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THE GLASS OF EGGNOG spiked with rum I had the night before didn’t really have any impact on me, so I didn’t have any trouble getting up early the next morning. I had a feeling I was going to be one of the few adults in the place who was going to be able to say that, including good old Nancy. She might have started the night with a sour face and a judgmental attitude, but a couple of pours of rum later, she was out of that chair and rocking around the Christmas tree.
Holly, on the other hand, was going to have all kinds of trouble getting herself out of bed and facing the day. I’d seen her drink on a few occasions, but she hadn’t gotten ranting at whoever might be around to hear it drunk. Maybe I was mistaken since in the greater scheme of things I hadn’t been around her all that much, but I didn’t feel like she got drunk like that very often.
The alcohol she poured with increasing generosity into her cup made the eggnog drinkable for her, and it definitely loosened up her tongue, her brain, and all the inhibitions she might have had going into the night. But I could imagine it was probably going to be doing a number on her just as soon as she opened her eyes and the reality of daybreak got to her.
That was why I decided to forego a bit more sleep that morning and head into the kitchen to get the coffee started before she even got up. I’d seen my fair share of people who were suffering the aftermath of a holiday party gone wrong. I’d been that person a time or two. It wasn’t pretty. There was a whole lot of jingling of bells and festive merrymaking going on, and knocking back a few spiked eggnogs absolutely made the emptiness under the mistletoe easier to bear in the moment.
Come the next morning, though, it all came back and brought along with it its good friends raging headache, nausea, and regret about a variety of decisions.
There wasn’t a whole lot I was going to be able to do to help Holly with whatever was waiting for her on this side of consciousness, but at least the coffee would help some. I got the first pot brewed and into the carafe, and while the second was starting up, I surveyed the kitchen, trying to decide if there was anything I could do to help get breakfast on the table.
I didn’t know what Holly might have planned for the meal, but I figured I could get something going for her. I pulled out a couple of loaves of bread and went to the refrigerator for eggs, milk, and cream leftover from making the eggnog the day before. Searching the pantry, I found a couple of cans of pureed pumpkin and set them on the counter.
Holly’s biggest mixing bowl was the perfect size for mixing up the basic custard and stirring in the pumpkin. I added brown sugar, maple syrup, and spices, filling the kitchen with the wonderful smell. Cutting thick slices of the bread, I got some soaking up the custard and took out a cast-iron griddle to heat it on the stove.
I had just smothered the hot surface of the griddle with butter and had the first batch of bread turning into my mother’s famous pumpkin spice french toast when the door opened and Holly dragged into the room. She looked a little worse for wear and didn’t say anything as she crossed the room to the coffee. I couldn’t help but giggle as she poured herself a cup almost in slow motion. She took down a gulp black and cringed, likely at the combination of the flavor and the heat.
She didn’t acknowledge me as she filled the cup again and this time added some cream and sugar. She stood in silence, staring in the general direction of the kitchen window, but I wasn’t sure she was actually seeing anything. That eggnog had definitely gotten to her.
I decided to give her a few moments to get herself together and went to the stove to flip the toast. By the time they were finished and the slices that had been soaking while they cooked were on their way to being toast, I was starting to worry. I really hoped Holly remembered the conversation we had the night before and we hadn’t just gone back to the beginning of the silent treatment.
When she was halfway through her third cup of coffee, she looked down into it, then looked over at me.
“Am I drinking pumpkin coffee?” she asked in a slow half whisper.
I let out a chuckle. “No. I’m making pumpkin french toast.”
She nodded, then looked over at me slowly. “Why?”
“Because even hungover, you still own a bed-and-breakfast and are going to have guests expecting the aforementioned breakfast when they manage to get up. Granted, judging by your current condition, that might be a bit later than usual,” I said.
Holly managed to glare at me. She looked like she was mustering up something to say but eventually just settled on “Shut up.”
I laughed and guided her over to the stool next to the table to the side of the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I’ve been there. You should have seen me at the office Christmas party when one of the guys started doling out Santa’s Nipples.”
She shot me a look. “I don’t want to know what that means.”
I eased her down and moved her coffee mug closer to her. “It’s a cocktail. Well, it was that night. I’m not entirely sure what it actually was. I’m sure it has a different name in the real world. That night, it was Santa’s Nipples. They were served right alongside Elf on the Beach and Blue Reindeer.”
Holly shook her head, looking slightly green around the edges. “That doesn’t make it any better.”
I put the next batch of toast on the platter and brought it out to the dining room with butter and syrup. The usual fruit basket and the carafe of coffee with cream and sugar would be enough to get them started. I went back into the kitchen and found Holly working on a pot of oatmeal and some eggs.
“It’s alright,” I said. “I got this.”
“You don’t need to do it all,” she said. “I can do something.”
“I noticed you cleaned my room.”
She looked over at me, the expression in her eyes telling me she knew the significance of that went beyond just having the linens and towels gone and fresh sheets sitting on my bed. Our gaze held for a few seconds, and she nodded.
“I know.”
“I’ll finish breakfast.”
She stepped back from the stove and gestured to the pot, relinquishing control over it. She remembered the conversation.
I finished getting breakfast out on the table for the guests, realizing even more now that I didn’t feel like one of them. It wasn’t that it would be a bad thing to be a guest at the bed-and-breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time I was. But from the moment I saw Holly again, I felt like I was there for her. I wasn’t just staying at the White Christmas Inn because it was the only option in the situation I was in. It wasn’t a coincidence I ended up there. I was there for Holly.
When I got back into the kitchen, Holly had gotten two plates out of the cabinet and was filling them with french toast and fruit.
“Thanks,” I said. “Want to go outside? It’s cold, but it’s a pretty morning.”
She nodded. “I’ll get the plates. You grab more coffee.”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” I asked. She glared at me, and I laughed. “I’ll get the coffee.”
When she had the jitters later, I’d happily hold her until she stopped shaking.
We went out onto the porch, and I immediately got the outdoor heater going. Even if we were only out there for a little while, that extra heat would make it a lot more comfortable. We sat down, and Holly took her first bite of the toast. She let out a little groan, and I smiled.
“This is delicious,” she said. “Where did you learn to make it?”
“You like it?” I asked. “It’s my mother’s recipe. It’s one of the things she always used to make during the Christmas season. My father loved it. He used to take pieces of it and build them up into a Christmas tree shape and then drizzle the syrup over it so it would drip like garlands. Sometimes he would add spiced pecans so they were like ornaments.”
Holly paused midbite and stared at me. “You do realize you sound like a movie, right? Like, none of this sounds even vaguely real.”
She gestured at me with her fork, and I grinned, shrugging as I added some extra syrup to my plate.
“They really got into Christmas,” I said. “And kind of everything else. They were the most alive people I’ve ever known.”
I felt a lump in my throat and tried to cough it away, but it stayed firmly lodged even through a sip of coffee and a bite of toast.
“You can tell me it’s none of my business and I’ll drop it, but can I ask you what’s really going on with your mother? I know you gave me the basics of it, but I just don’t understand what happened. You talk about the three of you like you were all joined at the hip, then your father died and your mother left town. I don’t understand how that all ended with the way things are now.” She held up her hands like she was trying to show me she was completely innocent. “Again, you can absolutely tell me to shut up.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. It’s not like it’s a big secret. And of all people, I’d like to be able to talk to you about it.” I noticed the hint of pink come to her cheeks and felt my heart swell. “My parents were inseparable essentially their whole lives. They loved each other more than I used to think was possible. When my father died, it made it so much harder for my mother to get through every day. She wanted to be happy because she knew that was what he would have wanted, but she just couldn’t do it.
“She convinced herself she needed something different and that if she was away from what they always shared, it would be easier to move forward. It worked for a while. At least, that was what she said. She started a new life, and we spent time together away from Snowflake Hollow. But then more time passed, and she realized she wasn’t really living the life she actually wanted. There were things she was doing that she enjoyed, but she wasn’t happy, and she missed her life here far too much.
“She didn’t sell the house because she couldn’t bear to part with it. I know she always felt in her heart that she would end up back here one day.”
“So much for you can’t come home again,” Holly said.
I shook my head. “I’ve never believed that was true. Of course, you can come home. That is the one thing in this life you can do. No matter what or where or who home is, no matter where you are in life or what is going on with you, if you need peace and comfort, you can always go back. That’s where you find yourself again.”
“I guess I never really thought of it that way,” she said.
“My mother did. Even when I was little, she would tell me she knew one day I was going to grow up and go off on my own. I’d find the career I wanted and make my own life somewhere. But that no matter what, I could always come back home, and she would always be there for me. And I tried to always be there for her, too.
“I tried to take care of her and make sure she always had everything she needed. When she came back here, I figured it was just because she wanted to be comfortable and around the people and places she loved. She didn’t tell me it was because she’d started dealing with some health issues that were making her reevaluate life. I hate even saying that. It’s not what I want to think about,” I said.
“Of course it’s not,” Holly said. “And that’s probably why she didn’t tell you.”
“But I wish she had. If she told me, I’d have been able to do more. I’d have been able to help her. I’d gotten so wrapped up in my company and building it that I didn’t go see her anywhere near as much as I should have. And when we talked, it was probably far shallower and more inconsequential than it should have been. But I never wanted to upset her, and she always sounded fine.
“Then all of a sudden, I found out she’d sold the house, moved into an assisted living facility, and needed me to come sort everything out for her. It was such a shock. I felt horrible.”
“There was no reason for you to feel horrible,” Holly said. “She made a decision about how she wanted to handle the situation. Remember, you might be the super-successful entrepreneur and everything, but she is still your mother. You are her baby, and she will always want to take care of you. Even if that means going through really challenging times by herself because she doesn’t want to upset you.”
“And because she wants the control,” I said with a half laugh. “She likes to live on her own terms. She doesn’t like when I try to make decisions for her or change what she thinks about something.”
Holly nodded. “I can definitely see that about Gloria.”
We laughed for a few seconds before I let out a sigh. “Anyway, that’s what happened. She left Snowflake Hollow because she didn’t want to be around the reminders of my father, only to return because she couldn’t bear to be away from that life anymore. Now I’m stuck with the remnants of her life before she went into the facility, a storage unit, and no idea what I’m going to do next.”
“You’re going to celebrate Christmas,” Holly said. “You’re going to follow your mother’s wishes, do what she wants, and celebrate the season you love. Then, we figure it out.”
It felt good to be able to really talk to Holly, and it seemed to be bringing us closer. I didn’t miss her use of “we” or the rush of emotion it brought me. We needed to talk more. Last night’s conversation was a drunken mess, but it was starting to open the floodgates. Now it was time to open them all the way and really be honest with each other.
