A Christmas Arrangement Read online

  Her eyes got big. “Sheesh. I’ll help you when we’ve finished off this carton.”

  “You were saying…”

  “Yeah. So I said I would meet him where he works. Ask me where he works.”

  “Where does he work?” I said with mock enthusiasm.

  “At the mall.”

  “Okay. The mall’s not so bad. Where in the mall?”

  “He works at a cell-phone kiosk near the escalator.”

  “Okaaay and...”

  “It gets better. My car broke down earlier today, so I had to get a ride from Mom.”

  “Uh-oh. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “You were busy. Besides. I didn’t have to tell her it was for a date. I was just meeting my friend at the mall. Innocent enough.”

  Our mother, while very well-intentioned, mind you, was a bit of a snoop. Okay, so she was the head of the MLM, short for Mormon Ladies Mafia. She controlled a vast spy/gossip network comprised of sisters from church, neighbors and old friends from school that canvassed the entire county for gossip intelligence. Her own children were frequently the subjects of their investigations. I had never left them wanting for juicy morsels to share at their monthly Daughters of the Utah Pioneers meetings or their daily phone calls, which were organized in a way that rivaled the National Intelligence Agency in efficiency and extent of coverage.

  “So Mom dropped you off,” I prodded.

  “Then I went to the cell phone kiosk. As soon as he saw me, his eyes travelled up and down then landed on my chest and never left.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dave—something.”

  “And where did you and Dave of the phone-hut go for dinner?”

  “To the food court. The Hot Dog on a Stick, to be precise.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud. “I hear they have great lemonade.”

  “Oh, I had some lemonade, and a Cheese on a Stick too. He told me I could order whatever I wanted—within reason.”

  “He said that?”

  She stared at me and nodded slowly.

  “After we sat down, I put my purse on the table in front of me. It blocked the view of these,” she waved her hand in front of her ample chestage (which was pretty amazing, speaking as a jealous sister), “and he was forced to look at my face. After that, he couldn’t wait to get out of there. He endured me for fifteen minutes while he downed four Dogs, some fries, some funnel cakes, and a large lemonade, then said ‘I’ve got to bounce. They need me back at The Hut.’ That was the longest string of words he put together the entire time. It was awful.”

  “I’m so sorry, Al. What a jerk. And an idiot. You’re gorgeous—every bit of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How did you get here if your car was broken down?”

  “I ran into a guy from my history class. We’re in the same study group. We got talking and I told him about my date and he offered to drop me home.”

  “At least it didn’t end too terribly then. Silver-lining and all that? Is he cute?”

  “I don’t really think of him that way. I mean I guess he is. Cute—I mean. But he’s younger than me. I don’t think he’s interested in dating. Maybe I shouldn’t be either. I should just finish school and worry about being an old maid after that.”

  “You’re not going to be an old maid—unless you want to,” I said. “Are you still crashing here tonight?”

  “Yeah, is it still okay?”

  “Always,” I said. “Why does Mom have her quilt framed in your bedroom again?”

  “It’s closest to your room. Which is the temporary sewing room.”

  “What about her sewing room?”

  “Dad’s got all of his music stuff in there.”

  I shook my head. “That makes no sense.”

  “Apparently it does to them. I kind of volunteered my room anyway. I like staying here once in a while.”

  Our parents had been separated when our father went on tour to California with his bluegrass band. The tour had been indefinite until Dad showed up at home a few months ago. Since then, our parents had patched things up and were rekindling their romance. It was both cute and sickening at the same time.

  “Well, I’m stoked that I’ve got help with these candy canes. With the two of us, we might finish as early as one in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  It had only snowed once that November, and just a pitiful dusting at that. And at this particular moment I was very happy for our unseasonably dry weather. I was climbing down the wrought iron ladder attached to the back of our hundred year old building. The ladder didn’t touch the ground, it ended a few feet above my head, which didn’t make much sense to me. But it was the quickest way to access the roof.

  And why would I need the quickest way to the roof? Why, in order to knock the side of the compressor to my walk-in flower cooler, of course. That was my method for getting the motor started again. It had been acting up more frequently lately. But not enough to make it worth calling a repair company, not that I had the money anyway.

  The descent from the ladder wasn’t so bad, I just hung from the lowest rung and dangled until I landed on my launch pad, which had spent a previous incarnation as a patio table. Getting on the ladder was more of a trick. I was quite proud of the way I bounded like a gymnast from the wobbly, old table and hitched my leg on to the bottom rung.

  Having finished my climb and compressor handiwork, I was in a hurry to get back into the shop and working. There was a lot to accomplish and not enough time to do it all.

  It was the last day of November, and in the floral business the Christmas holiday was in full swing. Despite the festive atmosphere in my shop, I was having a hard time getting into “the Christmas spirit.” Maybe it was the lack of snow outside. More likely it was the fact the open house for Rosie’s Posies, in conjunction with the town holiday celebration, was set to happen in a little over two weeks, so I needed to conjure up some holly jolly from somewhere.

  “This is so fun,” K.C. said as I entered the design room. “I love that I get to decorate for Christmas at work and at home.” She looked down at me from her perch on the fourteen foot ladder. She was adding finishing touches to the garland hanging around the interior walls of the shop.

  “This is my least favorite part of the job,” I said as I grabbed a box cutter to open packages containing the glass ornaments I had ordered back in January.

  “Why is the open house so late in December?” Daphne, our newest floral designer asked. “At the shop where I worked back in Florida we had ours in early November.”

  “Aunt Rosie told me she started the tradition to get people in the holiday shopping mood and to show them what kind of holiday gifts to buy before they go out to the malls and department stores. It used to be earlier in the season, but it became so popular all the other shops in town wanted to join in, and the date was moved to December where it was more of a community holiday celebration,” I explained. “We still show off new holiday designs and give out ornaments, but now it’s more of a customer appreciation party.”

  Now, our entire town participated on the night of the open house. I was head of the planning committee, just as Aunt Rosie had been before me.

  "How many people are we talking?” Daphne asked.

  “Nearly a thousand people will pass through our little shopping center here. Not counting those who go to the other stores and restaurants all over town. I don’t think my aunt Rosie had any idea it would be such a renowned event when she came up with the idea her first year.”

  “Isn’t it exciting, Daphne?” K.C. shouted from above.

  “Be careful, K.C.!” I called out. She acted like a trapeze artist on top of the ladder.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Boss. I’m doing just fine. You know I worked for the telephone company when I was younger? I climbed the poles for a living. I was the first woman in the state to hold that job. I’m very comfortable on top of a ladder.” She climbed down and
moved the ladder, then climbed up once more. The ceilings in our shop were fifteen feet high. It gave me the willies when she reached all the way to the top of the room to push in a fastener. “Now, Boss. Tell us, how come you’re such a Humbug?”

  “I’m not a Humbug,” I said. “I just dislike certain aspects of the holiday season.” Like decorating, driving in the snow to parties with relatives who don’t like you… “I hate cords and wires and the lights. They get all twisted up, half of the strand stops working, but only after you’ve woven it through the branches with no possibility of ever detangling. Blegh.” I shuddered. “It’s so busy during holiday times and with this big community celebration, and the committee meetings, by the time I get home, I would be happy if I never saw another Christmas decoration in my life.”

  “Oh, Boss, you don’t really mean that.”

  “Yes, I do!” The truth was, I had always hated the empty feeling I got around the holidays—that is until I met Alex—of course. The Christmas movies and stories made the holidays seem so romantic. And when I held my life up in comparison, somehow it never measured up. My oldest sister had always had a boyfriend growing up. I would find her kissing him under the mistletoe my mother had liberally hung throughout the house. Of course, I don’t think our mother ever imagined my perfect, never misbehaved older sister would take advantage of the old tradition. I used to sneak peeks at Sandy then run up to my bedroom and copy what I’d seen with my pillow, imagining the cotton percale to be the lips of Johnny Depp or Patrick Swayze.

  And then there were the holidays spent in the company of The Ex and his family. Of course, this year would be different. I was looking forward to spending the holidays with Alex as much as possible. My life had taken some very drastic turns in the last few months and I was grateful for all of them.

  “Well, at the very least, you should hang some mistletoe in that little house of yours,” K.C. said while climbing down. “Not that you need it to inspire anything. You’re already getting plenty of kissing these days.”

  I immediately felt the effects of my horrible, overactive blushing affliction.

  “Oh really?” Daphne looked at me wide-eyed and then grinned at K.C. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “Oh kisses are only the beginning for this girl.”

  I cleared my throat. “K.C.,” I said quietly, with a warning voice.

  “She’s been doing the old cowboy pokey…”

  “K.C.—” My forehead and scalp were as warm as my cheeks.

  “Stuffing the turkey, butterin’ the biscuits…” she grabbed a hobby horse that was part of the children’s corner display and put it between her knees. “Someone’s been riding the pony…”

  “Karma Clackerton!” I looked in horror at Daphne, who was laughing hysterically, tears running down her cheeks.

  K.C. began galloping in a circle around the front display room. “Yodeling in the valley…”

  The front door of the shop flung open and my mother walked in.

  “Yodelayheehoo,” K.C. sung at the top of her lungs.

  “It sure is fun in here,” Mom said, her wide-eyed gaze flickering expectantly from person to person. “What are you girls doing?”

  I flung a searing look at K.C. and shook my head in warning. I had not discussed the extent of my physical activities with Alex with my mother, nor would I ever.

  “We were just talking about something.” I was never good at bluffing. And my Mormon mother was not what one would call open-minded when it came to her children’s relationships. Sex was for after marriage, and I didn’t get a pass because I had been married before. Actually, I was still married, wasn’t I? Just not to the guy I was having sex with. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be approving of my situation either way. Especially if she knew I was still married. Which she didn’t and couldn’t. Ever.

  K.C. just stood there with the hobby horse between her knees, holding on to the reigns with both hands. My greatest fear at the moment was that she would speak. K.C. suffered with a serious affliction of her own, called lack of filter.

  “Oh hi, Mrs. McKay,” Daphne said. “K.C. was just telling us about her cowgirl days, how she used to ride um—horses. Isn’t that right, K.C.?” Daphne, bless her, had just earned herself a raise.

  “Is that so?” Mom said. “My father used to be in the Sheriff’s posse. He and my mother rode together, in fact. Did you know that, Quincy?” She turned to look at me and gasped.

  “Are you alright, dear?” She rushed over and held the back of her hand to my forehead. “You’re burning up. You must have a fever.” She put her fingers under either side of my jaw, probing for swollen glands.

  “Ouch. Mom, stop, please. I don’t have a fever. I was just—laughing—at something K.C. said.” I shot the look of death at K.C. who stood there grinning behind my mother’s back.

  “You need to take better care of yourself, Quincy McKay,” Mom said. “Anyway, I came here for a reason. I wanted to know what you’re going to make for the Christmas dinner party. I was thinking you and Alex could bring stuffing for the turkey.

  Hysterical laughter erupted from K.C. like lava from Vesuvius, splashing off the high ceilings of our shop. K.C. wheezed between bouts of giggling and knee slapping. Daphne, the traitor, let her giggles escape from around her hands, which covered her mouth.

  My mother glanced from my face, which was now probably green, to the other two women.

  "What is so funny?" Mom said.

  "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." I said.

  The front doorbell chimed and Alex walked in. My knees weakened, whether from embarrassment or just the sight of him, I wasn’t sure.

  "Hey everyone." He surveyed the room with his beautiful brown eyes, walked past K.C. and Daphne, then looked at me with a "what's going on" expression. "Hi, Mrs. McKay."

  "Call me Annette," Mom said.

  He came over and put his arm around my shoulders. "What's so funny?"

  "I don't know. I was just wondering the same thing,” Mom said. “Well, anyway I was just asking Quincy if you two would like to bring stuffing to our family Christmas party."

  "I've got a great recipe for stuffing with sausage and chestnuts," Alex said.

  "You should show it to my daughter," Mom said. “She could learn a thing or two."

  K.C. snorted, Daphne doubled over and then K.C.’s laughter morphed into something that might come out of a braying donkey and she dropped to her knees.

  "I don't think I know what's going on," Mom said.

  Alex rushed over to K.C. "Are you okay?"

  “Oh honey, the best I’ve been in years, thanks to you.”

  He helped her stand then glanced over at Daphne who covered her mouth with her fingertips again. “I don’t want to know the joke, do I?” he asked.

  “Mmm maybe, but your girlfriend definitely doesn’t want you to know,” Daphne said through laughter. “I think she might be looking for a new delivery driver right now.”

  He grinned and winked at me. It had been that wink that stole my heart in the beginning. It helped to soothe the mortification just a bit.

  "So...Annette," Alex continued. "I'm glad we're talking about your party. I have a surprise. And something to ask.” His eyes twinkled with excitement. “Since Quincy can't leave work to go meet my parents over the holiday, I decided to ask them to come here.”

  He looked at me expectantly, gauging my reaction. I tried to get my eyes involved when I smiled at him, hoping it would mask the true feelings of terror that suddenly rumbled inside.

  “And they’re totally excited to come,” he said. “So, I was hoping your invitation to dinner could include them too."

  His parents. Here. Not just in the vicinity of, but actually with my family for the holiday. What could go wrong? The list of possible scenarios scrolled through my mind on pace with the national debt ticker.

  “What do you think, babe?”

  “Yay,” I said weakly. Smiley eyes, smiley eyes.

  "That's a wonder
ful idea!” Mom said as she clasped her hands together. “We would be happy to have you and your parents at our party." She looped her purse over her shoulder. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Alex, I’m so excited to meet your parents. And Angus will be thrilled. Do they have a place to stay when they get here?”

  Please say yes, please say yes.

  “I won’t have them staying in a hotel,” Mom continued. “Our home is open to them. We’ve got plenty of room.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got an extra bedroom at my house. My mom wants to decorate my place while she’s here.”

  “She sounds wonderful. Quincy won’t let me decorate her house. I don’t see why, I helped my mother-in-law decorate it when she lived there.”

  “Now, Mother,” I said. “You know it isn’t true that I won’t let you help. It just doesn’t need re-decorating. You already did it for Grandma.” And I didn’t want my house to become a shrine to the church-craft-night project of the month.

  “Well in any case, I’ve got to go. Your father is going to play Santa for the ward Christmas party and they’ve changed the date for some reason. I’ve got to work on his costume.” She turned to leave.

  “Wait,” I said. “Mom, when is the ward party?”

  “Why? Did you want to come?”

  Ugh. Not the time for that discussion. “I just wondered about the date. If you’re going to have the costume done in time for the open house, too.”

  She pulled a little calendar out of her purse. “December eighteenth. When is your open house again?”

  I sighed. “December eighteenth.”

  “Oh no. Are you sure?”

  I’d been planning and going to meetings about this event since the one the year before. Yes I was sure. Dad had agreed to fill in as Santa after our regular, “Santa Sal” found out he had to have back surgery. Dad must have forgotten to tell my mom about it. “Don’t worry. I’ll find someone else to do it.”

  “Okay, dear. We’ll talk later. I’ve got to go.”

  Santa Sal was famous for being the best Santa around. My dad would’ve been a great fill-in, but now I didn’t know what to do. Each year, Santa would arrive from the North Pole in a helicopter and then kids were invited to come sit with him and get their photo taken. We’d offset the cost of the holiday celebration by charging parents for a copy of the photo.