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“Yes!”
“My bad.”
I laugh at how expertly Tori changed the subject.
The conversation on the other side of the table grows louder.
“It will be too noisy and distracting having the house full of people,” Gerald says.
“No one will go into your office,” Rheta answers. “That hallway will be off limits.”
“Noise travels,” Dorian huffs.
“Wear earplugs,” is Rheta’s unsympathetic reply.
“Mother,” Dorian booms, his voice filling the room. I flinch. He speaks extra slowly, as if it’s Rheta’s hearing that makes her not understand his opinion. “It’s a bad idea inviting strangers into your home. They’ll … rob you.”
That’s a far-fetched accusation, and honestly insulting to the town of York. It makes me think he’s grasping at strawssince his earlier arguments against holding Boxing Day at the cabin have failed.
Rheta doesn’t respond to his words or his tone. She sits placidly, her hands on her lap.
“Son, I respect your choice to work through the holiday. I’m not stopping you from doing what you choose, but now you need to respect my choice. I decide how to fill my time and who I invite into my home. These are my neighbors. If you don’t like it, fly back to Salt Lake City.”
Everyone at the table stills. I’m filled with dread. If Spencer leaves with Dorian, then I have to go with him. It would be weird if I stayed on my own, and I’m looking forward to spending Christmas with Tori, Sadie, Owen and his family. As well as the Boxing Day gift-exchange-and-eat-leftovers party.
“No, Mother,” Dorian says, this time quietly. “We want to stay, of course we do.”
Gerald, Ellory, and Spencer nod in agreement.
“Then stop trying to convince me I’m wrong,” Rheta tells her children. “If you can’t work in the house during the party, then go to the public library. I’m sure it will be empty since everyone will be here.”
I stifle my laugh over Dorian’s shocked expression. As if he’s never walked through the doors of any public building, especially not a library.
“I only want what is best for you,” he says meekly. “I’m your son. Can’t I be concerned about your welfare? Preparing for a party at such short notice can be stressful.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Dorian. I’m old, I’m not dying.”
Miles’parents Susan and Malcolm arrive at ten o’clock to lead the decorating committee. Twelve people from town arrive soon after, and they bring along a few children to play with Sadie.
Susan posts a printed schedule on the back of the front door. When I look for my name, I see it listed next to two women from town. We’re going to work decorating the dining room. But first, we need to unpack all the decorations and lay them out on tables set up in the foyer, so they’re easier to organize.
Susan and Malcolm are in their seventies, but that doesn’t slow them down. They’re unpacking with the rest of us, and when they come across mistletoe, they don’t let the opportunity to kiss pass them by.
Sadie becomes the ringleader of the children. They maraud around the house with empty wrapping paper rolls and ribbons tied around their heads to cover one eye, pretending they’re pirates. Sadie tapes the chicken ornament onto her shoulder like it’s a parrot.
When I have most of the decorations for the dining room gathered, I take an armload in to get started. Owen is at the dining table untangling a string of brand-new lights. How they got tangled isn’t the most important question.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
He glances up, then back down at the lights. “There’s been a change in decorating partners. Do you think you can help with this? The kids got to it before I did.”
I notice how he changed the subject, but for reasons I’d rather not think about, I don’t dig into the why behind the change. With a smile, I pull up Christmas music on my phone and help him untangle the string of lights.
The theme for this room is silver and gold. We have ribbons and ornaments in all shapes and sizes. Even the tree skirt is gold with silver stars. I’m not sure how Miles and Rheta found all of this in two days, but it will be a beautiful room.
I climb the ladder to weave the ribbon through the branches, starting at the top and working toward the bottom. As we work, Owen whistles along with the music. I sing the words. It’s companionable and kind of perfect.
“I have contraband.” Owen pulls out a candy cane from his shirt pocket. “I thought we could hide it in the tree and see if anyone notices. It’ll be like your pickle game, but since the candy cane is red and white striped, more of a Christmas-themed ‘Where’s Waldo.’”
