Christmas Cliché

by Tara Sivec

  When I think about Joy’s little speech to me earlier as I walk the last few feet to the barn door, it makes me smile, and it also makes me think about my cell phone that is still at the bottom of my purse, in the top drawer of the dresser, where I put it when we got here. I wait for the guilt to hit me when I think about how many appointments the twins had on their calendar in the last few days, but as I grab the handle of the barn door and pull it open, I forget all about my cell phone and the hundreds of angry texts and voicemails that are waiting for me.

  I don’t cringe when I walk inside the huge barn like I would have a week ago. Instead, I step inside the cavernous building and let the door close behind me as I slowly look around with a smile, taking it all in.

  All of the lawn and farm equipment has been shoved over to one far corner and draped with a few sheets to cover everything up, which leaves the rest of the giant room wide open. The Redingers have filled the space with an arrangement of mismatched couches, recliners, and love seats, all facing one wall, where a large white sheet has been hung for movies to be projected on. Naturally, each furniture item has been draped with a few Christmas throw blankets and pillows.

  The exposed beams all throughout the inside of the barn have been strung with garlands and white lights, and the largest tree I’ve ever seen stands over in one corner, the star at the top reaching almost all the way to the top of the twenty-foot-tall ceiling.

  A wooden shelf has been built all the way around the room where the top of the wall angles up to the ceiling, and on top of that shelf is a train track, with a long, toy Christmas train constantly traveling around the room. There are a bunch of those plastic, outdoor Christmas decorations plugged in around the outside of the room, and there’s even an electric fireplace with stockings hung from a mantle that is overflowing with decorations next to the giant tree.

  “Welcome to The Redinger House Christmas Cinema. May I escort you to your seat?”

  My smile almost hurts my face it’s so large when Jason walks up to me and whispers, elbow cocked for me to take. I’m a few minutes late, and the overhead lights have already been shut off, people have curled up in their seats of choice, and the opening credits to White Christmas have already started, the first of our two movies this evening.

  Sliding my hand through the crook of Jason’s elbow, I hold on tight and keep my body pressed up next to his as he slowly zigs and zags and maneuvers us through the furniture and feet kicked out. He smells so good and his arm is so strong and warm that I just want to nuzzle my face into the size of his arm and keep sniffing him for the rest of the night.

  We finally get to an open love seat on the far side of the cluster of furniture with a little coffee table set up in front of it.

  “I didn’t know what you liked to snack on during movies, so I got a little bit of everything,” he says in a low voice close to my ear, his breath on the side of my face making goose bumps break out on my arms.

  I smile when I see Jason has filled the coffee table with a big bowl of popcorn, a pile of assorted Christmas chocolates and candy, two mugs of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows floating on top, a couple cans of soda, a few bottles of water, a bag of pretzels, and a small plate of Christmas cookies.

  He gestures with his arm toward the loveseat, and we both move around the table and flop down onto the cushions. As I kick my shoes off and pull my feet up, Jason is already grabbing one of the Christmas throws off the back of the couch, shaking it out and spreading it over my bent knees.

  “Your California skin still hasn’t gotten used to snow yet. Every time I see you, you’re shivering,” he muses, throwing his arm closest to me over the back of the couch as I lean forward, grab a handful of popcorn, and start munching on it.

  That’s usually from you and not because of the cold, but sure, we’ll go with my skin being a pussy.

  Thankfully, there’s enough room in this barn that the furniture is pretty spread out, and we can talk softly without ruining someone’s movie-watching experience.

  “This California skin has experienced snow before,” I tell him. “I actually grew up coming to West Virginia for a few weeks at Christmas every year to see my dad’s side of the family. My family here always thought I was crazy, because I wished for snow when we visited. It’s the only time I ever got to experience it, so I wanted it falling at all times while we were here.”

  I think about that last Christmas I spent here in West Virginia, and Jamie being so annoyed when I wished for snow. I don’t know why I’ve spent so long pushing all these memories away. They’re good memories. I had a great childhood. I had thirteen years of some of the best Christmas memories any kid could have.

  “You got sad there for a second. Does this have something to do with why you aren’t a fan of Christmas?” Jason asks, as I lower my knees under the blanket and tuck my feet under me, leaning closer to him so I can talk softer, our faces just a few inches apart.

  “Not sad, just thinking about the past. And yes, it has everything to do with my aversion to Christmas, although I’m starting to remember what I used to love about it.”

  I look away from him for a few seconds to check out what’s happening on the screen, smiling when I see Bing Crosby singing to the troops.

  “My granny used to wait to decorate her big tree in the living room until we got in from California every year,” I tell him. “And every year, she always had to have White Christmas playing on her DVD player while we decorated. She would lose her mind if we even hung one strand of lights before she turned it on. It was tradition.”

  “We have the same tradition, but our movie is always Home Alone,” Jason tells me.

  “Wait, since you guys go to each other’s houses to help decorate, does that mean you watch Home Alone three times?”

  “Three times.” Jason nods solemnly, which makes me laugh. “Tell me more about your granny.”

  So, I do. I tell him everything, from all of our holiday traditions, to the dirty jokes and stories Jamie and I overheard through the laundry shoot, to how I learned to play poker by sitting on my dad’s lap during the Christmas party poker game, and how everything stopped the year I turned thirteen, and found out my dad had cancer.

  “He was sick for the next five years until he died, and it was just too hard on him to travel, and the family here couldn’t afford to visit us, and there’s no way in hell they’d let my family pay for anything,” I finish. “After he died, my mom and my sisters just wanted to forget. They didn’t really care as much about the old traditions as I did, and eventually, I got tired of fighting with them about it. It was easier to just do what everyone else wanted to do. Which is an over-the-top, made-for-television special that has nothing to do with family.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jason says after a beat, his soft eyes never leaving mine.

  They never left mine the entire time I talked. He paid attention to everything I said, never interrupted me, and asked questions at all the right times. He’s easy to talk to, and in this dark room, with softly glowing Christmas lights and Rosemary Clooney singing about snow on a train to Vermont, I feel happier and more relaxed than I have in years.

  “And I’m not just sorry about your dad, or how shitty your mom and sisters are, or how shitty Christmas has been for you all this time,” he continues. “Earlier in the kitchen, when Millie was rambling about all the stuff you do for your sisters, I was surprised. I thought…”

  “You thought I was a spoiled rich girl from California who didn’t work,” I finish for him.

  If it were anyone else, I’d be offended. I have been offended on the numerous occasions someone has made a wisecrack about how I get to lounge around all day and do nothing but spend my family’s money. I’ve known this man a handful of days, and for some reason, I just trust that he’s sincere with his apology. I can see it written all over his face that he feels bad he made a snap judgement about me.

  “I’m such an asshole. I guess I’m not used to being surprised. And you just se
em to keep surprising me, Allie Parker.”

  A little shiver runs through me when Jason says my name, just like it did earlier in the kitchen.

  We spend a few minutes watching the movie, until I can’t take it anymore and I turn back to face him, staring at his handsome profile while I speak.

  “If we’re trading apologies, then it’s my turn,” I whisper to the side of his face before he looks away from the movie to face me. “Earlier this morning, I overheard the conversation you had about me with your mom in the kitchen. I learned my lesson when I was thirteen with that stupid laundry shoot, so I’m coming clean about my wrongdoing. Would you believe that I tripped and fell in the hallway right outside the door then suddenly became paralyzed from the neck down for the entire length of your conversation?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Doubtful.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m sorry that I walked up there, heard my name, and an evil force grabbed ahold of me and made me stand there and listen,” I apologize. “I should probably go to church. Find some holy water to sprinkle on me.”

  “Hey, Allie,” Jason interrupts with a chuckle, sliding his arm along the back of the couch to push himself even closer to me until our noses are almost touching, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I knew you were out there the whole time. Well, I wondered when I heard you yelp the first time, and then I knew for sure when you and Millie actually screamed a few minutes later.”

  He’s smiling at me, and it’s so contagious that I smile right back at him, even though he’s kind of making fun of me.

  “And it’s only fair you got to listen to my mom talk about how I have no game, when I was standing right there when Millie word-vomited your entire life all over the kitchen,” he reminds me.

  I groan, dropping my head in my hands.

  Jason laughs, tugging my hands away from my face.

  “Stop,” he orders, ducking his head so he can catch my eyes. “I think it’s kind of amazing how much you handle on a daily basis and it took you this long to get fed up with it.”

  He’s still holding my hands, and they feel so small in his big, warm ones that are rough from hard work.

  Rough hands that would feel pretty damn fantastic running over every inch of my skin.

  “I think you’re pretty amazing,” he adds softly, my heart thumping like a herd of horses in my chest. “Not only did you fix the breakfast disaster in record time, but my mom told me you made breakfast for tomorrow, fed everyone lunch, and you’re the one responsible for the best lasagna and garlic bread I’ve ever had in my life.”

  I never saw Jason after I pushed him out of the kitchen this morning, since he locked himself away in one of the empty rooms to work, but I made sure someone ran him up some food.

  “Thank you for making sure I ate. I just had to close out some things and pass along everything else until after the holidays,” he tells me, his hands still holding mine as they rest on top of my bent legs between us.

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying you aren’t going to be working until after Christmas?” I ask in shock.

  “Figured it’s about time my mom gets a break from nagging me.” He shrugs with a smile.

  “Or, someone is suddenly feeling the Christmas spirit himself,” I suggest with a wag of my eyebrows.

  “Maybe you’re just making me realize how much I’ve taken my family for granted. They’re nuts, and they have a different Christmas tradition for every day of the week, but they are kind of awesome. And they taught me that family means everything. I just sort of forgot about it until you got here and reminded me.”

  And there it is. A momentary pang of guilt for the forgotten phone at the bottom of my purse, locked away in a drawer, that is filled with problems and chaos I’m supposed to be fixing, that yearly promise I made to Jamie long since broken.

  Jason squeezes my hands, bringing my focus back to him and his handsome face just a few inches from mine.

  “Plus, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he continues. “But there’s a pretty girl that checked into my family’s bed-and-breakfast a few days ago. Kind of makes me want to spend more time around here helping out.”

  “You don’t say?” I reply, trying hard to keep my smile from busting loose.

  Jason’s eyes trail down to my mouth, and he squeezes my hands again when I nervously lick my lips.

  “Count Your Blessings, Instead of Sheep” is playing from the speakers up by the projector, and I do what the song says. I might think I have nothing and feel lost right now, but I have a lot of blessings I can count. I’m in a place that brought Christmas back into my life, much to my protest, reminded me that I once had a dream of my own, and includes a gorgeous, sweet man, who says all the right things and can’t stop staring at my mouth.

  “What’s your favorite Christmas cookie?” he asks, his eyes never moving away from my lips.

  “It was a pecan apple shortbread with red and green icing my granny would make every year,” I reply quickly, realizing we’ve moved our faces even closer and our noses are now touching.

  “Are you two even paying attention to the movie?”

  We quickly break apart when Jason’s dad whispers loudly to us as he shoves some of the snacks aside on the coffee table and sits right down on it, facing us.

  “This is a Christmas classic you’re defiling by playing kissy-face back here in the dark,” he complains, pointing an accusatory finger at Jason.

  “What was that I was saying about my family being awesome?” he whispers to me out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Anyway,” John continues, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and address me. “I just wanted to stop by before intermission when your friend gets up there and makes everyone’s ears bleed and you won’t be able to hear me, and say thank you for helping our family out today with all that food you made.”

  “It was no trouble at all.” I brush him off with an embarrassed wave of my hand, feeling weird that people have been giving me so much praise lately.

  “No trouble at all, my ass. That was the best food I’ve had in a long time. Even better than our cook Amy’s food, but don’t tell her I said that. She’s been with us for twenty years, and she’d slit my throat,” he informs me. “I’m sad to say we’ve got a replacement coming in tomorrow afternoon, but at least it’s not sad for you, since you didn’t come here to work.”

  He’s wrong; I do feel a little bit sad. I felt alive in that kitchen today. I never stopped smiling or singing the entire time I was in there, even when I screwed up my first batch of garlic bread and had to start over.

  “Allie, I’m not gonna beat around the bush here,” John says seriously, leaning closer to me. “Jason, God love him because he’s my son, has no game.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Dad,” Jason mutters next to me as I press my hand over my mouth to smother my laughter.

  “Hey, you’re thirty-four, and you’re not getting any younger. I’m just trying to help you out. She’s pretty, she doesn’t seem repulsed by you, and she needs to stay here and cook me those scrambled eggs forever. Stop thinking about yourself all the time,” John complains with a roll of his eyes.

  “The trick is adding cream cheese and just a dash of Adobo seasoning,” I quickly lean toward him and say.

  “Marry her right now, Jason. Or get some rope and hold her hostage.” He laughs.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t suggest a hostage situation,” Millie says, walking up to us as the overhead lights go on and the credits roll for White Christmas. “There’s just a lot of moving parts with something like that, and with my last one in St. Barths, my friend Blair got her finger cut off.”

  We all stare at Millie blankly for a few minutes, while guests get up from couches and recliners to stretch and head over to the refreshment table for fill-ups.

  “What? It was just her pinky finger. She got a weird nail fungus after a manicure a few years ago, and the nail on that finger never grew back right. So really, it was a good cosmeti
c decision.”

  Millie drags John away after that, telling him she choreographed a dance number to go with her rendition of “Silent Night,” and she wants to get his approval before she “goes on stage.”

  After we suffer through Millie’s performance and the overhead lights go back out, Jason reheats our hot chocolate and we curl back up under the blankets to watch A Smoky Mountain Christmas with Dolly Parton, something I haven’t seen since I was a little girl.

  For a minute, I wish my mom and sisters could be here enjoying all of this with me, but for now, I’m content sharing someone else’s family, while snuggling next to Jason.

  “Fuck ass!”

  “I can’t believe you did this,” I gush, turning away from my reflection in the mirror above my dresser to smile at Millie lounging on my bed.

  “Please.” She rolls her eyes, continuing to file one of her fingernails as she leans against the headboard. “As much as it hurts my soul to say this, you hate shopping. I did everyone a favor by keeping you out of that store.”

  When Jason and I said goodnight last night in the entryway, sadly with just a weird pat on the shoulder from me since there were guests milling about all around us, I went upstairs to my room to find my bed filled with bags from the boutique a few buildings down. There was a note from Millie that said, Merry Hanukkah or whatever. This wouldn’t fit in your stocking. I told Jen to get you an overflow basket like mine. You’re welcome.

  I admit, I was a little nervous to look inside those things, knowing how Millie is, but I was pleasantly surprised. All the boutique has in stock right now for tops are Christmas items, but Millie found me some really adorable things that are comfortable and totally me but dressed up just a little bit. While I was in the shower, she put together today’s outfit for me—a longer, slim red sweater with white snowflakes, a pair of skinny jeans, and knee-high brown boots. My hair is still up in a messy bun, because it’s easy and I don’t give a shit, but I like the clothes. They’re comfortable and I feel good in them. I actually feel… pretty.