Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“You…invited this ‘hobo’ to live with you?” Dad frowned from the comfort of his leather recliner by the fireplace, sipping his “decaf coffee,” which we all knew was spiked with a shot of scotch. He had very few vices, but this was his nightly ritual. Feet up. Fireplace or a good book. One shot. No one cared, but we all pretended not to know. A man needed his secrets, I guessed.

“I think it’s very kind,” Mom said, sitting next to me on the brown plaid couch, sipping her incredibly tiny glass of red wine. To her left was the big wall of crosses. Over the mantel were photos of the family—my brothers and their wives, their weddings, and all the grandkids. Then there was the sad framed photo of me, all alone in front of a tree.

I looked like such a loser.

I downed my second glass of wine and placed it on the pine coffee table in front of me. “You’re both completely missing the point. People literally forget what Beau looks like, and then they fill in the blanks with something else.”

“Or,” said Dad, “they see what they want to see.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “What does it mean? Is he some sort of alien who emits a mind-altering gas? And what about his dad? That was beyond aggressive.”

“Sounds like a drowning person to me,” said Dad.

“Exactly,” Mom concurred. “He made all these ridiculous threats, but, baby, he can’t ruin us. Or you. Because we don’t answer to him.” She pointed up to the sky.

Why did she always do that? Just because we were Catholic didn’t mean bad things couldn’t happen.

“Then why did I feel like…” I lowered my voice, “like he had the power to do exactly what he said?”

“Sweetheart,” Mom giggled, “you’ve always had a bright, wonderful imagination. It’s true that we didn’t always appreciate it—”

“Especially when she ruined my mower or dug for gold in the pond and destroyed the pump,” said my dad.

The mower was one of those things I took apart as a child. Didn’t put it back together. End of story. The pond, well, panning for gold was messy.

“I think,” said Mom, “that your fascination for mystical, magical things never went away.”

They were not understanding me. “I don’t control what my neighbor sees, and a man can’t appear as different things to different people no matter how great my imagination is.”

“Welp,” my dad bobbed his head, “you are right about that.”

I was expecting him to elaborate, but his words were followed by silence. They were not taking this seriously.

“Thanks. You’ve both been a big help,” I scoffed.

“Meri,” said Dad, “I can’t see gravity, but I know it’s there. I know what it does.”

“And?” I asked.

“Sometimes you just have to accept that you don’t have the answers. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

So was I imagining things? Or were they real? Make up your minds, people! “Pfft! You two are zero help,” I said.

My mom chuckled. “As if you ever needed anyone’s help to figure things out.”

The next day, I tried reaching Beau at my place, but it was no use. He was either on his way or he wasn’t. Though, he’d have to be completely mad to travel up here to the mountains considering the weather. Snow. Snow. And more snow.

If he had any sense, he’d turn around. Not that I knew how he’d get here. Man didn’t have a car. There were no trains or regular buses either.

I headed over to the community center around noon and began helping Libby finish stringing the Christmas lights around the room and across the ceiling. Once the lights were on and the music got going, it would be like the inside of a giant Christmassy gazebo.

“Think anyone will come in this storm?” she asked, looking out the window next to the big Christmas tree by the door. It was decorated with ornaments supplied by the elementary school children. There were sparkly giraffes, ducks, and every animal imaginable made out of bright craft paper.

Is that a glittery poop ornament? Guess the kids were going for the complete zoo look.

“Yes. Absolutely.” I began uncasing the red wine. “Snow doesn’t stop anyone in this town when free booze is involved.” Not that the five thousand residents of our quaint mountain village were lushes, but they did like to party during the holidays. They were also pretty generous when it came to helping one another, and the Holiday Sock and Sip was proof.

“Hey, Libby, we just got the stocking from Rhonda’s Travel,” said one of our helpers. Most of them were seniors from the high school, who were getting extra credit for their civics class. I knew, because I’d been one of them twelve years ago.

Twelve years. Sigh… Am I really that old?

“Wow, man,” Libby crooned. “This is incredible. A week in Greenland.” She shoved the envelope back into the stocking.

“Let me see that.” I walked over and snatched up the stocking. Inside was a one-week, all-expense-paid trip for two to a spa in Greenland. My spa in Greenland. Sleigh ride, reindeer sightseeing, and couple’s massage included. The picture on the brochure was of the exact room I’d seen online with the glass windows, in-room jet tub, and king-sized bed.

Oh. My. God. What were the chances?

“Rhonda must be in a generous mood this year,” Libby said. “She donated a trip to Walrus World last time. I’ll put this one at the top of the display.” She climbed the ladder in the corner of the big room and placed the stocking on the hook at the tippy top of the tree-shaped display.

I need that stocking .

As I continued setting up and testing the speakers, I made a promise to myself: I would bid on that trip tonight with the money I’d saved from not splurging on Christmas this year. This trip would be a thirtieth-birthday present to myself.

Funny, I couldn’t recall ever buying myself anything like this. I always bought gifts, cooked, and decorated for everyone else. Then I worked all year long to pay for it, year after year. I’d deprived myself of enjoying life. My life. That wasn’t to say that I hadn’t enjoyed my parties or all the fun. I loved every second of giving during the holidays. But maybe it was time to move on and set a different course—find new things to enjoy, pursue those bucket list dreams of my own, and push myself out of my comfort zone. I could still love the holidays and explore other things.

I’m getting that trip.

Around six p.m. the guests began arriving. We’d ended up with way more food than we needed, in my opinion, since Tony’s Trattoria provided the catering, and they didn’t skimp. Pasta, pizza, salad, and enough bread to feed an army of caroling gremlins.

The DJ played a mix of cheery Christmas classics and modern holiday pop that seemed to please both my parents and the high school students, who kept sneaking wine when they thought no one was looking.

“Libby,” I said, finding her by the punch bowl, “keep an eye on the bar, okay? Larry is just putting out glasses and not watching who’s taking them.” Larry was the designated bartender at most town functions because he charged nothing and only drank a little. Still, those small clear plastic cups were moving fast.

“Sure, Meri. Oh, hey, I wanted to tell you,” Libby’s words came out slow and dopy, “I’m super grateful you showed up to help. Couldn’t have done this without you. Kay is lucky to have you as a best friend, even if you’re out there. Yanno?”

“Out there?” I wasn’t the one getting high at a charity event.

“I only meant that you’ve always been a big dreamer.” She swayed a bit and then burped. “Don’t ever stop, Meri Beri.”

Lord. How had this woman given birth to functional adults? It just went to show that everyone had their own destiny despite their upbringing.

“If you want to thank me,” I said, “let my parents drive you guys home tonight, okay?” Kay’s dad was here somewhere, too, probably goosing the grass like Libby.

“You’re right. So right. Can you run the auction tonight?” she asked. “I think I overdid my stress-relief gummies.”

No. No… I wanted to bid on my trip. I needed that trip. But I couldn’t bid if I ran the auction.

My heart sank a little, knowing I’d have to put myself last one more time. “Sure, Libby. Don’t worry about it. Just be proud that you put on this great event tonight. And whatever you do, don’t drive home.”

She gave me a salute and wandered toward the food.

“Meri. Hey…” said a deep voice. For a split second, my stomach fluttered, hoping it might be Beau. Despite not wanting him here, I needed answers. And, maybe, I missed him a little, though I wasn’t about to admit it.

I turned to find a man with a big Christmas tree hat staring down at me. He had thin lips and a pockmarked face, and his sweater gave new meaning to the words “ugly sweater.” His had the silhouette of a naked woman strategically holding a tiny candy cane. Yes, as in she planned to put it somewhere special.

“Oh, hey,” I said, not having a clue who this grotesque creature was, which he picked up on.

“It’s me, Kevin from school.” He pointed at his chest, poking the lady’s boobs on his sweater.

I stared for a long moment before the dots connected. “Kevin Foster?” The guy who gave me the reputation of being a mega-slut?

“So great to see you.” His eyes floated down to my breasts.

Gross . “Kevin, I haven’t seen you in ages.” How unfortunate that he was breaking my winning streak.

“I went away to New York for college. Ended up becoming a lobbyist for a big pharmaceutical.”

Also gross. “Well, great to see you,” Grinch of my burgeoning sexual years , “but I have to check on the eggnog.” We didn’t have any, but whatever. “Hey, don’t forget to bid tonight. Stocking eight has one month of free teletherapy visits.”

“Eh, okay. Great to see you, Meri. Maybe we can grab a drink later,” Kevin called out as I walked away.

“I’d love that!” I said back. “After I drink rat poison.” I looked over my shoulder at his confused face.

Maybe he’d heard me. Maybe not. But there wasn’t a chance in snowy hell that I’d give that weasel a second more of my time.

Slutty tumbleweed. Asshole! Did he have any clue what his bullying had done to me? He’d taken a perfectly geeky girl, full of geeky-goodness potential, and shoved her into a shell so deep that she didn’t come out until she was twenty years old.

Even now, I had to wonder if my pattern of self-denial wasn’t related to feeling so ashamed of myself, like I didn’t deserve good things. And for what? For having bad hair? Big boobs? A nerdy obsession with holiday crafting?

Screw that guy. I smoothed my hands over my hair. The mountain air was giving me the frizzies. Ugh. Not now. At least I looked spectacular in my tight red dress and white furry coat.

I drew a slow breath and headed to the miniature stage to begin the auction. I turned on the mic and waited for the DJ to wrap up the song “Blue Christmas” by Elvis. As I tapped my foot, my eyes gravitated toward a tall man coming toward me with thick black hair and a long white beard. He stared with intense blue eyes.

I did a double take. “Beau?” The mic slipped from my hand.