THIRTY-FOUR

No great snowstorm swooped through to save me, but by Friday night I was sure Mama’d sworn off doing anything so impulsive again. She spent two days driving all over the state in search of unique Christmas ornaments so it looked like they’d been collected over many years. Somehow she’d even scrounged up a glazed ceramic peach with CHRISTMAS IN GEORGIA written across the front from a thrift store. She held it up proudly.

“No one will ever suspect we didn’t have ornaments until today!”

“Except most of these are in brand-new boxes. That might be a clue.”

She glanced around the kitchen, then scurried off. By dinnertime, all evidence of her shopping spree had disappeared, and each ornament was wrapped in a piece of tissue, hand-crinkled by Mama.

Friday afternoon the kitchen smelled of smoke, and not the kind that came from a fireplace. This was definitely a burned-food odor. Platters of near-perfect gingerbread men and sugar cookies lined the counter. I scouted around, looking for the source. Nothing obvious until I opened the trash can lid. The entire thing was full of scorched-black stars, trees, and gingerbread men.

“Wow,” I said. “Just wow.”

I hauled the bag outside and hid it, then lit some scented candles in the kitchen. Hopefully the squirrels would eat cookies that were only ashes held together by charred sugar.

At ten till seven, Mama cornered me. “Now, is there anything I should do differently or say differently tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“These people are your friends, sweetheart. I’ve never entertained a gay couple before. I mean, other than Peter. Help me, I don’t want to say something stupid and embarrass you.”

“Same-sex marriage became legal in Vermont in 2009, Mama, and it was the first state to allow civil unions between same-sex couples long before that. People here don’t care, and neither should you.”

“I don’t care, not the way you’re suggesting. I’m doing this for you. And where did you learn all that stuff, anyway?”

“At my cushy, conservative private school in Atlanta, all the way back in fourth grade. Seriously, sometimes you act like you’ve been living under a rock.”

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes welled up.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to sound like that, but they’re just people. Treat them like you want to be treated, like you always tell me to do.”

She started bawling, right there in the kitchen. “Now look, my face is going to be red and splotchy when they get here!”

I grabbed a tissue box and gave it to her. “It’s nothing to cry about.”

“Maybe for you, but sometimes you make me feel so inadequate, even when I’m trying so hard—”

The doorbell rang three times in a row. I’d been antsy for them to get here so Mama and I didn’t have to be alone, but she’d actually just said something real, something from her heart, about feelings. Something I could build on.

“Oh no, they’re here.” She smoothed her dress and threw the tissue away. “Do I look okay?”

She looked pathetic. “I think Biz and Lucy are hoping for the movie star Mama, so maybe you want to go clean the mascara off your face. Other than that, you look great.”

The doorbell rang again. A tiny hand knocked on the window. Mama ran up the stairs and I went to greet our guests.

She came down a few minutes later, all charm and ho-ho-ho. Lucy’s and Biz’s eyes got really big when they saw her decked out in her fancy red Christmas outfit, complete with glittery earrings and a green and gold scarf. They ran to her for hugs, and she burst into tears again and fled. The rest of us stood in that tiny front room, which now had the giant blue spruce taking up a quarter of the space, and watched her run off.

“What did we do?” Biz asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

Kori touched my shoulder. “Do you need to go help her?”

“No, she’ll be fine.”

Silently, we sorted through the ornaments, pulling them out of the fake-used boxes, while James and Sue circled the tree with lights.

“Where are the cookies?” Lucy asked.

“Shhhhh,” Kendra said. “Don’t be rude.”

“It’s not rude—she said we’d have cookies.”

“I’ll get them,” I said.

“Let’s wait for your mom,” Kori said. “She went to a lot of trouble for us.”

Ten minutes later Mama swept back in smelling of hairspray and potpourri perfume. She gathered Biz and Lucy into her arms. “I’m so sorry, my sweet precious girls. I had an emotional moment of gratitude. I’m so happy y’all are here.”

“Is gratitude an emotion?” Lucy asked.

Mama kissed her cheek. “Well, it sure as heck made me emotional. Now, let’s get this party started. How about you girls help me bring in some cookies?”

“Yeah!”

“I can carry a tray by myself,” Biz said. “Watch.” She stood tall, held her arms out to the side, and walked a straight line without any hint of a limp or bobble.

The three of them went off to the kitchen, and the rest of us all sighed at the same time. Sonnet sat at the piano and let her fingers graze the tops of the ivory keys, her back straight, her shiny black hair lying flat past her waist.

“He used to let me play,” she said. “I came here for lessons because we only have a keyboard.”

Mama came around the corner with a pitcher of eggnog, trailed by Lucy and Biz, who each carried a platter piled high with cookies. My heart tweaked again. They’d had more fun with her in those few minutes than I remembered having in my whole life. Mama poured eggnog and the little girls went around the room offering cookies to everyone.

“She taught us how to do it,” Biz whispered.

Mama set a cup on the piano for Sonnet. “Would you play for us?” she asked.

Sonnet’s fingers flowed across the piano keys like they belonged there. The music settled everything down as we ate cookies and dug through boxes. Mama was right smack in the middle of it, telling stories about each ornament. She was so theatrical, if I hadn’t seen them arrive just the other day, I would have loved the history behind each and every one. Except that she was lying to my friends. I did not love that part.

Haily and Ethan Edward arrived with Deacon. Somehow we scrunched all those people into that little front room and for a while, the evening was jolly. Then Haily pulled out the Georgia peach and held it up.

“Ooooo, I like this. Do you have one of the magnolias?”

The music stopped. Mama froze, her hand in the air holding up a glittery snowflake.

“A magnolia?” I asked.

“The ones Johnny Austin made. We each have one. Didn’t he send one to you?”

“Magnolias symbolize strength, perseverance, dignity, a love of nature,” he’d said. Then he cupped his hands. Cradled inside was a beautiful wood ornament. “There won’t be any magnolias in Vermont until you come back.”

He’d given it to me in Georgia, but I had no memory of seeing it after that day. “He gave me one. But I don’t know where it is.”

“It’s in your box,” Mama said quickly.

“My box? What box?”

A piece of silver tinsel drifted from Mama’s hair. Her eyes pleaded with me. Not now.

“Where we keep his letters, remember?”

“What letters?”

“Did I say something wrong?” Haily asked.

Mama startled, like she’d forgotten anyone else was there except the two of us. “No, no, it’s not you. Christmas is such a . . . it’s our first here all alone, and our first party. I feel a little clumsy, I’m sorry.”

She was lying again. There was no box and we both knew it. What had she done with the ornament? Had she hidden it away because it wasn’t all glittery and shiny like her others? Is that the real reason we’d left, because she wanted a husband who was polished and all in one piece?

“Mama’s not used to serving guests by herself,” I said bitterly. “She only knows how to be a rich man’s wife.”

When I saw the look on Kori’s face, I wished I could take the words back and swallow them. She was shocked and sad and disappointed in me. She was the last person on earth I ever wanted to disappoint.

“I’m sorry—”

Mama interrupted. “That’s the truth, though—she’s right.”

Even after what I’d said, she was sticking up for me.

“But here I am, giving it a go. You should have seen all the cookies I burned this afternoon. What a mess! I’m just lucky we have such patient guests for my trial run.”

“What’s a trial run?”

“You’re not running.”

I ducked my head and pushed past them to escape before tears exploded from my eyes, but I didn’t get out before I heard Mama say, “It means we did things differently in Georgia. I’m trying to learn new rules. The Vermont rules.”

I didn’t go to the tree lot the next day, even though it was Saturday. I was too ashamed to face anyone, and too angry with Mama to even go downstairs when she was around. I was mad at her for so many things, including the way she stuck up for me after I’d been so mean.

It was dark when the doorbell rang that evening. I looked out the upstairs window and saw James’s truck idling in the driveway, then ran back to my room and shut the door. Five minutes later my phone beeped. It was a text with a picture of Lucy standing in our front hallway, holding a whole pie in her hands.

Do you think we don’t have fights at our house? Leaving the pie for tonight. See you at the lot tomorrow.

I put the phone down and laid my head on the pillow. A minute later the phone beeped again.

Lu says to tell you it’s blueberry, as blue as her eyes.