1. Benji

BENJI

The jingle of bells woke me from my sleep, and I sprang out of bed with more boing and bounce than a jack-in-the-box tearing through its gift-wrapping on Christmas morning. Yes sir, the most wonderful time of the year was here, and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face… that is, until I looked at the cuckoo clock on my wall and gasped.

“Oh no, look at the time! I’ve slept the whole way through Christmas Eve, and now I’m going to miss the parade!”

The Christmas Eve parade was the most beloved yearly ritual in all of Mulligan’s Mill. Just about everyone in town spent weeks, even months preparing for the parade. Floats were built, costumes were made, decorations were hung and as the sun went down and the Christmas lights lit up the night, the entire population of Mulligan’s Mill would line the streets to wave the parade through town, beginning with Santa’s workshop and ending with the unveiling of each year’s Mr. and Mrs. Claus— as chosen by the town’s Christmas committee.

Every year, someone different won the title of Mr. and Mrs Claus.

Every year, the people of Mulligan’s Mill nominated their neighbors and friends and even themselves in the hopes they might don the coveted suits and spectacles.

Every year, whoever received the honor was a tightly kept secret until the final float in the parade made its way down Main Street.

Hurriedly, I wrapped myself all snug and warm in the fluffy robe I’d bought myself as an early Christmas present, schnoozled my toes into my matching slippers, and raced out onto my bedroom balcony overlooking a spectator-packed Main Street, with not a second to spare.

As soon as I stepped up to the snow-capped balcony railing— sparkling flakes fluttering down from the sky like perfect butterflies made of ice— the parade approached my BnB.

As was the annual tradition, the town’s brass band led the parade. Only this year, the town band had really stepped up its game. Instead of the usual ragtag musicians, this year’s offering was a 1940s big band spectacular, their trumpets blasting, cymbals clashing, drums drumming and flugelhorns flugeling as they razzle-dazzled their way through Andy Williams’ “ It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. ” In unison the band stepped to the left and did a little kick, they stepped to the right and did another kick, and all the horns pointed to the sky and sent a brassy blast to the heavens as the crowd went wild.

I clapped frantically, thrilled by the prospect of what was next. I was not disappointed.

The first float was decorated like Santa’s workshop, busy with Elves building toys with brightly colored hammers and wrapping presents with ribbons and bows.

“Well look at that,” I said to myself. “We got real Elves for the parade this year. I’m impressed. No expense spared.” I waved to the little Elves, and they all waved back, their faces filled with joy. “Oh, bless their peanut-sized hearts.”

And standing over the Elves, supervising their work and checking on their progress, was the Mill’s own hardware expert Harry Dalton, posing as head toymaker and dressed in coveralls and knitted sweater with a woollen beanie on his head.

He waved up to me and boomed, “Merry Christmas, Benji!”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Harry! I like your Elves!”

“Oh, they’re not mine. They have to be back by midnight. Don’t ask.”

I shrugged off his answer, like the Elves’ schedule was none of my concern.

As the workshop sailed by through the dancing snow, the second float came into view.

My jaw dropped in wonder at the sight of a giant snow globe. Inside it, Mitch Winton and Gage Channing skated on a small frozen version of Lassiter’s Lake, gliding across the ice with Ginny Channing in her winged wheelchair. The three of them spun and pirouetted around like ballet dancers in a music box, all to the applause of the crowds lining the street.

As they skated figure eights, Mitch, Gage, and Ginny caught sight of me on my balcony and waved, shouting through the glass, “Merry Christmas, Benji!”

I cupped my hands around the sides of my mouth and shouted back, “Merry Christmas, Mitch and Gage! Merry Christmas, Ginny! How on earth did you build that snow globe?”

Ginny gave a casual shrug. “A little bit of science. A little bit of hope. And a lot of determination.”

I gave a thumbs up. “Nailed it!”

As the second float glided by, the third float came into view. It was a cute-as-a-button replica of Pascal’s patisserie shopfront on one side, and Bud’s flower shop on the other. From the miniature doorway of his shop, Pascal handed out macarons and profiteroles to the crowd, while Bud threw flowers to the thrilled spectators.

“Hi Bud! Hi Pascal!” I waved from my balcony.

Together, Bud and Pascal called back, “Merry Christmas, Benji!” before tossing me a strawberry macaron and a rose. I managed to catch them both.

The rose smelled heavenly.

The macaron tasted divine.

“This is the best Christmas Eve parade ever!” I said to myself, unaware that things were about to get even better.

As the fourth float came into view, my heart swooned and my mouth watered. From a wonderland of icicles and ice cream, Clarry and River— both dressed in penguin suits— handed out ice cream cones to all the children in the crowd, while a team of real-life penguins waddled busily about helping them, putting cherries on the top of each ice cream with their floppy flippers.

“Oh wow,” I gushed. “This is the best Christmas Eve parade ever.” I leaned over the balcony railing and called down to them. “Merry Christmas, Clarry! Merry Christmas, River! Say, you got any Merry Berry Tinsel Toffee cones left?”

“We sure do,” grinned Clarry.

Beside him, River hurled an ice cream cone high in the air toward me.

I caught it with poise, quite unlike me, and lapped up the cold creamy goodness. “Mm-mmm, that’s one of your best yet, Clarry!”

“Thanks! I had help from River and some of the penguins.” A couple of the black-and-white birds snuggled up to him. “Isn’t that right, Waddle-Toes and Wiggle-Butt?”

As Clarry and River’s winter wonderland sailed by, I jiggled with excitement.

I knew the final float would be the big unveiling of who had been chosen to play Santa and Mrs. Claus. I held my breath as the front of Santa’s huge sleigh came into view, when suddenly I felt a pair of warm arms wrap themselves around me from behind.

I felt a strong body press hard against me and quivered at the touch of lips against my neck.

My heart galloped at the kiss.

My eyes teared up at the scent of him.

My throat let out a whimper of joy as I heard his voice. “You gonna stand out here on the balcony and watch the whole parade? Or would you rather be back in bed with me?”

I spun about to see Bastian’s smiling face.

He was back.

He was standing here with his arms around me… at last.

He was mine… just as he was always meant to be.

Until I realized—

“But I don’t even have a balcony.”

Suddenly I was falling.

I gave a sharp yelp as my entire body jerked me out of my sleep, too late to stop myself from tumbling over the side of my bed and onto the cold floorboards, landing with a thunk and a grunt.

“Ow! Fucking ow!” I scowled as I rubbed my shoulder, angry at the bruise yet to form and the dream that had apparently lured me straight off the edge of my own bed. “Elves? Penguins? How the hell did I fall for that?”

On the wall, the cuckoo popped out of the clock, his bird call wonky and well off-key.

I looked up at him and muttered, “At least you’re real. Even if you are in need of a fine-tune, or some Prozac, perhaps even some therapy. Join the club.”

He warbled another weird cuckoo, as if agreeing to the idea, then disappeared inside his little ticking birdhouse once more.

Bleary-eyed I read the time.

The clock told me it was just before seven.

Contrary to my dream, it was not late in the day on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t even Christmas Eve yet. It was morning, and outside my bedroom windows I saw a flurry of snow, the mistletoe-adorned streetlamps still aglow waiting for the sun to rise. As my senses caught up with reality, I realized that Christmas was still five days away.

“Five days,” I murmured to myself. “That means…”

Instantly my phone blurted to life, buzzing with such urgency that it vibrated itself off the bedside table.

I caught it before it hit the floorboards like I did.

I knew it was my mother before I even looked at the caller ID, and took the call to hear my overly excited mother announcing, “Five days to go, Benji! It’s T-minus five days till Christmas morning. The clock is ticking, but don’t panic. We’ve drawn up the schedule, everyone has their jobs to do, and I just know this is going to be the most perfect Christmas ever.” She ended her sentence with a high-pitched squee that forced me to hold the phone away from my ear for a few seconds.

“Mom, you say that every year.”

“And every year it is the most perfect Christmas ever. Your father and I just keep raising the bar, don’t we?”

“Except for the Christmas when that snowstorm shut down the power and we all almost froze to death,” I reminded her.

“Oh, but how lovely it was to sing carols by candlelight.”

“And what about the time Dad brought a Christmas tree home and there was a family of woodpeckers living in it?”

“And weren’t they just the cutest?”

“And let’s never forget the Christmas when Uncle Bernie choked on a sugar cookie and died.”

“Well, yes, that was unfortunate.”

“Mom, he was still dressed as Santa Claus! Do you know what that does to a six-year-old?”

“Like I said, we’ve raised the bar since then. Now are you coming for breakfast so we can go through the family roster? I’m making waffles, your father has mastered Excel bedsheets and worked out the family job roster, and your cousin Connie will be finished her tantric yoga any minute.”

“Spreadsheets, Mom. Excel does spreadsheets, not bedsheets.”

“Oh potato, potarto, what do I know. That’s why your father’s so clever. He’s nailed it, you know.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“That’s the spirit, sweetie. Christmas is all about believing. Now get a shuffle on and get yourself over here before the waffles go cold. And be sure you turn up with a chipper smile on that handsome dial of yours. Tis the season to be jolly, remember?”

To say that my parents, Lonnie and Ronnie, were fans of Christmas was something of an understatement. They were the type of people who looked forward to it all year round. Mom usually had all her Christmas shopping done by July, and cards written and ready well before the snow began to fall, although Mom didn’t like to deliver them to the people of Mulligan’s Mill until just before Christmas Day. She had a theory that the cards which arrived just before Christmas always received the best spot on the mantle, while cards that had arrived days or weeks earlier always got shoved to the back. Meanwhile, my dad put up the majority of Christmas fixtures the same day he took the Halloween decorations down, replacing ghosts and goblins with elves and reindeer. In a matter of minutes, the cobweb-covered tombstones in the front yard became a nativity scene, white-sheeted ghosts were replaced with inflatable snowmen, and the pumpkins lining the front porch were turned into pie, making way for angels with trumpets and signs that read Santa Stop Here and Grinch-Free Zone!

And then there were the lights that adorned the house, blanketing the roof and spiraling up and down the porch posts. Every morning Dad insisted on checking every single bulb in case any of them had blown, threatening to short-out the entire tapestry of twinkling lights.

I sighed over the phone, wondering what jobs I would receive on this year’s Larson family Christmas job roster. The thought of it was almost enough for me to make an excuse to skip breakfast. I was a terrible liar, but it was worth a shot.

“Actually, Mom. I can’t make it this morning.”

“Why on earth not, dear?”

“Because… um… because.” I remembered Maggie was all by herself, since Mitch, Gage, and Ginny had been invited to Washington DC for some fancy Christmas shindig, while Bud and Pascal had already left to spend Christmas in the south of France. “Because Maggie needs my help closing up the flower shop for the holidays.”

The fib seemed rather authentic, until my mother laughed down the line. “Oh Benji, don’t be silly darling. I know you’re making that up.”

“How?”

“Because I invited Maggie to join us here for breakfast. She’s at a complete loss without Mitch and Gage and Ginny, not to mention how desperately she wanted to join Bud and Pascal in the south of France. She practically broke her neck trying to squeeze into their suitcase so she could smuggle herself away with them. The poor dear needs family around her at this time of year.”

“Maggie is spending Christmas with us?”

“Yes.”

“But she’s not family.”

“She is this year, dear. We’ll just pretend.”

“Can’t some other family pretend? Why us?”

“Because we offered.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s what you do at Christmas time. You open your home up to the homeless.”

“Mom, Maggie’s not homeless. And since when have you ever opened your home to the homeless? Name one person.”

“Your cousin Connie.”

“Connie’s not homeless. She could have a place of her own if she could be bothered to get a job.”

“Oh darling, promise me you’re not one of those people who tells the destitute to get a job. You don’t kick over their cups full of coins, do you? I raised you better than that.”

“No, Mother, I do not abuse homeless people.”

“Good, because Christmas is all about being kind to your fellow man. And that includes Maggie, not that she’s a man, but she does need something to distract her right now. Which is why your father and I decided to add her to the Christmas job roster. We’ve already found the perfect job for her.”

“What is it? Please don’t let her near any electrical sockets.”

“All will be revealed over waffles, now get a wriggle on, would you?”

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”

I knew all too well that the sign referring to Mom and Dad’s house as a “Grinch-Free Zone” was my parents’ way of telling me to cheer up for the holidays. But while I had no intention of ever competing with the constant level of cheer and happiness that radiated from my parents like rainbow sparkles emanating from a baby unicorn galloping through a field of daises in spring, I was also pretty confident that I wasn’t the grumpiest human being to ever walk the earth.

Was I?

Sure, I could admit there was a certain air of gloom and despondency about me some days… or most days… but hell, I deserved to be glum after you-know-who up and left me precisely three years, four months, and six days ago.

But who was counting?

Nevertheless, even the darkest shadows of the past couldn’t dull the glimmer and shimmer of Mulligan’s Mill during the Christmas season. Despite all my moodiness and broodiness, despite everything that had happened to me in the past, there was no denying that this tiny town in the middle of the woods always managed to transform itself into the picture-perfect vision of a snow-capped Christmas village worthy of any “Seasons Greetings” postcard.

Pine trees adorned with fairy lights, and brightly colored, life-sized Nutcracker Princes carved out of wood, lined the pavements. The streetlamps had been turned into giant candy canes. Wreaths with large red bows hung on every door. And in the middle of the town park, a short distance from Winnie’s Wishing Well, stood the town Christmas tree. It loomed large, no less than three-stories tall, and was decorated with tinsel and twinkling lights, as well as ornaments representing the first eight items from the twelve days of Christmas— eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and perched at the very top was a partridge… not in a pear tree, but a pine tree. Harry Dalton— being the head of the town Christmas Committee, not to mention head of the Volunteer Fire Department and owner of Harry’s Hardware — was in charge of adding the other items from the song to the tree, one day at a time, until twelve drummers would finally be positioned in a ring around the base of the tree on Christmas morning.

Yes, Mulligan’s Mill was a sight so pretty at this time of year that I decided to sling a scarf around my neck and walk the short distance through town to my parents’ house. I even embraced the merriment by searching for a Christmas playlist on my phone, slipping on my headphones— which conveniently doubled as earmuffs— and playing Sia’s catchy Christmas track “ Candy Cane Lane .”

I passed along the riverbank where the ice shelves forming along the sides of the river competed with the cold flowing water for dominance.

I wandered by Raven’s General Store where a week earlier Old Man Raven and his son River had fixed a dusty old sleigh to the roof, as the old man did every year, proud of his efforts to join the town in celebration, even if the sun-blistered Santa dummy in the sleigh looked more like a red-suited scarecrow from some cornfield of death.

I strolled along the edge of the park where I saw Harry checking on his prized tree, its branches powdered with snow.

I momentarily slipped the headphones down around my neck. “Morning, Harry. The tree looks swell.”

“You think so? Thanks, Benji.” Harry grinned and scratched his bushy brown beard. It crossed my mind that he’d make a mighty handsome Mr. Claus if that beard ever turned gray.

It also crossed my mind that instead of wallowing in the misery of my ex-boyfriend leaving me, perhaps I should be putting myself out there more. You know, meeting guys. Going on dates. Seeing if there really was life after Bastian. Harry was a good-looking guy. Maybe in some parallel universe I was happy snuggling up to him in his log cabin on the outskirts of town.

Then again, I reminded myself, Harry wasn’t even gay.

At least, he’d never done or said anything before to indicate he was that way inclined.

Then again, I never really thought Mitch was gay either, until he came back to town and got together with Gage, who I also hadn’t pegged as a friend of Dorothy.

Then there was Bud, the ex-mechanic-turned-florist. He wasn’t exactly on my bingo card either, nor was River, the town’s wartime hero.

“Geez, is my gaydar on the fritz?” I asked myself. I glanced back at Harry who winked back at me and gave me a little farewell salute with two fingers. “God, I’ll never get another boyfriend if I can’t figure out who’s gay and who’s not.”

Slowly my chipped and cracked heart sank a little, because the sad fact was, I didn’t really want another boyfriend. I thought I’d found “the one.”

The problem was, my “one” simply didn’t feel the same about me.

I slipped my headphones back on to try and drown out my woes. I picked up my pace and within minutes I was standing at the white picket fence outside my parents’ house. I pulled my headphones down around my neck again. In the front yard I waved “hi” to Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus, then gave a nod to Frosty the Snowman who needed a little more air blown into his butt. At the front door I untied my bootlaces, slipped my woolly-socked feet out of my boots, pulled my key out of my pocket and opened the front door.

“Hi, I’m here,” I called into the house.

I was instantly greeted by excited shouts from within.

“He’s here, everyone! Benji’s home!” called my mother.

“Benji’s here, everyone,” echoed my dad. “Here’s Benji!” He appeared first around the living room doorway, a big grin on his face. “Aw, come here, son. Bring it in.”

“Hey Dad.” He pulled me in for a hug. “How’s everything going?”

“Busier than ever, what with the Christmas roster and the bedsheets—”

“Spreadsheets.”

“Spreadsheets. Yes those. Busy, busy. Thank goodness Pascal decided to close the patisserie for Christmas. I’m not sure your mother and I could have coped holding down a part-time job and getting everything ready for Christmas at the same time. We would have had to quit one, and Santa stops for nobody, right?” He laughed loudly. “Am I right? Nobody quits Christmas, right?”

At that moment, Mom appeared wiping her hands on her apron. “Who’s quitting Christmas?” she said, a tone of devastation in her voice.

“Nobody, dear,” Dad told her. “Nobody quits Christmas. Am I right?”

“You’re right, Ronnie darling. Nobody quits Christmas.”

Dad finally released me so that Mom could have her turn at a cuddle. “Benji, sweetie. You’re all snowflakey. Did you walk here? What’s the matter with your car? Does it need fixing? Are you having trouble paying your mechanic bill because nobody’s checked into the BnB these holidays… again?”

“Mom, the car’s fine. My bills are fine. It was such a beautiful morning, and the snow was falling so light and delicate, I thought I’d walk.”

Mom looked happy… and impressed. “Well, look at you, embracing the holiday cheer. Good for you, darling. Now come on through, breakfast is almost ready, and Connie should be well and truly done with her yoga.” Looking up at the ceiling, Mom shouted to the void upstairs. “Connie! Your cousin Benji is here! Come on down, sweetie!”

I heard the pounding of Connie’s feet on the stairs and braced myself, trembling a little on the inside as she let out a loud and squealy, “Cuzzzzz! Oh, look at you, you’re cuter than an Elf on a shelf! Is that the Christmas sweater I bought you last year? I’m pretty sure that’s the one I gave you.”

“Connie, you’ve never given me a sweater for Christmas.”

“Sure, I did. I made you take off your shirt in front of everyone and try it on, remember?”

“That never happened.”

“It didn’t? Huh. I must have dreamed it then.” She winked and gave me a hard slap on the ass that made me squeak like a rubber toy. “Maybe this year.”

While Mom and Dad were also wearing Christmas sweaters— Dad’s read “Santa, I’ve been naughty,” and Mom’s read “It’s a good thing I’ve been nice”— Connie herself was dressed in her usual hippie style, wearing faded bell-bottom jeans with a knitted shawl draped around her shoulders and a tie-dyed scarf wrapped around her blonde Farrah Fawcett locks.

She gave her hair a flirty toss with one hand and took me by the forearm with the other. “Come on, Cuz. Help me choose another record. Your Mom’s been playing Bette Midler’s Christmas album all morning. If I hear ‘ Mele Kalikimaka ’ one more time…”

“Oh, that’s my favorite Christmas song ever!” Mom exclaimed, swiveling her hips as though she was wearing a hula skirt. “Maybe we should all go to Hawaii for Christmas one year. Wouldn’t that be fun, everyone? Oh, do you think we’ll see Santa on a surfboard? Imagine that.” By now, we had followed my hula dancing mother into the living room. “I could make pina-colada eggnog and your father could do a suckling pig with an apple in its mouth. Poor little dear, we can pray to the Hawaiian gods that it lived a happy life. Speaking of which…”

Mom spotted Great Nan sitting in her oversized armchair in a corner of the living room, motionless in the glow of the colored lights blinking in the Christmas tree that towered beside her.

Great Nan’s head was slumped on her chest…

Her arms had gone limp, dangling lifelessly over the padded arms of the chair…

And her dead, wide open eyes stared vacantly across the room at the record spinning on the player, while Bette sang merrily to a chorus of strumming ukeleles.

I gulped with dread. “Mom? Dad? Is Great Nan…?”

Mom swatted my unfinished question away with a wave of her hand. “Oh darling, of course not. She’s just sleeping with her eyes open again.”

With a snappy stride, as though she had other more important jobs to cross off her list, Mom walked over to Great Nan, reached for the lever on the side of the chair, and gave the leg rest a good ratchet up and down until Great Nan’s head bobbed awake with a start and a splutter.

“Great Nan!” said my mother with the volume turned way up. “Are you still with us? You were sleeping with your eyes awake again.”

Great Nan’s eyes blinked with surprise. “I was? Well shit, I must have dozed off. I dreamed that I was floating toward the light, only it wasn’t just one light, there were lots of them, all of them calling to me.”

Mom jangled a branch on the tree beside Great Nan. “It was just the Christmas lights in the tree, Great Nan. You were practically staring straight at them.”

Disappointment washed over Great Nan’s face. “I thought it was the lights of Heaven?”

“No, Great Nan. These are the lights of Walmart. Now, no more dozing off, we’re about to have our annual Larson Family Christmas Planning meeting.”

Great Nan shuddered visibly. “I think I’d rather clean my ears out with a shovel.”

Mom ignored her and helped Great Nan out of her chair and over to the dining table.

Connie meanwhile dragged me over to the record player and pulled me down into a kneeling position beside her like we were kids again, mesmerized by the spinning record on the turntable. That was the thing about Connie; despite the fact that she was almost forty and a good ten years older than me, she had never lost the kind of childish charm that had dimmed inside me long ago. While her libido and sexual energy had well and truly matured, her carefree nature and love of all things fun and cheerful made me wish I’d inherited the joy gene in the family like her… and Mom… and Dad. As I glanced at my family, it seemed the only thing that got passed down to me was Great Nan’s cantankerous sarcasm.

Of course, it wasn’t always that way.

I was once joyful too, seeing nothing but the bright side of any situation.

That is, until three years, four months, and six days ago.

But that’s another story.

“Don’t get me wrong, I fucking adore your parents’ retro record collection,” Connie was saying as we knelt together in front of the player. “I just have a limit when it comes to ‘ Mele Kalikimaka ,’ that’s all. It’s Christmas, we want songs about snow, not swaying palm trees, right?” She stopped flipping through my parents’ record collection when she found what she wanted. “Ooh, this is perfect.”

A slightly warped vinyl slipped out of its plastic sleeves, and before I knew it, Bing Crosby began crooning “ White Christmas .”

Over by the table, Mom practically swooned and Dad practically caught her in his arms. “Oh, Connie darling, this is my favorite Christmas song ever!”

I gave Connie a quizzical look. “I thought ‘ Mele Kalikimaka ’ was her favorite Christmas song ever.”

“She’s just feeling the vibe, Cuz. Let her enjoy it.” She grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s go make sure Great Nan doesn’t fall out of her chair.”

Just as Great Nan began to slide to the left in her chair, Connie took the seat beside her and kept her propped up. “It’s okay, Great Nan. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you, dear. The room was starting to sink on one side. Must be a leaky pipe in the basement. I’ve told Reggie to fix it, but he won’t listen.”

“You mean Ronnie,” I said, taking a seat opposite Connie. “Dad’s name is Ronnie.”

Great Nan gave me a look of exasperation… or was it frustration… or was she simply wondering who the heck I was. “Thanks for sticking your nose in, Barnaby. But I think I know my own son-in-law’s name. Isn’t that right, Reynold?”

Dad was laying out napkins and cutlery. “That’s right, Great Nan.”

I noticed then how many settings there were at the table. “Why are there six places?”

Mom set a large plate of waffles down on the table. “Darling, I told you. We invited Maggie to breakfast too. She’ll be here any minute. She said she was having a little trouble with Mrs. Roper.”

“A little trouble? Given their track record, I’d say she’s having a lot of trouble. What happened?”

“I have no idea. It’s Maggie… we’ve all learned not to ask questions.” Mom turned to Dad. “Darling, would you mind fetching the jug of maple syrup, it’s on the kitchen bench. And I bought extra whipped cream. Maggie’s coming, after all. We know how much she loves all things sugary.”

“I guess that’s what makes her so sweet,” said Connie out of the blue.

I kinda grinned at my cousin. “Really? You think Maggie is sweet?”

“Oh, my goddess, yes. She’s adorable.”

“Huh.” I didn’t see that coming.

“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” Connie asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I know Bud and Mitch and her family love her. But I think some people find her kind of abrasive. I mean, have you actually seen how she talks to people in the flower shop? When Mrs. Cooper asked if they had any white roses, Maggie handed her a bunch of red roses and told her to stick them in a bucket of bleach. When old Mr. Giles asked her how much a bouquet of daffodils cost, Maggie took his wallet and asked ‘how much have you got?’ And then there was the time Mrs. Roper came into the shop to buy some flowers for her sick sister. Maggie shoved a bunch of sunflowers at her and told her to stick ’em where the sun don’t shine.”

“Well, Mrs. Roper kinda deserves what she gets.” Connie wasn’t wrong about that.

I shrugged again. “I know Maggie doesn’t mean any harm. I know she’s abrupt and kinda weird. All I’m saying is, she’s an acquired taste, that’s all.”

Under the table, I flinched as Connie rubbed her leg up mine. Across the table, she grinned and winked at me. “Aw, come on Cuz. Lighten up. Like I always say, live and let live. Love and let love.”

There Connie was, being all flirty with me as she’d done all my life, as though she was itching to make us “kissing cousins.” And there my parents were— Mom returning from the kitchen with a tray of streaky bacon strips while Dad followed her juggling a jug of maple syrup and three bowls of whipped cream — with no idea that my own cousin was undressing me with her eyes across the table.

And all I could do was roll my eyes.

I loved my cousin, but not in a roll-in-the-haystack kinda way.

My parents loved my cousin too, because her parents had died before their time and Mom and Dad had taken Connie in and treated her like the daughter they never had. They loved her spirit, her positivity, her lust for life. And I couldn’t deny that the energy they picked up from her kept them young and happy too. And again, I felt a little envious of that joyful streak in the family that I seemed to be missing these days.

I so wished that joy came as easily to me as it did them.

Of course, some days— when the snow fell in a gentle flutter, each snowflake unique and perfect in its own way; when the Christmas lights, bright and beautiful, guided my way through this picturesque town; when the ice formed on the edges of the river, and the sun shone from the blue sky above, and Harry waved from the Christmas tree in the middle of the park— I felt hopeful that happiness would one day return to my life.

Then there were other times, when the wind blew cold and days were gray and the nights were lonely, and all I wanted to do was cry until the pillow was soaked and the well of tears inside me ran dry.

“Time to turn those frowns upside down, everyone!” hollered a voice from the front door. “Maggie’s here!”

As Maggie appeared in the doorway to the dining room— a great big grin on her face despite the stranglehold of a brace wrapped around her neck— Mom came running out of the kitchen with a bowl of strawberries in one hand and a big plate of scrambled eggs and ham in the other. “Oh, Maggie’s here! Look everyone, Maggie’s here!”

A second later, Dad appeared from the kitchen carrying a bunch of serving spoons, tongs and a backup can of whipped cream in case the first three cans ran out, exclaiming, “Oh, Maggie’s here! Look everyone, Maggie’s here.”

“Hey Maggie!” squeed Connie, waving at her excitedly with both hands.

“Geez Maggie,” I said, eyeing the neck brace with more curiosity than concern. “What did you do to your neck?”

“Oh, this? Travel incident.” Maggie said it like she was a seasoned traveler, used to mishaps abroad.

“I told you, Benji,” said Mom in a hushed tone, trying to downplay any embarrassment. “Maggie had an accident with Bud and Pascal’s suitcase.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

Maggie didn’t seem embarrassed at all. “Sheesh, it’s nothing. These things happen. Oooh, do I smell waffles?”

“You sure do. Come on in,” beckoned Mom. “Take a seat next to Benji. You’re just in time, breakfast is served.”

Maggie sat in the chair next to me while Mom and Dad took their seats at opposite ends of the table.

“Sorry I’m late,” Maggie said. “Mrs. Roper was being rude.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, I was trying to be all neighborly and wished her Merry Christmas… at which point she told me to shove it… at which point I picked up a snowball and broke her window. That’s what snowballs are for, right?”

“I think they’re for snowball fights, dear,” Mom said.

“Which is exactly what we were having.”

“I think Mom means the fun kind,” I said.

“Oh, it was fun all right, hearing that glass break. So satisfying, but man I worked up an appetite doing it. These waffles look so good. Thanks so much for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. L. You sure you don’t mind me crashing your planning party?”

“Of course not, dear. You’re always welcome at the Larsons’. You’re like one of the family.”

From across the table, Great Nan pointed at Maggie and said to nobody in particular, “Who the fuck’s that?”

Mom reached over and patted Great Nan’s hand. “Great Nan, that’s Maggie. Mitch Winton’s sister.

“You mean the crazy cat lady?”

“Great Nan, it’s not nice to stereotype people like that. Besides, Maggie doesn’t even own a cat.” My mom frowned, instantly doubting her own statement before asking Maggie, “Do you, dear?”

Maggie gave a dubious frown too. “I’m not entirely sure. There’s no real evidence, but I will admit when the house was full of junk, I often heard a strange scratching from one of the piles of newspapers. It could have been a cat. Or a baby bear. Or Satan. Jury’s still out on that one.” At the mention of the Devil, Maggie put her fingers to her mouth and glanced at a nearby nativity scene on the mantle. “Shit, sorry Baby Jesus. I probably shouldn’t mention Satan on your birthday week. That guy’s a downer. I’ll only think positive thoughts from now on. Mmmm, look at those waffles. Say, would anyone mind passing them down this way? I’m starving.”

“I still don’t know who the fuck she is,” muttered Great Nan.

As Connie passed the waffles, she randomly remarked, “Don’t you think it’s funny that Satan and Santa have almost the same name? Did anyone think that through? Feels like someone on the marketing team wasn’t on their game that day, don’t you think?”

“Cousin Connie, are you being scurrilous about the festive season?” I teased.

“What on earth does scurrilous even mean?” Mom asked.

“It means squirrel-like,” answered Maggie, drowning her waffles in maple syrup before licking the spout on the jug to stop it from dripping. “You know how they like to scurrell up trees? It means that.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely correct,” said Connie. “And no, my darling cousin, I was not being scurrilous at all. You know me. Even though I’m Buddhist— and even though Buddha himself can’t stand Christmas— I love the fact that the festive season promotes peace on earth… that is, if you can manage to turn a blind eye to the gluttony of consumerism that practically washes every ounce of good intentions down the drain. But hey, live and let live, love and let love, right? After all, my middle name is Harmony, remember?”

“No, it’s not, dear,” said Mom. “It’s Susan.”

“Oh ,I had that officially changed years ago.”

“You did?” Mom seemed mortified. “What would your Aunt Susan think, God rest her soul.”

“She’s at one with the rainbows now,” Connie shrugged. “She’s not thinking about anything anymore. She’s free from the chains of consciousness, floating blissfully through beams of light and color to the sound of whale songs echoing through the cosmos.”

“Well, so long as she’s doing it in the dress we buried her in, I’m happy.” Mom smiled warmly. “How she loved that dress.”

“Mom, you buried Aunt Susan in her wedding dress.”

“So?”

“So, she died a spinster. She was single her whole life. It was just her and her friend, Nancy, in that little cabin of theirs in the woods. Don’t you think it was weird she even owned a wedding dre—”

Connie and I suddenly looked at each other. “Oh my God,” I uttered. “Mom, are you saying that Aunt Susan bats on the same team as me?”

“How would I know, dear? You know I don’t follow baseball.”

“What team’s that?” Maggie asked, her eyes darting left and right for an answer, unable to move her head.

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond other than stating the obvious. “If Mom is saying what I think she’s saying, it’s the LGBTQ+ team.”

“Benji dear, I didn’t ‘say’ anything. All I did was mention the dress Aunt Susan was buried in. Aunt Susan was a very private person. The way she lived her life was nobody’s business but hers. She lived a happy life.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m also quite certain she’d be beside herself if she knew we were all talking about her now. Why, she’d be positively…” Mom struggled to find the right word.

“Positively flabbergasted?” I finished for her.

“I’m not exactly sure what that even means, dear.”

Maggie licked cream off her fingers. “It’s like when you eat too much and your stomach starts to feel all flabbery, and you just know it’s gonna give you gas.” She pounded her chest with her fist. “Speaking of which…”

Before she could belch, we all quickly refocused on the conversation about Aunt Susan. “Mom, don’t you think Aunt Susan might have been happier if she didn’t have to keep her true feelings for Nancy a secret from the world? Don’t you think she dreamed of marrying Nancy while they were both still alive, instead of taking her wedding dress to the grave?”

“Oh, Nancy’s not dead, dear. She still lives in that cabin in the woods.”

“That’s not my point. My point is, staying quiet about who we are and hiding our true selves doesn’t bring happiness. It does the opposite.”

Mom reached out for my hand. “Oh, I know, you’re right dear. I suppose we grew up in a different generation, a different time. Some things were just never talked about. But I look at you and Connie and I’m always inspired by how free and brave and confident you kids are. In fact, your father and I have been taking lessons in… er, confidence… from your cousin. Isn’t that right, Connie?’’

Connie gave Mom a bizarre and exaggerated wink that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Mom winked back, making things even weirder, then called across the table to Dad, “Isn’t that right, dear?”

I suddenly realized how quiet he’d been this whole time.

“Ronnie?” said Mom. “Are you listening, hun?”

I noticed Dad had been scribbling on a notepad as he poked at his eggs.

He looked up at the sound of his name. “Huh? What’s that, dear?”

“Darling, you look so distracted. Is everything okay?”

“Of course, dear. I’m just focused on my last-minute changes to the planning meeting. It looks like I’ll need to shuffle a few things on the spreadsheet.”

“I’m so excited about this planning meeting,” buzzed Maggie, scooping a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto a waffle and topping it with a generous squirt from the can of whipped cream. “I’ll do anything you need me to do, just say the word. Need someone to wrap presents? Hand me a ball of string and a roll of duct tape and the job’s done. Need someone to stuff the turkey? I’ll stick my fist so far up that bird, just the sight of it would make a toddler cry. Need someone to scare off the carolers? Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure every night is a Silent Night at the Larson household.”

“Oh, but I love the carolers,” said Mom, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

“Oh, me too,” agreed Maggie. “Except the pitchy ones. If someone doesn’t hit every pa-rum-pum-pum-pum exactly right, well, that’s what snowballs are for, right?”

“Actually, we had another job in mind for you, Maggie,” said my dad. “Whaddaya say I get the Excel spreadsheet and we start the planning meeting while we eat.” Dad got up from his chair and left the room.

“Great idea,” Maggie said. “No point waiting. I’ve barely touched breakfast yet.” With ravenous eyes she piled bacon onto her plate and grabbed for the jug of maple syrup once more.

“Would you like a shovel with that?” Great Nan said, watching on. “Or are you just gonna stick your face in the trough?”

“Great Nan, Maggie’s our guest,” reprimanded Mom. “She can eat as much as she likes. Besides, it’s Christmas time. Everyone’s allowed a little indulgence here and there.”

“A little indulgence?” scoffed Great Nan. “She’s in the process of devouring an entire pig’s worth of bacon. I’m about to start throwing buckets of chum at her just so she doesn’t turn on us. Who the fuck is she, anyway?”

“Great Nan, we told you, that’s Maggie Winton,” I said with all the patience I could muster.

“That still doesn’t answer my question. I have no idea who that is, Billy.”

“Benji,” I corrected.

“Who?”

“I’m Benji.”

“I didn’t ask who you were. I’m talking about the T-Rex in the neck brace over there.”

“I told you, that’s Maggie Winton.”

“Oh, you mean the crazy cat lady.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in frustration.

Under the table, Connie brushed my leg with her foot and said to me, “Do you ever get the feeling you’re going around in circles again… Cuz?”

I pulled my leg away. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being totally inappropriate again… Cuz? ”

Connie pouted mockingly, not even trying to conceal the giggle. “Aw, poor baby Benji. Do you have any idea how adorable you are when you get flustered? Need a cuddle?”

“No!”

Thankfully Dad returned to the room and the conversation changed when I heard the squeak-squeak-squeak of what he was wheeling across the floor.

“Dad? Why do you have your old whiteboard?”

“You mean this whiteboard?” he asked, wheeling the whiteboard around the table and positioning it next to his chair. It was the two-sided kind, with a board that could spin around to see the other side. The side that was now facing us had nothing written on it.

“What other whiteboard would I be talking about?” I asked, gesturing around the room for another. “Yes, that whiteboard. The one you used to draw maps on every time we went on one of your family getaway weekends.”

“This, my dear son, is no longer just a plain old whiteboard. This… is my new Excel spreadsheet.”

He winked dramatically and Mom clapped her hands excitedly, obviously knowing what Dad was about to unveil.

“Dad, that whiteboard is not an Excel spreadsheet. It’s a whiteboard. An Excel spreadsheet is something you do on your computer.”

“Yes, well, I tried that and apparently it’s not for me.”

“Mom said you ‘nailed’ Excel.”

“On a whiteboard, yes. And here it is…” With more dramatic flair than was necessary, almost like a magician separating the boxes containing the assistant he’d just sawn in two, Dad flipped the whiteboard to reveal a wonky spreadsheet with rows and columns that meandered here and there to fit the words he’d written in marker. There were blurry marks everywhere, where the marker had refused to be fully erased, and other words crossed out, where I could only assume my dad had used a permanent marker by mistake. “Ta-da! I give you the Larson Family Christmas Plan!”

It was, essentially, an utter mess.

Evidently, Great Nan agreed with me. “Who drew that, a chicken?”

“Great Nan, it’s Ronnie’s spreadsheet,” Mom explained. “I think it’s perfect. Everything’s on there that we need. It’s as clear as day.”

“Mom, are you kidding? Great Nan’s varicose veins are straighter than the lines on that board. Why didn’t you just use your iPad like I thought you were going to do?”

“Because we’ve been having some technical issues with the iPad, dear,” Mom admitted.

“Again?”

Dad sighed. “It’s very complicated. About a week ago your mother was happily watching her new favorite app— the one where you can see where all the planes are in the sky and watch them take off and land…”

“Plane Tracker, dear. It’s called Plane Tracker. I swear, I go into another world when I’m watching those aircraft blip-blip-blip their way across the country.”

“Anyway, your mother was happily watching Plane Tracker when suddenly the iPad asked if she wanted to install an upgrade. So, what did she do? She accidentally pressed the ‘yes’ button.”

“What do you mean, ‘accidentally pressed the yes button?’ That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“Not when you’re our age. Dear God, son, nobody who remembers the moon landing wants to claw their way out of that rabbit hole. But before we knew it, the iPad had installed facial recognition. Now none of us can access it.”

“Why not?”

“Because when it was trying to download your mother’s face onto the cloud, she kept turning her head.”

“There was a fly,” Mom said innocently. “I was trying to shoo it away.”

“And now the damn thing has locked us out. Oh, we’ve tried to get it to respond to us. Your mother has sat in front of it for hours, turning her head this way and that, waving her hands in front of her face, hoping it’ll recognize her. But nothing.” He sighed again. “After all these years, after all the things we’ve done for that iPad… the expensive silicone protective covers, the cushions that let it sit up in bed with us, the funny accents we gave Siri that made us all laugh… all that meant nothing. Now it just treats us like we’re complete strangers.” He turned to his spreadsheet and sucked in a courageous breath. “This true and trusted whiteboard, on the other hand… it’s always been good to us. Sure, it may be smudged and scarred with permanent marker here and there— and yes, one of its wheels spins like an out-of-control satellite plummeting to earth— but it gets the job done without complaining and without turning its back on us. Except if I flip it over, of course.”

I squinted at the board, turned my head on one side, and said, “Yeah, but… what does it say?”

“Well, sweetie,” Mom chimed in. “If you look at Column A you’ll see a list of jobs that need doing, then your father has allocated a person to each job along with a color-coded system to indicate the status of—”

“Darling. I thought I was the one explaining things. The ‘ta-da’ moment was mine, remember?”

“Sorry, dear. You go ahead.”

Dad quickly recovered his sense of excitement. “Well, as your mother just pointed out, Column A lists each Christmas job that needs tending to, Column B indicates the person allocated to said job in Column A, and the other columns indicate whether the task has been assigned successfully, whether the task is in progress, and whether the task has been completed. Those last three columns have each been designated a green, blue, or red marker, although I haven’t yet decided if they’ll be given a tick or a cross once a particular job is ticked off… or crossed off… TBC… to be confirmed.” He beamed proudly. “So, whaddaya think?”

“I think it looks amazing, Uncle Ronnie,” said Connie, applauding. “I like the way you’ve worked around the smudges, just like we all have to do in life.”

“Why thank you, Connie.”

“Namaste.”

“I see my name up there too!” Maggie exclaimed, trying hard to point without moving her head, neck or shoulders. “Someone wrote my name down! That’s me!”

“Yes, Maggie, that’s you,” said Dad. “And ten out of ten for enthusiasm. If you could spread a little more of that around the room, it’d be very much appreciated.” He said this with an accusatory nod in my direction. “In the meantime, let’s go through this job by job so we’re all on the same page.”

He took his red marker in hand, ready for action. “All righty then, job number one… Deliver Mom’s Christmas cards to everyone around town.”

“They need to go out no later than tomorrow,” Mom said very seriously. “That’s the perfect time to give them prime position on everyone’s mantle.”

“Benji and Connie, are you happy to take on that task?” Dad asked.

“Are you kidding?” Connie asked back. “Do little children love the sound of sleighbells on the roof? Do Elves love tickle fights? Do all the other reindeer love calling Rudolph names? Hell, yes. We’d love to do it.” She winked across the table at me and said, “Whaddaya say, Cuz? We get to do job number one together. Special, huh?”

“So, is that a yes from Benji and Connie?” Dad asked.

Connie nodded emphatically while I sighed.

“I suppose so,” I reluctantly agreed.

Mom clapped while Dad drew a red tick next to mine and Connie’s names. “Job assigned. Righto, what’s next? Finish wrapping all the presents,” he read. “Now there are three parts to this job… there’s the wrapping, there’s the job of tying the ribbon, then someone needs to stick the bow on top. Mom, Maggie, and Great Nan, how do you feel about taking that on?”

“I can’t wait,” said Mom.

“I’ll bring the duct tape,” added Maggie.

“Who the fuck licked my waffle?” said Great Nan, staring in annoyance at her plate. “It’s gone all soggy.”

“Great Nan, you just put too much maple syrup on it,” Mom told her. “Just leave it, I’ll make up a fresh batch once Ronnie’s finished his presentation.”

Maggie’s eyes glazed over with joy. “A fresh batch? This is the best day of my life.”

“Okay, next job. Dig out the box of table decorations from the garage. That’s a job for me,” said Dad, giving himself a big tick. “I want the table to look perfect for our big family lunch on Christmas Eve before we all head off to watch the town parade. Then I’ll reset the table with new decorations for Christmas Day lunch. Two big feasts in a row. I can’t wait!”

Excessive as it seemed, our family did indeed put on two enormous meals during the festive week— one on Christmas Eve just before the big parade, and another on Christmas Day itself— simply because the Larsons just couldn’t get their fill of Christmas cheer.

“And I’ll be sure to cook you up a storm, my darling.” Mom blew Dad a kiss from across the table.

Dad caught it and blew a kiss back.

“Wait a minute. I thought all the Christmas decorations were in the attic,” I said. “Why are they in the garage now?”

“We cleared the attic to make room for—” Dad began.

“Our home gym,” Mom cut in. “Remember, dear? We told you months ago, we turned the attic into a gym.”

Connie tried to stifle a snicker.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing dear,” said Mom.

“Then why is Connie laughing? Wait a minute, are the decorations really in the garage. You didn’t shove them all into my old room, did you?”

“Of course not, dear. Your old bedroom is now a guestroom.”

“It is? Since when? And why do we need another guestroom?”

“Because the old guestroom is now Connie’s room.”

The game of musical rooms left me a little bewildered… and still questioning why my parents even needed a guestroom. Nobody ever came to visit, and even if they did, they could stay at the BnB. God knows I needed the business.

As I sat there pondering this, Dad moved on with his presentation. “Next job, bake the cookies for Santa.”

Mom’s hand shot up. “That’s my job. I’ve already picked out the recipe. They’re going to look like little reindeer hooves covered in white frosting for snow.”

“Hoof cookies.” Maggie licked her lips. “Yum.”

“Which just leaves Maggie the last job of making the trip to Eau Claire airport and picking up any of our guests who might arrive,” said Dad. He said this job quickly and ticked it off without even checking with Maggie. “And that’s all the jobs on the Excel spread—”

“Wait. What?” I wasn’t about to let him gloss over this rather important point so quickly. “You guys are expecting guests? Who?”

“Nobody,” said Mom.

“It’s nothing,” said Dad.

“Bastian, your ex,” said Maggie, sneaking Great Nan’s sloppy waffle off her plate.

The entire room went silent as all eyes turned to Maggie… who gingerly put the waffle down, reluctantly watching it slide back onto Great Nan’s plate. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“Bastian is coming?” I asked, my voice sharp and shocked.

I could see that Maggie wanted to turn away from my furious glare, but she couldn’t turn her head. “Maybe it’s a different Bastian,” she uttered.

I turned from Maggie to Mom and Dad. “You’ve invited Bastian to spend Christmas with us? When exactly were you going to tell me? Why would you even do that? What the fuck?”

Great Nan cackled. “You tell ’em, Bruce!”

“Seriously? You invited my ex-boyfriend to our family Christmas?”

“Darling—”

“No, Mom. Don’t ‘darling’ me. You’ve invited my ex to Christmas.” I gave an incredulous laugh, unable to stop it. “Why would you do that? I know you and Dad still like the guy, but I don’t. He’s the one who broke my heart and walked out on me, remember?”

“Son, we were going to tell you—”

“When Dad? When exactly were you going to share this unexpected gem of information with me? When he walked in the door? When’s he arriving, anyway? How long is he staying? How long have you been planning this? Why on earth would you ever think this was a good idea, because it’s not. This sucks!” I stood abruptly from the table. “I’m not doing it. I’m not doing any of this. If you want Bastian at your Christmas table, then I’m bowing out.”

“Oh Benji, honey, don’t be like that.”

“No, Mom. I’m done with this weird relationship you insist on having with my ex-boyfriend. If you want him, you can have him. But don’t expect me to play happy families with you all.”

I stormed away from the table, heading for the front door.

“But darling, it’s Christmas,” Mom called.

“I don’t care!” I shouted over my shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, Christmas is canceled!”

Great Nan’s laughter echoed through the house as she crowed after me, “That’s the spirit, Bellamy! Tell ’em to plant a Christmas tree up their—”

Bang!

I slammed the door behind me as I left.