remembered back to art class their junior year, when Mrs. Gemma had asked her students to draw self portraits to place on display at Back to School Night. Nick’s was an honest-to-goodness stick figure. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried; that stick figure was impressively accessorized with hockey gear from his helmet down to the puck and skates. But the fact of the matter remained: Nick would never be a gifted artist or renowned illustrator. Most of his talents were of the athletic variety which was nothing to scoff at.
As she gathered each ornament, readying to fill her tree with his mediocre creations, Chrissy felt what she imagined a parent might feel when receiving a handmade birthday card or gift. She saw through the end product and into the heart of it. She saw Nick standing at his oven, impatiently opening and closing the door as he waited for the decorations to bake. She saw him seated at his kitchen table, brushing layers of paint onto the ornaments to bring them to life. She saw him stringing the red yarn through the holes to create a hook made for displaying.
She saw all of these things and without intending to, she pictured herself right there with him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Nick asked after a long stretch of quiet. They’d covered a quarter of the tree, but still, it looked underdressed.
“I was just imagining you making all of these. I’m sure it took a lot of time—I almost feel bad for teasing you about them now.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad; you should feel relieved. Remember, long ago we had plans to create something on a much larger scale.” He looked around the living room to indicate his meaning. “You should be grateful I wasn’t involved in any of this, Chrissy. If these ornaments are any marker of my abilities, I would have completely ruined this house.”
“Well, I don’t think these ornaments are any indicator. Baking Christmas tree decorations and rebuilding a home are certainly not one and the same. And as I remember, construction is something you actually do excel at. You’ve been known to construct a champion sled or two in your day.”
“I suppose you’re right about that. We did make some winning sleds, didn’t we?”
“Absolutely. They even had a name for us, remember?”
“The Dashing Duo.” Nick beamed a broad grin that burst onto his face. “Because we looked so incredibly dashing as we raced down the slopes.”
“I think it had to do a little more with the Jingle Bells song lyrics dashing through the snow.”
“Believe what you will.”
Chrissy liked this, the ability to be with Nick and not feel pressured to have any sort of label or status. Over the next hour, they continued placing the ornaments on the tree. Conversation grew easily between them. Every once in a while Nick would ask a question about the remodel which propelled them into discussions about permits or plans. It was as though they both fought to stay at the surface level, not wishing to carve too deep into each other’s lives by asking the questions they truly wanted answered.
Even though she felt like she should be, Chrissy wasn’t entirely satisfied with that. For now, she would have to be.
When the last of the ornaments were settled onto the branches, they both stepped back, arms crossed over their bodies, heads tilted in examination.
“Still missing something.”
“A tree topper!” Chrissy blurted as her gaze traveled up the tree to the empty point.
“Do you happen to have one?”
“Nope.”
Nick lowered his head and snickered a laugh under his breath. “I gotta admit, Chrissy—you’re not the most prepared when it comes to Christmas tree decorating.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind this season,” she said. “There is a box I got down from the attic earlier today that has some leftover decorations. Maybe we can find something in there?”
“Worth a shot.”
They sifted through the tub which contained the sorts of holiday items one should part with. Still, Chrissy hung onto them for no apparent reason. Packages of half-used greeting cards, a nutcracker missing his lever, a snow globe with a leak, and an already opened Advent calendar, just to name a few.
“This is quite the box of mismatched Christmas décor, Chrissy.”
“I have a hard time parting with things,” she admitted as she pulled out an old Santa hat and shoved it onto Nick’s head, all the way down over his eyebrows.
He peeked out from under the white fur trim. “Ho, ho, ho,” he bellowed, shoulders bouncing jollily like the Man in Red himself. “This isn’t the hat you stole from Santa, is it?”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“Um, yes, you did. If I remember, that Santa said you were too old to make a wish and you snatched the hat from his head and took off running. It took me two full blocks before I was able to catch up with you. Man, you were fast.”
“I had to prove that he wasn’t the real Santa. I was certain all that white hair was just a wig. Who tells a kid they’re too old to make a Christmas wish, anyway? Certainly not the official Mr. Claus.”
“You weren’t really a kid, Chrissy. You were sixteen.”
“I don’t know—that feels like a kid to me. Sometimes I still feel like that girl, you know?”
“The one who wants so badly to believe in Santa?” Nick swiped the hat from his head and examined it, turning it over in his hands as he recalled the memory.
“No, the one who wants so badly to believe in magic. And that’s what Santa represents, I suppose—the magic of Christmas wishes granted and made true.”
“Well, I, for one, think it’s pretty magical that you held onto this Santa hat all these years. It’s like you knew we would need it tonight.”
“What do we need an old Santa hat for?”
“The tree topper, of course!” Nick rose from his seated position on the hardwood floor.
Chrissy saw him wince, a flare of pain pulling his features tight. She stood up, too. “You okay?”
“Yup,” he said through clamped teeth. He stretched and flung the hat onto the tallest branch. “There. Perfect finishing touch.”
Then, like his leg completely gave way, Nick faltered, tumbling headfirst toward Chrissy. Instinctually, she shot out her arms to wrap around his waist, propping him against her body to keep them both securely upright and not sprawled out underneath the tree.
“Whoa, there,” she uttered. They were so close she could feel his breath on her lips, feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Careful.”
Startling her, Nick began to chuckle, quietly at first, just his shoulders lifting up and dropping down without audible sound. But his laugh steadily grew, to the point and volume that Chrissy couldn’t keep herself from joining in.
“What are we laughing at?” she asked in between fits of giggles.
“This isn’t the way it usually goes,” he said. His whole body shook with unbidden laughter now. “In the movies, it’s always the woman falling off a ladder into the man’s arms. Not a clumsy guy almost squishing the beautiful girl while he’s still on solid ground.”
“You didn’t almost squish me,” she said, her eyes examining his. She parted her lips.
Nick pulled away. He rubbed the back of his neck and then focused his gaze on the floor. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I do,” he said, his eyes lifting up to meet hers. “I think thi
s is as good as this tree is going to look without some professional intervention. I just hope my contributions didn’t make it worse.”
“I think it’s perfect, Nick.”
“That’s awfully generous,” he teased. “Anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure. Yeah.”
They walked to the door, Chrissy trailing behind Nick, fumbling for something to say to button up their evening. It felt like it had unexpectedly unraveled within the matter of minutes.
“Goodnight, Chrissy.”
“Night, Nick.”
He had his hand on the door handle when he hesitated. Then, whirling around, he gathered Chrissy up into his arms and hugged her like his very life depended on it.
Chrissy was familiar with that sort of hug.
It was just like the last one he’d given her when he left Heirloom Point the first time.
Nick
IT SNOWED FOR the next three days with little promise of reprieve. Nick didn’t need the sunshine to ensure a good mood, but by the fourth day of a constant covering of gray, his thoughts started to bend in that gloomy direction, too.
Kevin and Joe had hunkered down with their sled blueprints, making it abundantly clear that they had no plans to unveil their project until the competition. It was top-secret sort of work. Luckily, the sledding race was scheduled for the following day. Nick couldn’t lie; he was growing increasingly interested in their sledding plans.
The more he watched their excitement develop over the small-town tradition, the more Nick felt guilty that he’d shot down Chrissy’s partnership offer so quickly. They always had made a good team. He knew she’d said it in passing, mostly as a response to Kevin’s probing questions. Even still, he caught the hint of hope in Chrissy’s words and eyes. He wondered if that hope remained or if it had dwindled completely as the competition grew closer.
Nick woke up early that morning with big plans and an even bigger craving for a peppermint latte. That was certainly a first. Something about decorating Chrissy’s tree felt like an ushering in of the holiday season. Apparently even his taste buds were ready to celebrate. He watched several online video tutorials until he was confident he had a handle on the intimidating espresso machine which still sat untouched on the counter.
An Heirloom Christmas Page 12
