by D. D. Scott
Some people cope and de-stress with massages or rich and decadent food. Most of the year, I use my all-things-green Naked Juice. But from November first through January first, I switch to egg nog – spirited with brandy, not the moonshine my Dad prefers.
Okay. Sometimes it’s mid-January. The timing of the egg nog to Naked Juice switcheroo depends on how stressful the Witherspoon holiday has been that given year.
“So tell me about this trouble,” Roman said, taking a healthy pull from his egg nog.
Smart guy. See why I love him?
But just to clarify…
It’s not that I’m “in love” with him. I just really adore him. I love all he stands for. And love the man he is.
Anyhoo…back to the latest Whoville hang-ups…
“Ahhh, yes. Trouble there is. And I do so hope you can help me,” Dad said, practically chugging his egg nog.
“You see…my latest invention is really quite brilliant. So I can see why Father Time would love to get his hands on it. But anyway, yes. First, the invention itself. I’ve developed a revolutionary new reindeer diet formula. Guaranteed to lighten our sleigh load, if you know what I mean,” Dad said, his robust laugh shaking his bowl full of jelly.
“I’m not quite sure I do understand,” Roman said.
As for me, I thought I might have a pretty good idea what Dad was talking about. I knew he’d been working on some top-secret reindeer diet food for several years now.
“Does this have to do with Operation Holly?” I asked.
My mother shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
My dad played with his snow-white beard, which now, thanks to the roaring fire in the fireplace, had taken on a magical aura.
Both behaviors clued me into the fact that I’d nailed it.
“Operation Holly?” Roman repeated my inquiry.
“That’s Dad’s codename for his secret reindeer diet formula. The stuff is made primarily of holly, as in the flowering tree,” I said, beginning to explain, sure my dad would soon pitch-in the details.
“Not just any holly. My formula uses only the less prickly leaves that grow near the tops of our trees. And the flavor? Oh boy. The reindeer just love my new formula,” Dad said, giving us the full scoop on Reindeer Fodder 101.
“So what does this have to do with your former buddy Father Time and phone-hacking?” I asked.
And trust me, I was totally sure I didn’t really want to know, but I also knew I’d be faced with all the details whether I wanted ‘em or not.
Why?
Because this family has no secrets.
Okay. We have one. And I hope it stays that way.
‘Course I’d also bet on that bean bag being spilled way before Roman and I can escape back to our castle and kingdom of thugs.
“Father Time? As in the elderly bearded man with the scythe and hourglass? The one who, each year, hands over the duties of time to Baby New Year?” Roman asked.
“Yeah. That asshole,” Dad said, not mincing his words the least bit.
“That will get you on your very own Naughty List, Pops,” I said, unable to stop the laugh dyin’ to get out.
“Oh screw the Naughty List. That’s how our whole beef started.”
Here we go, I thought, downing another hearty swig of egg nog.
“Father Time, the old geezer, is pissed off ‘cause his precious Baby New Year is at the top of my Naughty List,” Dad said, shaking his head then pinching the bridge of his ruby red nose like he often did when he was at his wits end.
“What did the brat do this time?” I asked, knowing quite well that Baby New Year was lacking in the well-behaved department.
“The little shit threw a temper tantrum and busted Father Time’s hourglass.”
“It’s true,” my mom chimed-in, almost as if she wished she could deny it but knew there was no sense covering-up the truth.
Well, not this truth anyway.
“And that led to Father Time phone-hacking you how?” I asked, even though I didn’t want to know this part at all.
Father Time and my dad had gotten into some fairly big doozies over the years, and this one seemed to rank right up there with the worst of ‘em.
“He got it in his weathered-by-time pea brain that if I was gonna rain on his errant child’s behavior then he was gonna do something to my pride and joy too.”
“Father Time is after you, Zoey?” Roman asked.
Gosh I luuuvvved this guy. How sweet of him to assume I was my dad’s pride and joy. Little did he know, Santa’s globe-trotting, cabbage remnant-emitting reindeer held that honor.
“No No,” my dad said, placing his hand over his evidently amused and once again shaking jelly bowl. “Father Time loves our precious Zoey. He’d never hurt her. After all, she’s his godchild. He’s after my Operation Holly.”
“Why would he be interested in a reindeer diet food formula?” Roman asked.
And it was more than a reasonable question for a guy who’s supposedly into scythes, hourglasses and new years…not reindeer.
“He’s interested because I am. Anything I invent, he’s after. I think the poor schmuck isn’t right in the head, if you know what I mean. He’s definitely got some kind of disorder, don’t ya think so, Suzie Claus?”
Roman coughed.
And I couldn’t help but attempt to stifle a tiny giggle.
Now there’s the pots callin’ the kettle black.
“He’s just jealous ‘cause your dad is loved all year long, while he’s only got one night to make a difference. I think he reasons that with your dad’s new reindeer fodder he can make even more of a mark than he does now.”
I shook my head and imbibed my egg nog, draining my cup to the last delicious eighty-proof drop.
“So, what makes you think he’s phone-hacking you?” I asked, afraid of this answer too.
But thanks to the extra brandy Wanda Lu had put in my cup, I was fairly up for the challenge.
“Because every move I make towards getting Operation Holly patented and ready to roll, the bastard knows about it, shows up as if he’s my partner, then makes suggestions and tosses in his limited sense.”
“Some of the elves also overheard in town the other day that the poor old senile fool may have also bribed our local police to get more information,” my mom added.
“Father Time isn’t friends with all the Murtledoch execs, is he?” Roman asked then snickered.
And I snickered too.
Mom and Dad didn’t.
They don’t watch or read the news and know of the Murtledoch Corp’s huge phone hacking scandal. Nope. My parents preferred life just as it was in their own lakeshore Whoville. So Roman’s joke was lost on them.
“I don’t think the old fart has any friends. Probably why he wants my anti-fart reindeer food.”
What the world wouldn’t give, I thought, to know that their St. Nick was no saint at all, but was instead, equipped with quite the potty-mouth.
“Nice, Dad.”
“Well it’s the truth. I can’t wait till the EPA gets a load of this stuff…or not,” he said then once more made his famous belly dance as it shook with his soul-deep laugh. “That’s the point of my invention. By using Operation Holly, we’ll be taking a ton of the load out of reindeer emissions, if you catch my drift. Very green, isn’t it?”
“All I need is Father Time’s cell phone, and I’ll be able to help you, Sir,” Roman said, rubbing his hands together with a mischievous, rather boyish glee.
Which meant one thing. He and R had some cool new superfab gadget to try out.
“Terrific! I knew you would be perfect for the job. But please, no more of that sir stuff. It’s Dad now, Son.”
“Which reminds me,” my mom cut-in, “we’ve got a couple very special, pre-holiday gifts to hand out tonight, right dear?”
This time it was my turn to rub my hands together and bask in the anticipation of the moment to come.
I couldn’t wait for this special day each
and every year. It was seven days before Christmas, which meant my mom would let me have the special ornament she’d made just for me. I bet she’d made one for Roman too.
“I’m going first,” my dad said, reaching his hand underneath his chair and removing a beautifully wrapped box.
The box was done in all red and green pin-striped, velveteen and foil paper. A very manly wrap job fit for a king, which I guess Roman would someday be.
The little boy glee still clearly evident across his face, Roman took the package. I couldn’t tell if his eyes danced from the glow of the fire or if it was his joy at receiving the gift. Either way, I knew he was beginning to feel the Witherspoon love from the inside out.
He lifted the lid off the box and filled the room with the heartiest laugh I’d ever heard from him.
Taking out the gorgeous Santa Claus hat my mom had no doubt hand-sewn just for him, he put it on without so much as a second thought.
“This is much more comfortable than my crown,” he said, flicking the big fuzzy white ball on the end of the hat with such gusto it ricocheted off my nose.
“Oops! Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I’m not,” he said, then did it again before standing up and going over to hug both my parents.
“This is truly one of the best gifts I’ve ever received.”
My eyes held steady on the gold-gilded embroidery now sparkling from the glow of the fireplace. The letters across the white front rim of the hat spelled out ‘Prince-of-Many-Names’.
Mom never missed a trick.
My chest swelled until it felt as if it might burst.
“Now for you, our princess,” my mother said and handed me a small purple, metallic foil-wrapped box.
She’d made a brilliant lavender bow and included matching straps of ribbon running down the sides. Gorgeous strands of Swarovski crystals had been braided through the crisscrossed ribbon.
I carefully removed the ribbon and crystal ropes. My fingers trembled. It was so exciting to un-wrap each year’s ornament.
Opening the box and rummaging through the matching lavender and lilac tissue paper, I pulled out the cutest hand-blown glass pot-bellied pig I’d ever seen.
The little fella’s legs were all blinged out with tons of glitter-dusted paint, as was his curly-cue tail. His snout had some kind of metallic pink paint. And his frosted glass ears were just precious.
“Oh, Mom, he’s gorgeous! I can’t wait to put him on my tree. Thank you sooo much.”
I ran to her chair and hugged her close.
“He’s just perfect. Just like our Vinnie.”
I took the ornament over to Vinnie who was curled up on his new bed in front of the fireplace.
“What do ya think, boy? Doesn’t he look just like you?”
Vinnie raised his head and gave out a pleasingly sweet ouff then sighed and went back to sleep.
“I think he likes it,” Roman said to chuckles the room over. “I’d love to see your tree, Zoey.”
And I’d love to show it to you, I thought, taking his hand and squeezing it tight, ready to call it a night.
CHAPTER SIX
With our new Vinnie ornament ready to hang, Roman and I said goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Claus then headed up the gingerbread house’s grand staircase to my old bedroom.
“This house really is terrific,” he said.
Following at our heels, Vinnie ouffed his agreement.
“It was a rather wonderful place to grow-up,” I said, meaning every word of it.
Despite my parents’ delusional hang-ups – well, actually, my father’s hang-up – my childhood really was beyond wonderful.
My mom doesn’t suffer from any mental illness. She simply loves my father too much to not play along with his beliefs.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never stopped believing in true, unconditional love. I’ve lived in its warmth and generous spirit most of my life.
Reaching my room, I was surrounded by even more reminders of the kind of love the Witherspoons so generously handed out…always expecting nothing in return.
“I’m the one who’s the Prince by birth, and all this time, it’s you who lived in a fairytale castle,” Roman said, squeezing my hand as he pulled me into the room.
He was so excited. You’d think Santa had just left him the gift he’d wanted more than any other under my tree.
“This is simply amazing, Zoey!”
As we sat on the floor underneath the eight-foot tree in my room, I had to agree with my prince.
Not many children grew up in a holiday version of Never Never Land like I had. There simply was no good reason to grow up at all here in Witherspoon Whoville. It was perfectly acceptable, actually preferred, that you maintained a childlike exuberance about this special season all year long.
For a moment, we sat in silence. Both of us were lost in the gazillion ornaments my mother had made for me over the years. Ornaments that now filled almost every branch of my tree.
I immediately looked past the thousands of pink lights covering the evergreen boughs and zeroed in on the exact spots where my favorite ornaments were hung.
Ahhh…there it was…just about perfectly centered in the middle of the tree. My all-time fave.
The bejeweled, glitter-saturated, and sequined, pink dress form on its very own equally sparkly black stand. My mom gave me that ornament on my seventh Christmas. I’d just gotten back from a children’s camp for fashion designer wanna-be’s, and my mom thought it was a good reminder of never letting my dreams go unrealized.
Just to the right of that glistening beauty was my second favorite, my tenth Christmas gift.
A miniature, shadowboxed replica of a boutique storefront. It was as if you could look into the window display of my future. That’s what my mother had said when I unwrapped it. And sure enough, inside the boutique, you could see a miniature version of the dress form ornament as well as a glorious chandelier, racks full of clothes and miniature shoes and boxes.
And finally, number three. There it was. Just a tad bit down the tree and to the right.
The little elf that looked just like Wanda Lu.
My mother had everything that meant the most to me, now in ornament form, on my tree.
“Shall we hang Vinnie’s ornament together?” Roman asked, his eyes full of a warm twinkling light, probably a reflection of the bedazzled tree.
I suspected, however, that his glow also radiated from the happiness inside him. My parents had a way of making that kind of joy appear in people.
“That would be great,” I said, so enjoying this moment with him.
“How about right here next to Minnie Mouse?” he suggested, holding Vinnie, in blown-glass form, up to the spot he had in mind.
“Perfect.”
I opened up the drawer in the child-sized play table next to the tree where I kept extra ornament hooks.
Roman held Vinnie’s look-alike while I slipped a hook through the shiny gold-threaded loop my mother had attached to the ornamental rendition of our pot-bellied sidekick.
Roman closed his hand around mine. We lifted our arms toward the branch he’d chosen and added Vinnie to my tree of life.
We stepped back and made our way to the edge of my bed where we both settled into a neatly stacked pile of hand-made blankets.
“All these ornaments mean something about your life, don’t they?” Roman asked. “It’s as if, by studying this tree, I can learn all about you.”
I looked down and pretended to press the top blanket, which totally didn’t need it.
Roman gently put his hand under my chin and lifted my face even with his.
Just by looking into his eyes, I swear I caught a glimpse of his wonderful heart and soul.
“I want to know everything about you. Everything,” he said, his eyes begging me to make his wish come true.
I didn’t know what to say.
For the first time in my life, I really wanted to sh
are all that I was and all that I came from. And also for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to let it all out.
My childhood, and my wishes and dreams too, were safe with Roman.
“Let’s start with Minnie Mouse,” he said, causing us both to laugh.
