10

Getting Ready for the Big, Big Holiday

The big, big holiday is almost here. And Mother is coming to visit. Everyone is excited.

Especially me!

But it seems like my family is just not ready. There is not enough time to prepare. Everything feels very rushed, as if time is accelerating. There is a general feeling of anxiety in the house.

One night, Father and Jimmy walk in the front door together, letting in a cold draft and peeling off their coats and gloves. Mahmee was here babysitting Finn, and he was being good, so she had a little time to bake. I watched Mahmee work in the kitchen, and she rewarded me with a dab of soft butter. I licked it right off of a spoon.

Incredibly good, that butter. Incredibly good, that Mahmee.

A sweet scent warms the air. “Mahmee, what’d you make me?” Jimmy asks as he passes Mahmee in the living room. Mahmee just smiles and kisses her boys hello and good-bye.

Father and Jimmy exchange a look. They walk into the kitchen and see a blueberry pie sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

Jimmy quickly goes to the silverware drawer and pulls out a fork. He grabs a carton of milk from the refrigerator, sits down at the kitchen table, and pulls the pie toward him.

“Hey,” Father objects in a sharp tone. “What are you doing?”

Jimmy’s fork hovers in the air above the pie. “Uh, seriously, unless you have supper ready, Dad, and it’s not a ham sandwich, this is what I’m eating.” And Jimmy digs in, shoveling forkfuls of pie into his mouth. No plate necessary. No glass for the milk either, which he chugs from the container.

Father just stares at him for a moment before striding over to the silverware drawer, sliding it open, and grabbing his own fork. He sits opposite Jimmy and starts eating the other side. They eat without talking, until the pie is finished.

Jimmy pushes back from the table. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Father holds his stomach with both hands. He winces, and I can see he doesn’t feel so good either.

When Jimmy lurches for the kitchen sink, Father jumps up and heads for the living room couch. Jimmy is sick and Father is not, but Father lies on the couch a long time before getting up.

This is the kind of week we’ve been having.

Mary walks in not long after. Her hair is wet, and she smells of soap. She’s carrying Jimmy’s big, orange ball.

Mary is athletic, like Father. Jimmy is more like me, inclined to spend a lazy afternoon lying about.

The wonderful scent of the pie still hangs in the air, and Mary comes into the living room, curious. Jimmy is now lying on the rug, and Father is sprawled out on the couch. Mary asks what Mahmee made.

“Nothing,” Jimmy lies.

Mary raises an eyebrow.

But Father backs Jimmy up, swearing that if Mahmee cooked something, she took it with her.

Neither of them wants to get in trouble with Mary. They’re lucky that Jimmy thought to hide the pie plate before crawling out to the living room floor. But this is what we do in our family lately, all of us: We grab food wherever we can.

* * *

The next day, the whole family goes out, including Finn. There’s plenty of snow on the ground, so they bundle up tight with hats and gloves and boots. When they come back, they carry a big pine tree into the house. They set it up in the living room. It takes quite a few adjustments until it stands up perfectly straight.

The annual pine tree! It smells soooo good. So fresh and crisp. I love to hide under the branches and smell the wonderful outdoors. And I enjoy batting the bright things they usually hang on the tree.

By the time they get the tree up, everyone is exhausted. They all do this every year. But there is a pause in the action. The thing is, Mother usually decorates the tree. Honestly, the rest of them don’t seem to have a clue where to begin.

By the end of the day, all they have managed to do is get some tangled wires out of the attic. Finn has been difficult and fussy all day, grabbing and chewing everything he can reach. They’ve had their hands full.

After supper, I sit by the blazing fire. Father sits on the living room rug near the tree. He tries to untangle the wires, and he works on it a very long time. Jimmy comes into the room to find his father with wires all over his lap.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Father says quietly.

“You mean . . .” Jimmy stands in front of him, assessing the situation. “You mean, literally?”

“What?”

“You mean, literally, you’re bad with the lights? Or do you mean you just can’t deal with it?”

Father gives him a look and shrugs. “Both, I guess.”

“Well . . .” Jimmy takes one end of the wire and plugs it in. A hundred tiny white lights flash on. It is beautiful. “To start, Ma always plugs it in. That might help.”

Jimmy takes the wires away from Father and gets them untangled in no time. Father seems tired, his shoulders slumped, looking down at the rug with no expression on his face.

Jimmy clears his throat. “You know what, Dad?” His voice gets louder. “You gotta prepare yourself. Because if Ma flakes out and cancels on us, then Christmas is going to suck.”

Father looks at Jimmy.

“You heard me. And then Christmas is going to roll right into Valentine’s Day. Which is going to suck too. For you anyway.” Something else occurs to Jimmy as he carefully lays the wires out across the floor. “And then we’re going to run smack into Mother’s Day. If she’s not home by then, that’s going to suck for everybody.”

Father scowls, and finally nods.

They all agree that they will get the lights on the tree but forget about the decorations, just this once.

I’m afraid it is true what Jimmy said, that they are reluctant to decorate because they’re nervous that Mother will not show up. If that happens, we won’t be able to stand looking at this tree at all. The bright lights and baubles will just remind us of our hopes, easily shattered.

Jimmy puts the wires on the tree, with Mary assisting him. The tree glows and twinkles. Then Jimmy carries the boxes of decorations right back up to the attic without putting any of them on the tree. I’m disappointed.

* * *

The next day there is some game of sport on the TV all day. Mary makes popcorn and they watch on and off.

Sean comes over late in the day with hot roast beef sandwiches for everyone. He also has cookies that his wife made.

“Thanks,” Mary says, taking the cookies from him. She looks disappointed. “We don’t have anything for you. I’m so sorry. You know Mom usually—”

Sean stops her. He tells her not to worry about it, that he knows Carrie used to do all of the shopping.

Father comes out of the kitchen.

“Here he is,” Sean greets him. “Clean-shaven. You’re like a new man. I still don’t recognize you. What’d you do with my friend Tom?”

Father offers Sean some coffee. Mother used to make the coffee every morning, but Father has finally figured out how to do it himself.

I’m proud of him. The contraption that makes the coffee looks very difficult to master.

Mary beats Father to the kitchen, and she swings a cabinet door open to grab a coffee mug. She asks Sean how he likes his coffee.

Sean raises his eyebrows at her. “Very sweet. The way I like my ladies.” Mary rolls her eyes and opens a cabinet to find the sugar.

Jimmy, who has just entered the kitchen, groans.

Sean shrugs. “Speaking of ladies, how’s it going with your girl, Jim?” Sean now sits at the kitchen table with Father. He turns to Father, tapping him on the arm. “What’s her name again?”

Father pauses, caught off guard. “Um, it’s . . . Anya? Or, Anna . . . something?”

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Jimmy’s face darkens. “Don’t forget her name. Don’t do that, Pops.” Jimmy is clearly upset. “Aruna. It’s not that hard.”

Sean frowns. “It’s an unusual name, that’s all,” he says. “Give your Pops a break. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

“I don’t care. He should know it by now. We’ve been going out for two months.”

Father apologizes and stares at his hands.

Sean hits Father on the arm. “It’s okay, Tommy. You’ve got a lot on your mind.” Sean turns in his seat. “So, Big Jim. What are you gettin’ Aruna for Christmas? It is kind of a romantic holiday, as my wife likes to remind me.”

Jimmy pauses, and he sticks his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish. I think he’s embarrassed because Father probably won’t be having a “romantic holiday.” Or maybe Jimmy is just not good with shopping and gifts.

“Uh, well, actually, you know, Aruna’s not Catholic. She’s not Christian at all. She doesn’t celebrate Christmas. But I’m still planning to get her a gift.”

“So?” Sean is on the edge of his seat, waiting for the answer.

“Um, well, I noticed her favorite color is red . . . ?” Jimmy is obviously on one of those rare topics outside of his comfort zone, because he glances at the floor as he talks. “So, maybe, a red scarf?”

“But isn’t her coat red?” Father asks.

Sean slams the table triumphantly. “You see? Your Pops is paying attention, after all.”

Jimmy’s lips purse as he thinks it over. “Yeah . . . Yeah, so you think maybe . . . blue?”

Father hesitates, but just for a moment. “Call your mom and ask her.”

I have never heard Father talk like this before, so casually about Mother. As if she is just someone, who lives somewhere else.

They all agree, that’s what Jimmy will do. He will call and ask Mother for advice. Mother will know the right thing to do. Of course she will.

Just as he’s about to leave the kitchen, Jimmy turns. “Wait, Pops. I need to get something for Ma too, don’t I? Are you getting her something?”

Father looks stunned, suddenly panicked. Sean glances over and sees the look on Father’s face. “Nah, Big Jim,” Sean says in a hurry. “Your ma doesn’t want your pops to do that. Not . . . Jimmy, just ask your ma about your girl. Ask her about the scarf.”

Sean turns to face Father and speaks emphatically, to make sure Father understands: “Carrie wouldn’t want you to do that.”

It makes me sad, to see how Father goes from normal to grieving in a heartbeat.

I can’t believe Mother is coming here. We’re all flustered.

When my family has days off, they have too much time to think. I prefer the days when everyone is out working and Mahmee is here, with her radio on. She doesn’t seem as stressed out as the rest of them.

And, of course, when Charlotte visits, things are better. Early in the week, Charlotte still works with Mahmee in the morning. But later in the week, she comes in the afternoon and works with Father. I am convinced she helps to distract Father from his misery, at least for a short time.

When Charlotte arrives, she walks in without knocking because Father has told her to do that. “Hello!” she calls out, stomping the snow off her boots. When Father comes down the stairs, her mouth hangs half-open for a moment as she assesses Father’s new look, clean-shaven.

Compliment him, I think. He’s had a really hard week.

But she surprises me and doesn’t say anything. Usually she has something positive to say.

Maybe this is a little different. Maybe it would be too personal for her to comment on how he looks.

While Father never likes being the focus of attention, he also doesn’t run away when she stares at him a beat too long. He waits, leaning on the banister, and just looks back at her.

“Okay!” Her smile is chipper and bright. “Let’s go get started.”

I like Charlotte. I give her a quick wink.

She sees me sitting at the bottom of the stairs and gives a brief stroke to my head before hurrying to catch up with Father. I stand up and lean into her touch. Her movements are not graceful, but she always acknowledges my presence with a light touch, which I appreciate.

Once they’ve gone up the stairs, I wonder if there is more I can do to help my family get ready for Mother’s visit. I jump up on the table that sits by the front door and pick out a framed photo of Mother with Mary when she was little, cooking together in the kitchen. I bat my paw at the dusty photo until it falls over and onto the floor.

Surely Mary will see this and fix it, move the photo to the front. When Mother sees this photo, she will remember the wonderful times she had with us. And then she will want to stay.

I will make sure Mother remembers. Maybe she just needs a little help.