2. “You Make It Feel Like Christmas”

2

"YOU MAKE IT FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS"

GWEN STEFANI, BLAKE SHELTON

I headed out the front door (ignoring my overgrown eyesore of a yard), and walked two doors down to Kari's house. She met me on her front porch with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes.

I had a tendency to trip going up stairs, so I watched as my foot landed on the bottom step, but the sound of her even, measured tone caused me to pause and look up.

"You know how the boys have been watching The Office ?"

Eeeeeeek.

It was her "shit's about to go down" tone, and while I was grateful it wasn't directed at me, I knew the twins were in for it.

"Oh God. Oh no. What did they hide in Jell-O? Or did they send you faxes from the future?" I'd discovered long ago that her anger was best diffused with humor, but I had also discovered (around the same time, unfortunately) that I had to be subtle and ease my way into certain situations . It was clearly one of those .

"Well, you're close. Just come in, but brace yourself."

She held the storm door open for me as I continued up the stairs and walked into her foyer. I stopped to pet her short- haired mixed-breed dog, Charlie. He was always excited to see me, but today he was in rare form, spinning in circles every time I reached to scratch his ears.

"He's out of his gourd today, but he's the least of my problems. Follow me."

We walked down the hallway toward her family room in the back of the house, and as soon as a corner of the room came into view, I knew exactly what I was there to see.

The entire room was covered in wrapping paper. Not just a few things, or the table, or the remotes for the TV. The entire room.

"These boys went through all the wrapping paper I bought after Christmas, and they wrapped every. Single. Thing. Look at the television. How on earth? It's attached to the wall. " Her pitch continued to rise, and by the end of the last word, she was almost shrieking.

I was trying to hold it together because I could tell from her voice and flushed complexion she was ready to snap.

I followed her pointed finger to the TV which was mounted above the fireplace. It was covered in what I could only imagine was the result of two seventeen-year-old boys with too much time, wrapping paper, and tape at their disposal. I didn't know how much wrapping paper she'd bought at the end of the last Christmas season, but from the looks of her family room, no two rolls were the same pattern. The television was covered in bright red paper with four-inch Santas, the table below it, white with red and green diagonal stripes. The walls (the walls! ) were a hodgepodge of festive designs—floor-to-ceiling stripes of green with white trees, white with red sleighs, and gold with pink ornaments—neatly held together with what had to be three miles of Scotch tape.

A giggle bubbled up, but I was able to stifle it quickly. Not quick enough .

"Oh, you think that's funny? You haven't even seen half of it."

Her fury was radiating into my pores and knew I needed to play it cool for just a little longer.

I didn't know where to look next; the entire room looked like the floor of a Macy's gift-wrapping room on December twenty-third. The couch (the couch! ) was sporting at least four different patterns, none of which had been repeated from the walls. Multi-colored "JOY" on white for the seat cushions while the back cushions were a combination of snowmen on red and reindeer on green. The armrests and base of the couch were silver snowflakes on hot pink, as were the multitude of throw pillows across the back. It was… shocking.

At that point, I began to emit a high-pitched noise, not too unlike a tea kettle trying to get your attention. I glanced in her direction to see if I needed to make a run for it, and while her face had darkened to a shade of purple I'd never seen before, her posture was starting to loosen up.

"Do not laugh. These are your godsons and you are partially responsible for this behavior with all your ridiculous pranks."

For years in her thirties, Kari had struggled to carry a baby past a few weeks gestation and finally found a doctor who could tell her why—a medication she'd taken as a child was the culprit. It had irreversibly damaged her eggs, and she was devastated to learn she'd never be able to have a baby the "traditional" way. A few months after that appointment, Kari came to me with a huge favor to ask, and I agreed without hesitation. What were a few eggs I wasn't using anyway? I'd had a boy and a girl—a matching set—and the rest of the eggs that had been with me nearly since conception were fated to grow old along with me. Kari had always been like a sister to me, and having the ability to potentially give her the one thing she wanted most in the world was a heady feeling.

A few months of hormone injections after I'd weaned Anna, a quick egg retrieval procedure, whatever Nick had to do for his part in the process, a bit of turkey baster action, and presto-chango, nine months later—twins. They were fifty percent Nick Peterson: deep voices, an acumen for math, and linebacker physiques; and fifty percent Aunt Paige: thick, brown, curly hair, blue eyes, nonstop tomfoolery, and a missing ‘off' switch. I would never apologize for that, but I did feel bad that my no-nonsense best friend was surrounded by knuckleheads, thanks to me.

I was thinking at that moment she might regret that decision, and the next words out of her mouth almost confirmed my suspicions.

"You're a terrible influence." Her voice broke at the end and I turned my head fast enough to see she was starting to find a tiny bit of humor in the situation. But as quickly as it had turned up, the corner of her mouth rejoined the thin straight line formed by lips that were undoubtedly holding back countless expletives.

"Are you ready for the cherry on top?"

I wasn't sure if I was. A full belly laugh was looming heavy in my chest and I knew better than to let it out just yet, so I clamped my lips together tight and nodded. "Mm-hm."

"So, you know how I've been asking Nick to break down those boxes since we replaced the appliances two months ago?"

Oh God. I can't do this anymore! Do not laugh. Whatever it is. Do not laugh.

"Yeeeees?"

"Well, I walked through the door after teaching yoga in a ninety-degree studio all day, and by the time I had hung my keys on the hook, I already knew something was up. This traitorous dog was dancing in circles at the edge of the family room, and there was no sign of the boys who are usually tackling me at the front door to see if I picked up anything at a drive-thru on the way home. If I hadn't already invested so much time and money into these two, I would drop them off at the fire station. Anyway, I practically ran down the hallway, and as soon as I passed the corner at the end, I could see why Charlie was spinning in circles and chasing his tail. This…"

She swept one arm Vanna-White-style across the scene in front of us.

"…greeted me. They had to have used every single roll of expensive double-sided Hallmark wrapping paper I bought last December. Where did they find all this tape? Did they have it hoarded in their rooms? Because I know when I'm looking for a single roll of tape, it's nowhere to be found."

She was really getting wound up again. I was desperate for a deep breath, but opted for tiny sips of air out of fear that a giggle would find its way up and out and jeopardize my very life.

I'd at least like to finish writing one single bleeping book before my last day on earth.

"Did you happen to notice the two rather large gift-wrapped cubes in the middle of the room?"

I hadn't, but as soon as my eyes landed on them and saw the holes torn through the double-sided multi-colored polka dot and striped paper, I knew exactly what had come next. Those boys were nothing if not inventive. And entertaining (to me, anyway).

"As soon as I saw the rest of the room, I gasped, obviously, which was their cue for phase two of their nonsense plan. Two knuckleheads came tearing through the tops of the boxes, screaming, 'IT'S CHRISTMAS IN JULY!' I tell you, Paige, if I didn't teach yoga four days a week, I'd be on the floor right now. My heart can't handle this shit. I'm getting too old for this."

That was it. That was all it took. The mental image of two enormous nearly eighteen-year-old men popping out of gift-wrapped boxes in the middle of a gift-wrapped family room was more than I could take. I was only human, after all .

I was doubled over at this point, unable to catch my breath or wrench my eyes open. After what was probably a full minute of my neglected laughter finally set free, I was able to stop long enough to open my eyes. I immediately wished I hadn't. Hands on her hips, she was looking down at me as if I were the one who had handed them each strip of paper to hang.

I took a deep breath through pursed lips and let it out slowly, hoping no new giggles would escape. "Please don't give me your ‘mom' look. It's terrifying, and you know I'm not good in these situations. I could barely hold it together when Jason and Anna pulled stunts like this."

"Uh-huh. So are you going to help them take it all down since ‘Aunt Paige' is genetically responsible for all of this tomfoolery?"

"Where are the boys, anyway?" I looked around behind me. "Do I need to do a wellness check?"

The corners of her mouth started to quake and I knew I almost had her.

"About five seconds after they both tore through the tops of their jackass-in-the box, they realized the error of their ways. They're lucky their father is traveling this week, but I yelled enough for the both of us. I sent them to their rooms so I could calm down. Hence why I called you right away. I knew you would laugh and I needed to not be so mad."

I started to feel a little less guilty about my utter lack of self control. At least she knew what she was getting herself into when she called me—and it wasn't a lecture on responsible wrapping paper storage.

Another thought flashed into my mind, however. One more terrifying than the stare down from moments before.

"Do you—? Should I—? Am I supposed to help them clean this up?"

I could feel Kari finally relax a bit. Heard a quick chuckle .

"No, this one is all on them to clean, but I wanted you to see it before they started. And I needed some comic relief."

"Well…," I looked around the room once more, then punched her lightly on the shoulder. "I hope I delivered."

"That you did." She cleared her throat and put her hand on my forearm. "While you're here…" She looked at me earnestly and squeezed my arm. "Do you have time to sit outside and talk for a few minutes? I had a great idea during one of my classes today."

Oh, hell no.

Kari didn't ask if I had time to talk unless I was about to get a "friendly" lecture, and nobody's got time for one of those on such a beautiful Saturday evening.

"I actually have a lot of work to catch up on, and there's laundry all over my bed that's waiting to be folded?—"

"That laundry has been there for a month. And it's Saturday. What work do you have to catch up on?"

"It's a new project. I haven't told you about it yet. And this morning I was buried under the laundry avalanche and could have died. I really must be going. Kiss the boys for me. Good luck." I continued deflecting with increasingly lame excuses as I backed down the hall and out the door. Her look of loving disappointment was the last thing I saw through the glass of her storm door before I turned and fled down the porch stairs and back to the relative safety of my self-made prison.

Ten seconds after plopping myself down onto the tropical-print cushions of my porch swing, I heard a bing as a text came in. I knew who it was from before I even unlocked my screen.

Kari Kari Bo Berry: Coward.

Guilty as charged. People might think you're all peaceful and shit because you're a yogi, but it's a fool who thinks that. You're scary. I'll stay here with my fluffy dog and my unfulfilled dreams.

Kari Kari Bo Berry: Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. I had some ideas. Good ones.

Just don't. Please. Don't you have a room to unwrap?

Kari Kari Bo Berry: I know you're sick of hearing it from me, but we've been friends, practically sisters, for almost half a century, and it's hard to see you stuck?—

—You're cranky.

Kari Kari Bo Berry: And you're avoiding. I love you. I have to supervise Wrapfest 2023 because I'm willing to bet they won't have nearly as much enthusiasm for the cleanup as they did the mischief that got us into this position in the first place.

That's what she said.

Kari Kari Bo Berry: Exactly. Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen. Goodbye.

I was reading over our exchange and enjoying the ability to finally let my laughter free (because the whole thing deserved to be laughed at) when another text came in, and my phone auto-scrolled me to it.

Kari Kari Bo Berry: Think about what you won't let me say because you know it's true. You need to shake things up. You need to get out of that house—as much as it kills me to say—and you need to get out of your comfort zone and start searching for the beautiful adventure that's waiting for you on the other side of everything you've ever known. It's going to be hard. I know you're scared, but I believe in you, and I'll be there to cheer you on every step of the way, I promise. I've got you.

Not wanting to read whatever was being furiously typed at that very moment, I dropped my phone facedown on the table next to the swing, pushed off the ground with my foot, and forward through the air I sailed.

I was painfully aware that something in my life needed to drastically change, but I didn't know what—or how. I wished sometimes there were blinking arrows pointing us through life.

At that moment, the only blinking arrow was coming from my stomach. As I rose from the swing, I took one last lingering look at the buzz of activity on the sidewalk in front of my house, picked up my phone, and went inside to order my dinner.

The next morning, I was awakened by the sound of the doorbell, which might be the worst way to start the day. No leisurely cup of coffee. No lazing around in bed, scrolling through my various social feeds (because who doesn't love a bit of digital eavesdropping on all the best parts of someone else's life?). No avoiding the world on the other side of my bedroom door. I considered lying there for a few minutes in the hopes that whoever they were would just fluff off somewhere else. I rolled over to face the window instead of the pile of unfolded laundry that greeted me when I opened my eyes, tucked my pillow between my knees, and pulled the duvet over my head.

"Ding-dong." the insistent bell called again, announcing that whoever couldn't take a hint was still on the other side of the door. Roxy's ears were slightly less floppy as she listened to see if there might be imminent danger, probably so she knew whether she needed to hide.

"It's Sunday, for God's sake. This is supposed to be a day of rest ," I grumbled, then reached up to yank the covers off my head. Roxy abandoned her bed and stood beside mine, her tail wagging at a pace that could only mean one thing: she sensed excitement. I reached out to pet her head as I stood.

To avoid the intrusion of a third ring of the doorbell, I thrust my feet into my slippers and made my way to the top of the stairs, my good-time Charlie of a dog plastered to my side.

I strode through the kitchen and rounded the corner to the hallway leading to the front door. I could clearly see my mother, MaryBeth, her forehead pressed against the glass of the sidelight, and the tall, thin outline of my father, Theo, could be seen through the etched-glass upper half of the front door.

This smells like trouble.