Page 1 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

one

Olivia Bradshaw released a loud groan as she dropped her shopping bags inside the apartment. “Why do I keep doing this?” she muttered to herself as she peeled off her coat and unwound her wool scarf, shaking the rain onto the tiled entryway floor.

“Keep doing what?” her roommate Tracie asked from behind her. “And why are you talking to yourself?”

“Oh, was I?” Olivia kicked off her soggy shoes. “I thought you were going out to hunt down a Christmas tree.”

“That was the plan, but Josh canceled. Due to weather.” Tracie peered curiously at her. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re the shrink.” Olivia wrinkled her nose. “You tell me.”

“First of all, I dislike the word shrink. Next of all, I’m only an intern until I get my license next summer.” She pointed to the sofa. “But if you’d like to talk, I’m a pretty good listener. Not going anywhere this weekend.”

Olivia frowned out the window. “Yeah, it’s a deluge out there. Not supposed to let up for several days.” She turned and sank into the sofa with a loud sigh.

“So, tell me, what’s up?” Tracie shoved a throw pillow behind her and leaned back.

“I’m not totally sure I can explain it.” Olivia pursed her lips. “But don’t they say that repeating the same behavior and expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity?”

“Then be comforted, you’re in good company.” Tracie smiled. “So what is it you keep doing with unsurprising results?”

Olivia studied her roommate. They’d been friends for less than a year and roommates only since summer. Tracie seemed so put together and intelligent that Olivia was reluctant to spill the beans about her weird family. Make that her weird mother. In Dad’s defense, he was pretty normal. An enabler perhaps, but basically a good guy. Still, Tracie had never met Olivia’s parents or visited their home.

Tracie nodded toward the heap of bags piled by the door. “Looks like you scored with your shopping excursion. Is your problem perhaps overspending? Lots of people do that this time of year. Not too late to return things.”

“Thankfully, that’s not necessary. In fact, shopping, despite the lousy weather, was fun. This is my first year buying real Christmas presents for everyone and, okay, I might’ve gone overboard, but thanks to my raise from the marketing firm, I didn’t need to charge a single thing this year. That’s not why I’m bummed.”

“Is this related to Malcolm?”

“No, not exactly. I mean, we’re okay. Really, Malcolm is great.” Olivia twisted her mouth to one side. To be honest, her mixed feelings were slightly related to Malcolm. Not directly, but partly. Anyway, Malcolm could complicate things.

Tracie held up her hands like she was ready to give up. “Okay then, if you don’t want to talk—”

“I do want to talk,” Olivia burst out. “I need to talk. It’s just hard to explain. I don’t know where to begin. And I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Go ahead, start digging.” Tracie leaned back again.

“Well, it’s about my mom. And already, I feel like a spoiled brat to whine about it.”

“Spoiled brat? Why?”

“For talking smack about my mom. For being ungrateful, for taking her for granted . . .”

“Uh-huh? How’s that?”

“Because, well, because my mom is perfect. Jane Bradshaw is absolute perfection.”

“Perfection . . . ?” Tracie’s brow creased. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“See why I feel like the ungrateful daughter?” Olivia was aware that Tracie had been born into severe dysfunction, followed by foster care and finally adoption to the family she now recognized as her own. And yet she seemed so unscathed by it all. “I hate hearing myself complain about my mom.”

Tracie held up one hand. “Okay, let’s make this a judgment-free zone.”

“Yeah . . . right.”

“So, can you describe to me how your mom is, uh, perfect?”

“It’s everything. The way she acts, her manners and mannerisms. The way she looks—she’s an impeccable dresser who seems to wake up with perfect hair and makeup. The way she keeps her home immaculate and organized. Honestly, this woman is so meticulous, she could probably cook and clean and decorate the pants off Martha Stewart.”