The back door blows open, sweeping frigid cold and a white bluster of swirling snow into the kitchen.
There’s a man in the doorway, average height, gray hair, the serious, studious look of a college professor. I recognize him immediately from the photo in the living room. He still wears the same wire-framed glasses he sported two decades ago.
It’s Natalie’s father.
I roll my shoulders, push the kiss to the back of my mind. It’s time to finish this festive farce. Natalie’s gaping at me like I’ve sprouted another head, but I ignore the messages she’s trying to send like Morse code from her eyes. Blink, blink, dot, dot, dash.
I think that means, please don’t tell my parents I’m a mistletoe maniac.
I have to admit, I was tempted to smooth over everything, leave with as little hubbub as possible. But then she had to go and throw the evictions into the mix.
I know she thinks I’m a cold-blooded, hard-hearted scrooge. I know this. I just forgot.
So I’m leaving and I just kissed her goodbye.
Natalie’s father stomps into the kitchen, snow falling from his boots onto the mat.
“Natalie,” he calls, his voice booming across the cabin.
Her mother, same brown curly hair as in the picture, same long denim-style dress under her red wool coat, pushes past her husband. The entry is tight and she hurriedly unwinds the green knitted scarf from her neck.
“Natalie?” she calls. “What happened to your car? Are you okay? Natalie?” She turns to her husband. “Where is she? Why didn’t she call? What happened?”
Natalie pulls me with her, we step around the cabinets, and she gives a small wave. “Hi Mom. Hi Dad. Merry Christmas.”
Her mom’s hands fall from her scarf and flutter in front of her like she’s sweeping aside snowflakes. Her dad’s eyebrows lift high over the rim of his glasses, and then he takes me in, making a quick, analytical calculation.
I’d bet good money that Natalie’s dad is the logical, even-keeled one of the family.
“Why…you brought Jason. How lovely,” her mom says, rushing forward.
She envelops me in a warm hug, the snow from her coat falling over us, the scent of Christmas cookies and coffee strong. Her cheeks are round and pink and when she smiles up at me I can only think that she’s the reason Natalie loves Christmas. Her mom is a young Mrs. Claus.
Good manners would dictate that I give her an awkward pat or hug her back, but since I’m currently handcuffed to her daughter, it’s not exactly possible.
She doesn’t notice. She’s too excited. She pulls Natalie in for a hug, kissing her cheek.
“You look wonderful! I was worried you weren’t eating well in the city with how busy you’ve been, but I shouldn’t have worried. When I called Mrs. Givenchy she told me you were fine, but still…I can only send so many cookie care packages and restaurant gift cards.”
“Hi Mom,” Natalie says, her voice muffled by her mom’s wool coat, “I missed you too.”
“Yes. And luckily you have Jason to take care of you.” She pulls back from Natalie and smiles at me, as if I’m a present under the tree. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
She holds out her hand to shake mine. Out of the corner of my eye I see Natalie’s cheeks flame red. Yes. She should be embarrassed.
My right hand is the one cuffed to hers. I lift mine, the sparkly glitter pink leopard print cuffs clank like the doors of a prison cell.
“Nice to meet you. My name’s Gabe Cavanaugh.”
Natalie’s mom stares at my hand, her smile faltering, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. Natalie’s dad steps forward, stares at the handcuffs and then glowers at me.
“Gabe Cavanaugh, is it?” he asks in a well-modulated tone. It sounds like the voice a lecturer would use when he’s about to tear a student a new one.
I shift on my feet, realizing with some discomfort that he thinks they interrupted Natalie and me playing naughty and nice with the cuffs.
It’s that moment that the rest of the family bangs into the kitchen.
Felix, Natalie’s brother, is carrying two large shopping bags stacked with wrapped gifts. He has dark curly hair, just like Natalie, but instead of a ready smile like his sister, he seems to have mastered the stern, studious look of his father. He’s in his mid-twenties, and just like I thought from his clothing, he’s a tad shorter than me, and a bit wider, with the physique of a football player.
Behind him, an older woman with white hair, owlish eyes, and a lime green fur coat stomps into the kitchen. She’s holding a leopard print suitcase in her hands. Now I know where Natalie got her taste for leopard print from. Grandma, I presume.
Felix drops the sacks of Christmas presents to the kitchen floor, swaggers to the counter and grabs the gingerbread cookie Natalie decorated. He takes a bite while frowning at Natalie and me.
“Natalie. Why are you and Jason wearing handcuffs?” His eyebrows rise, and he takes another bite of the cookie. “These are good, by the way.”
“He’s not Jason,” Natalie’s dad says, giving me a stern look, like I’ve participated in some scheme to bamboozle all of them out of their Christmas gifts.
“His name is Gabe,” Natalie says, her voice only shakes a little, and if I didn’t know better I’d say she was thrilled to introduce me to her family. “I brought him to the cabin to celebrate Christmas. We didn’t expect you all so early.”
The last is said with a bit of censure.
“We voted,” the grandma says. She takes off her coat to reveal a baggy sweater covered in gold sequin Christmas trees. “Since you texted that you weren’t coming up, we decided to come to the cabin early, spend a nice old-fashioned Christmas in the woods. Like the good old days. When I was a kid we took sleigh rides, made maple sugar candy in the snow, and sewed rag dolls for presents.”
“Mother please,” Natalie’s mom says, “that was Laura Ingalls Wilder. When you were a kid you watched Christmas movies on TV and went shopping for presents in the city.”
“Well, if you want to be accurate,” Natalie’s grandma says.
Felix shrugs and shoves the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “Anyway, handcuffs Natalie? Ghosting mom’s texts? Really?”
Natalie ignores her brother. “Everyone, this is Gabe. Gabe this is my mom Roberta, my dad Jerry, my brother Felix, and my grandma Agnes.”
As Natalie introduces her family, her mom gives me a shining smile, her dad nods cordially, her brother gives me a skeptical look, and her grandma studies me like she’s trying to decide whether or not I’m past my sell-by-date.
“I thought you were getting engaged to that web guy?” Grandma Agnes says, frowning at Natalie. “In my day we didn’t jump from man to man.”
“Jeez, Grandma,” Felix mutters, grabbing my inmate cookie.
“Mom,” Roberta says, “you had four husbands.”
“And all of them were a delight,” she says. “Your father included.”
Okay. Now’s the time to end this, while Natalie’s family is still in their coats and their SUV is still warm and ready to drive out of here.
I hold up my hand and everyone looks at me. “While it’s nice to meet you all. I need you to listen to me. Your daughter and I are not together.”
“Oh jeez, I knew it,” Grandma Agnes mutters. “She takes after me. Sees an attractive man and just can’t help herself.”
“Explain yourself,” Jerry says, frowning at the handcuffs.
“Gladly,” I say. “I only met your daughter yesterday. Last night she tied me up with Christmas lights, shoved me in her trunk, and then drove here to force me to participate in Christmas fun. She handcuffed us together to prevent me from leaving.”
I stare at her family, letting them see the seriousness of the accusation by the gravity in my gaze.
Felix has the gingerbread inmate halfway to his mouth, a stunned look on his face.
Roberta shakes her head and stutters, “But…but…” while her hands flutter in front of her.
Jerry gives Natalie a hard, searching look.
Grandma Agnes just looks impressed.
Then I look at Natalie as does everyone else.
She’s giving them the cheekiest, perkiest, biggest smile I’ve ever seen. Her eyebrows high and her cheeks red. She looks like a mischievous elf about to make trouble.
And then, the craziest thing happens.
Roberta starts to laugh. Then Jerry does too. Felix scoffs, shakes his head and bites the arm off the gingerbread man.
Grandma Agnes crows with laughter. “That’s a good one. I love jokes, what a delight.”
Roberta finishes pulling off her scarf and starts to take off her coat.
They don’t believe me. They think I’m joking.
“Let’s go unload the rest of the car,” Jerry says to Felix, nodding to the door.
“Wait,” I say, “I’m not joking. I’m here against my will. I need you to convince your daughter to unlock these handcuffs so I can go home. I’d like to borrow your car to drive to the nearest town. This isn’t a laughing matter. I’m serious.”
Jerry hesitates. Felix frowns at me.
“Natalie?” Roberta asks, looking between Natalie and me.
Natalie smiles up at me, then beams at her family. “Gabe’s a method actor.”
What?
“I am not—”
“You know the type. The one’s who immerse themselves in a role. He’s auditioning for an Off-Broadway kidnapping show. He can’t break character, he’s very dedicated. You know these actors. They take their craft seriously. Just go with it.”
“Ohhh. I’ve heard of those,” Roberta says nodding.
“Wow. An actor.” Grandma Agnes lets out a delighted sigh, her owlish eyes widening.
“No. This is absurd.” I shake my head, realizing that her family is buying this nonsense.
They believe her.
“He can’t admit he’s an actor,” Natalie whispers. “That would break character.”
“Well what are we supposed to do?” Roberta asks Natalie, actually concerned for my acting.
“You’re supposed to uncuff me and drive me to the nearest town,” I say, shaking the handcuffs at her family.
But Natalie says, “You can help him get the role by just going with it. He’s method acting, so right now, he’s been kidnapped for Christmas and he doesn’t want to celebrate.”
“What kind of roles have you had?” Jerry asks, studying me anew, assessing my chops as an artist.
“Dad, don’t take him out of character,” Felix says, shaking his head.
“I’m not an actor,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’m in real estate.”
“In the play,” Natalie says, “he evicts people for fun. On Christmas.”
“Ohhh, a villain,” Grandma Agnes says. “I always root for the villain.”
I shake my head. Unbelievable. I step forward, level my gaze on Natalie’s family. Give them a look that would scorch the earth and then salt it with my wrath.
“Listen to me and listen carefully,” I say, clenching my hands. “My name is Gabe Cavanaugh. I am a real estate professional from New York. I was kidnapped by your daughter. I do not want to be here. I loathe Christmas. Everything about Christmas. If you don’t want to be implicated in this crime, you need to uncuff me now and drive me to the nearest town. I am not an actor. I am not here to spend Christmas with you. You need to let me go. Right. Now.”
The kitchen is silent. It’s a stunned silence.
Good.
I’ve gotten through to them.
I take a deep breath, unclench my hands, and that breaks the spell.
Roberta claps her hands, Grandma Agnes cheers, and even Jerry slaps me on the arm.
“Great acting, you’re amazing!” Jerry says. “Incredible.”
“That was excellent,” Roberta gives me a wide smile. “You’re very talented.”
“Not bad,” Felix shrugs, “for Off-Broadway.”
I’m speechless, my head jangling with their claps and congratulations.
“He is good, isn’t he?” Natalie says, smiling at her family.
My word.
They’re all insane. They’re all just as deluded as she is.
“This is going to be a wonderful Christmas. I love actors,” Grandma Agnes says as she struts into the kitchen, aiming for the coffee maker.
“Come on then, Felix,” Jerry says. “Let’s get everything out of the car.”
“But…no. I’m not acting,” I say desperately, “I’m not an actor. I’m serious.”
Roberta pats me on the arm, a motherly expression on her face. “We know dear. We won’t mention it. Don’t want you to break character. We’ll play along as much as you like.”
“No.” I shake my head.
“See, Gabe, I told you they’d understand,” Natalie says.
She gives me a cheeky smile. I stare at her and I have the strongest urge to take her in my arms and…well, I block out what’ll happen next.
“An actor,” Grandma Agnes says. “I always liked actors. You look a bit like Cary Grant. Now he was an actor.”
Felix and Jerry are heading out the door, the cold wind blowing into the kitchen, and as they leave, Felix asks his dad, “Aren’t method actors the ones that go crazy? Get too deep in their role?”
“Hope not,” Jerry says.
The wind slams the door shut behind them.
At that, Roberta takes off her coat and claps her hands. “Now? Who’s for cookies?”
Natalie smiles up at me, a shining gleam in her eyes.
“You are diabolical,” I say.
She nods, grinning. “Merry Christmas.”