by Ciara Knight
Mom looked between all of us. If she agreed to leave work early, it would be splashed across the front page of the Christmas Mountain Herald as a local phenomenon. I held my breath, knowing she’d say no, hoping she’d say yes. Part of me was scared she’d actually do it. I mean, the two of us in the kitchen together for hours? Not the best combination with hot and sharp objects everywhere.
“I’ll do it.”
Was that a smile? Did my mother smile? A real one that shone happiness to the world? Brent nudged me out of my shocked stupor. “That’s great,” I said. “I’ll buy the ingredients if you help me make them.”
“What kind of cookies?”
“Your Gingerbread men, of course.”
“I thought you didn’t like those.”
My mouth fell open. “Are you serious? I love them.”
She reached behind to untie her apron. “You were never around when I made them.”
“It didn’t mean I didn’t eat them. I’d steal and run.”
Brent let go of my hand and stepped to the side. Mom tossed her apron behind the counter. “Why didn’t you stick around and help?”
I studied the fascinating lines in the chipped laminate flooring. “You had plenty of help. Besides, the one time I tried they burned. Not just burned, they were lump of coal black.”
“She can’t cook?” Brent asked my mom as he shook his head and aimed a playful grin in my direction.
Mom sighed. “That Christmas the fire department had to be called. I figured it was one of your pranks gone wrong, Ashley.”
“No. I wanted to show you that I could help, too. That not just Alley and Abbey could be good at baking. I guess it backfired.” Just like that, with that one explanation, that one admission, something inside me broke free.
Mom didn’t say anything, instead she walked away and grabbed a shopping cart.
Brent leaned in and whispered. “You’re doing great.”
I grabbed his elbow and with my best attempt at newborn puppy eyes I begged him not to leave me.
“I’ll meet you guys at your parents’ house after I speak with Holly. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone. If you two spend five minutes not fighting you might actually enjoy each other’s company.”
“Okay, Mr. Elf, but next year I want a shiny new car instead of a pep talk and a family intervention.”
Brent ran his hand down my back to my waist. “Shiny, yes. Car, no.” He kissed the top of my head sending little elves dancing down my arms with magic shoes.
Mom approached, and Brent disappeared faster than Santa up the Chimney. Wait, what did he mean by shiny, yes?
Mom ran into my hip with the cart. “You gonna stand there all-day gawking at that boy or are we going to make Gingerbread Men?”
I shook off my over the top imagination and focused on the groceries. Heck, I didn’t even remember what ingredients went into baking a cookie let alone my mom’s Montana famous Gingerbread men. “Maybe I should watch.”
“Nonsense. You want cookies, you’ve got to help make them.” Mom made quick work of the groceries and brought them to the register. I whipped out my plastic card to pay.
“Credit cards make it easy to end up bankrupt. Cash is always better.”
I ignored her judgmental tone and concentrated on entering my pin number. “It’s not a credit card it’s a debit card, but I do have credit cards that I pay off each month.”
My mother grumbled something under her breath. I figured one of us had to be an adult if we were going to make it through baking without beating each other with wooden spoons.
We made our way outside, each of us carrying two bags. “So, you and that boy Brent dating now?”
“No!” I cleared my throat. “I mean, of course not. I don’t even live here.”
“That don’t mean nothing. Me and your father dated while he was in the military. Came home and we got married after that.”
“I know, but I haven’t spoken to Brent since I left after graduation.” I spotted Brent up the street through the window of Sleigh Cafe. I hoped he hurried.
Mom turned down a side street and it was then I realized she walked to work. I’d forgotten she didn’t drive unless absolutely necessary. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t date now.”
Was Mom trying to hook me up? “I thought you didn’t like the Donnellys.”
“I don’t hate no one. It’s not Christian to hate your neighbor.” She side glanced at me.
I thought now wasn’t a good time to correct her double negative.
“I do hate how his father tried to put your dad and me out of work. Not to mention so many others because of his greed. Thank the lord the man finally gave up on our small town and went on to open resorts and businesses in four other states. I’m surprised Brent’s still here, though. Figured his daddy would give him some cushy job somewhere.”
“No, actually, he dumped the knitting store on him because of a promise to his mother. Brent isn’t satisfied with only running that store, though. He’s talking about making his own way in the world and not relying on his dad.”
“Good for him.”
Were Mom and I having a mother daughter conversation? This wasn’t my homecoming Christmas. This was a Twilight Zone Christmas. “Really? Then you like him?”
“Never didn’t like him.”
There went her use of double negatives again. I bit my tongue. The last time I corrected Mom she sent me to my room for disrespecting her and made me miss the Sadie Hawkins dance in seventh grade. I’d planned on asking Brent, but there wasn’t a point since I couldn’t go. That was the first time Emma and Brent went out. Of course, she didn’t know I was crushing on him. No one knew.
“You like him, though. Always thought you’d two end up married. You’d be a Donnelly all rich and too good for us.”
“His father would’ve had an aneurism if Brent ever got involved with a girl below his station in life.” I glanced at the hop scotch game written in chalk art on the side walk. Something I used to do with my sisters when we were little. If I was honest with myself there was truth in mother’s words. I had thought I wanted more out of life than my parents. I’d grown up in a small home with tons of siblings with two parents that never left Christmas Mountain. “I never wanted to be better than you. I always wanted to fit in, but I was different than the rest of the family. You called me a dreamer.”
“That wrong?”
I thought for a moment about the nights I’d snuck out and went to the top of the hillside to look at the stars. Several times Brent joined me there when we were in school. We never spoke, not about anything of substance, but we both understood we were there to escape our families. Even then I thought we’d be together some day.
“See, you dreamin’ now.”
“You’re right. It’s not that I didn’t try to keep my feet on the ground. Lord knows I tried to be a better child, but I guess I was born with a passport in hand and a desire for life experiences.”
Mom laughed out loud. The kind that came from a deep past and bubbled up to today. The kind that warned a childhood story was coming. “You could say that. When you were three you demanded to try a pepper. Not just any pepper, one of those super-hot peppers they sell at specialty grocers or at fairs. You pitched a fit and sat down in the middle of the aisle at the Sweetwater County Fair in Creekside. The man warned you it would make your eyes water. I finally told the man to give you one to teach you a lesson. I thought you’d take one bite and scream, but not you. You ate the entire thing. It didn’t matter your eyes were watering, your face turned redder than a cherry and you were sneezing. Heck, I thought you even had some hives down the back of your neck. Do you know what you did after you finished every last bite of that pepper?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“You asked for another one. I couldn’t tell if you were the most stubborn child I’d ever met or the craziest.”
We reached my childhood home. It looked the same. A muted grey paint with black shutters
and a brown wood door. Vegetable and fruit gardens wrapped around the side of the house and the front lawn looked like they were about to plant something else. We were the only house in Christmas Mountain that didn’t have a lawn. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“On what?”
“Am I stubborn or crazy?”
Mom stopped and eyed the dried-up plants that were tossed in the corner they’d obviously been removed to prepare for planting. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“If you ever going to get that boy Brent to marry you.”
Eight
The smell of the first batch of Gingerbread men filled the tiny old kitchen with the aroma of cinnamon, all-spice, and home. My insides warmed, and I relaxed into the holiday mood. The magic of Christmas abounded with the thrill of surprising the town with my mother’s homemade cookies and the fact that we’d been together for forty-five minutes without a real fight. No, it wasn’t Christmas magic. It was a Christmas miracle.
“You going to stand there and sniff that cookie all day or are you going to taste it and let me know if it is still as good? I haven’t made them in eight years.”
I took one last inhale, savoring the rich, spicy aroma. “Why haven’t you made them in eight years?”
She busied with cleaning up the kitchen counter and ignored my question. I took a bite and savored the molasses infused with spices with a hint of sweet sugary frosting.
“Wow, I haven’t tasted anything this good for over eight…” It had been eight years since I’d left, was that why my mother stopped making them? But she’d told me to leave.
I set the cookie down on the parchment paper and rounded the kitchen counter. Only then did I see the tears in my mother’s eyes. “I thought you wanted me to leave. You practically threw me out.”
She shrugged and rinsed out the sponge. “You had to leave. You weren’t meant to live a small-town life anymore. It’s not that you didn’t belong here, you’ve always belonged here. You just never wanted to be here. You always were looking beyond. How could I make you stay?”
A lump the size of an ornament lodged in my throat. That wasn’t right. I wanted to belong, I’d tried to belong. With disastrous results. I lifted my milk glass and tried to dislodge the blockage in my throat. After a few gulps, I managed to speak. “I tried to fit in, but I didn’t. Not really, especially at home. I always messed everything up.”
Two knocks at the front door ended our conversation too soon. Mom wiped her hands on the dishtowel and headed for the front door. “I’ll get that. You mix that up for me.” She pointed to ingredients premeasured in cups on the counter. I barely knew what any of them were. I certainly didn’t know how to make the cookies, but she’d invited me to stay. That alone made me want to try.
“Wow, it smells great in here.” Brent’s voice carried down the short hallway into the kitchen.
I tossed all the ingredients into the big bowl, flipped on the mixer and I thought my excitement spun faster than the beater. His voice in my house. It had never happened. In all the years I knew him, he’d never come inside. Dad would never let a boy inside for any of us girls.
“Come on in, we have some to spare. Ashley made them.”
“I thought you didn’t lie mother,” I teased.
“It wasn’t a lie, you helped.” Mom slid into me and nudged me out of the way. “Um, I think I better take over now.” She lifted the lever to the electric mixer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing dear.” She added a couple of teaspoons of water. “I should’ve told you not to mix it that way. It’s not your fault. Not all the flour’s supposed to go in. It’s not a big deal, though.” She turned on the mixer once more.
I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”
Brent leaned against the door jamb to the kitchen. “Good thing I can cook. Besides you’re good at so many other things.”
“Like what?”
He smiled and stepped further into the room. “You’re compassionate. You always volunteered on weekends with the children with special needs. You’re an amazing business woman. I know this because I researched your company last night.”
“You did?” I asked.
Mom lifted her chin as if she was proud of me. “You really have made a good life for yourself, haven’t you?”
I half-shrugged one shoulder. “I do okay.”
“Modesty?” Mom snickered. “That’s a new gift.”
My defense mechanisms kick started but I was able to bite my bottom lip and keep my comments to myself. I knew she was only teasing, and I had to keep from damaging the small amount of progress we’d made.
Mom picked up another apron and tossed it at Brent. “I think I could use your help if we’re going to get these done in time. Ashley, you frost and box.”
“Sorry about the dough.” I lowered my chin to my chest. The vulnerability of an apology wasn’t something I felt comfortable with, especially when it was directed at my mom.
She went to work rolling out dough. Brent wrapped an arm around my shoulders and whispered into my ear, “I’m proud of you. I told you that your mom loved you.”
I wasn’t sure if it was his warm breath on my ear or the touch of his hand on my arm, or the aroma of his cologne, but in that moment, I felt like I was home. Not a stranger in my home, but like I belonged here and when my mom turned around and spotted us in close proximity she smiled and nodded her approval. Mom and I were silent communicating, like friends.
I lifted a cookie feeling a little defeated and frosted it. I mixed some red food coloring and began drawing candy cane style scarves on them. Others I used the red for lips and other’s skirts.
Brent finished helping Mom and came over to my frosting area. “Wow, each of them are unique. Like you.”
His words made me feel like a child standing at the door of Santa’s workshop and being told I could pick any toy I wanted. My chest tightened, my lips curved into a smile and my breath did a one-two causing me to suck in short bursts. I forced myself to calm down, to keep myself together.
He reached up and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Your hair is so blond now. You’re so tan.”
“My daughters blossomed into a beautiful young woman if I do say so myself.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks and I was sure I matched the skirt frosting. “It’s a lot of work swimming and scuba diving and running a boat all day.”
“It suits you well.” He mumbled so my mother wouldn’t hear. Yep, he’d never been around my mother much. Her hearing was better than an owlet.
The oven beeped, and Mom removed the last dozen of the gingerbread men. “I hope we have enough.”
I checked my watch. “It’s going to have to do. We’ve got to get going.” My heart swelled with the idea of the town being together again, even if my friends wouldn’t be there. I guessed Morgan wouldn’t be there since she was hiding out from her own mother, and the rest of my friends weren’t even in town yet. Perhaps I would still get the chance to see them before I left, though. If I stayed the entire month. Which was looking more promising.
“These need to cool for a few minutes before you frost them. I’m going to run up and change before we leave. Will you wait for me?”
“Of course, we’ll wait for you.” I said, my voice hitching with the desire to show her that I wanted us to be closer.
She stopped at the doorway. “Brent, don’t let her mix any ingredients while I’m gone, okay?”
“You got it Mrs. Brooks.” He saluted, and I smacked his chest.
“Thanks a lot.”
He turned me into his arms, my eyes at his chest. I looked up and saw him staring down at me with a strange expression. “I’m so glad you’ve spoken to your mom. I was worried you’d leave town and never speak to her. She’s been so lonely since you all left.”
“Don’t my brothers and sisters visit?”
“Yes, but you’re the one your mother misses the most.�
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“Me?”
“Yes, according to Miles Wilson, the feed store owner, your mother has been telling everyone in town how you’ve made it. That you run this great business and how you’re so beautiful and capable.”
“She has?” I asked, still thinking he was just being nice to me. “Wait, how does she know what I look like, I haven’t sent her any pictures and I haven’t been home in eight years.”
He released me, and my skin cooled with the loss of contact. If I admitted it to myself, I’d hoped he’d kiss me. Even if we were standing in the middle of my mom’s kitchen.
He guided me to the living room and pointed at an old-fashioned album on the coffee table. “I noticed it when your mother let me inside.”
“What is it?” I asked.
He smiled. “I don’t know for sure, but I caught a glance of it once, and you know how people talk. Jan says it is a scrapbook. Apparently, your mom took up scrapbooking and goes to the Claver farm for monthly socials. Everyone has worked on different scrapbooks over the years, but your mom always brings the same one. Maria Claver attends my Saturday morning knitting class. She said that your mom is always bragging about you and that she misses you a lot.”
I edged closer and opened the front cover. The picture of my friends and me at the Christmas extravaganza fourteen years ago from the Herald was on the front page. I flipped the pages and each one of them showed a picture or an article or a letter about me. I found a sales advertisement for my company and an image that I’d posted on social media with Clint. It was all here, everything since childhood to as recent as last month. My hands trembled with each turn of the page. A small photo fell, and I picked it up off the floor. It was of my mother and me when I was little at the Sweetwater County fair. I didn’t even remember going it had been so long ago.
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t she ever tell me how she feels? Why has it always been so tough between us?”
Brent ran his fingers through my hair and I closed my eyes. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Ask me what?”
I turned with scrapbook in hand and mother’s eyes widened into large pools of choppy water. “What are you doing with that? It’s private. You had no right.” She pulled it out of my hands and disappeared into the kitchen without another word. Leaving me behind confused and disappointed.
