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It’s good Spencer warned me about the dress code, or I’d have come down to breakfast in slacks and a blouse. I’mwearing my fanciest dress: black, sleeveless, and with silver beading along the top. I love any reason to dress up, but for nine o’clock on a Christmas morning spent at home, it feels excessive.
The exception to the dress code is Sadie, who comes to breakfast walking on her tip-toes and wearing a leotard, pink tights, and a tutu. When I give Tori a questioning glance, she raises her eyes to heaven. It seems to be a common thing where her daughter is concerned.
“Some things are not worth the argument,” she says under her breath.
Breakfast has always been delicious at the cabin, but today it’s warm crepes with a dozen different toppings and hazelnut coffee. Where has this coffee been hiding all week? It’s the pick-me-up I need after two nights of little sleep. It’s truly amazing.
Dorian, Marianne, and Ellory are chatty and linger over breakfast, which means we all do. Rheta sits at the head of the table with a huge grin, but when Sadie’s impatience to open presents reaches a crescendo, we move to the family room. The decorations in here are very pink. It seems pink is the trend this year. At least, that’s what we were told yesterday at the farm, but maybe the pink ornaments were all that remained so close to Christmas. Still, the pink is beautiful against the white of the room. Sadie loves it, and she dances around in circles.
Since yesterday, everyone has brought their gifts and placed them under the tree. There are at least fifty, and they’re all wrapped in gorgeous paper and big, colorful bows.
The items I knit are in my Boudron slung over myshoulder. I wrapped nothing, and am suddenly self-conscious to gift knitted items with everyone watching.
I don’t need to worry, because my expectation for a Christmas morning where we gather on the sofas and open gifts one at a time isn’t met.
Instead, everyone stands around in small groups talking and exchanges gifts one at a time. After Rheta gives gifts to Marianne and her sons, Spencer leads me to the tree so he can grab a large box wrapped in silver paper. He carries it in two hands as we walk to where Rheta sits in an armchair.
“Merry Christmas, Grandmother.” He places it on the end table next to her and kisses her cheek.
“Thank you, Spencer. And Layla.”
She’s careful with the ribbon and paper so that it doesn’t tear. Spencer taps his fingers against his thigh with impatience. She is taking excessive care, but I don’t want Rheta to feel rushed, so I take his hand in mine.
When the paper is off and the lid removed, the sides of the box open outward, revealing an elegant crystal vase with a fluted top. I gasp at its beauty and size.
“It’s gorgeous,” Rheta says. “Thank you.”
Spencer preens. “It’s Baccarat.”
Rheta smiles like she’s bestowing an award for giving an excellent gift. “It will look perfect in the dining room with roses or delphiniums.” She takes a small wrapped box from beside her. “Spencer, this is something your grandfather and I wanted you to have.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.” After accepting the gift, he turns to leave, but I stay where I am.
“I have something for you as well,” I say. From myBoudron I take out the folded shawl and place it in her waiting hands.
Rheta gasps as she unfolds it. “It’s like gossamer. Where did you purchase this?”
“My Nana made it.”
She runs her fingers over the soft, web-like stitches. “How lovely. My mother had something similar that she purchased in Europe.” She looks up at me, a genuine smile on her lips. “Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, Rheta.”
She sandwiches my hand between hers. “I have something for you that you’ll receive on Friday morning.”
I don’t need anything in return, but it seems rude to say so. “Thank you.”
We take a few steps away so Dorian and Ginger can give their gift to Rheta. When she opens the box with diamond earrings, her face does not show the excitement that it did when she received my gift. Her fingers run absently over the shawl still in her lap as she speaks to them.
“It’s a nice shawl.” Spencer’s voice holds confusion. “But it cost next to nothing. That vase is one of a kind and cost me six thousand dollars. You have to agree that’s much more than what you spent.”
It bothers me how he acts as if gift giving is a competition. “The shawl is quality workmanship. It’s not about money. It’s about the thought that goes into it.”
Spencer snorts. “I put a lot of thought into that vase.” With a sigh, his shoulders relax. There’s disappointment in his eyes, but also respect. “I told you my family wouldn’t want anything handmade from you. It seems I was wrong.”
He is wrong, and I appreciate how he acknowledges it.
“Thank you, Spencer.”
