Page 18 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

Determined to finish decorating for Christmas, Jane lined up several classical Christmas CDs in their Bose player. She wanted to regain some sort of Christmas spirit. Not so much for herself but to prove to Rob that she was not in need of a psychiatrist. Oh, he’d never actually said that, but she could feel it when he hinted. Rob seemed to think she had obsessive-compulsive disorder. And really, that was absurd. Why should anyone care if she valued order and organization, appreciated a tidy house, and got impatient with those who didn’t? Like Cindy next door?

Well, that was ridiculous. Take one stroll through Cindy’s house and, unless you were a complete slob or blind, you’d have to know that something was seriously wrong over there. That place was downright dysfunctional and a health hazard to boot. She didn’t know why Rob couldn’t grasp that. But fretting over this was doing no good.

She’d gotten out a couple of her Christmas bins and attempted to return to putting out her lovely decorations just like she’d done every year. Although she knew exactly where each precious item went and had been doing it perfectly and efficiently in just one day for the last twenty years or so, for some reason she found it to be extremely difficult this year. And she didn’t know why. Usually she thrived on getting everything perfectly into place. Since her early twenties, she’d firmly believed the old adage that there was a place for everything and everything should be in its place. And yet, she suddenly felt like she was walking in quicksand, barely able to lift her legs or move her arms.

Deciding she needed a break, she made a cup of her favorite relaxing herbal tea and even got herself a Pepperidge Farm cookie for comfort. Sitting down on her sofa, she took in a deep breath, listening as the string quartet began to play “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” wanting to just soak it in, waiting for some sense of peace and serenity to come.

As she sipped her tea, she tried to remember when she’d first discovered these soothing forms of Christmas music. So much better than “Jingle Bells” and “Deck the Halls,” songs that many people favored in hopes of feeling holiday cheer. Those tunes had never made her feel the least bit cheery. And she wasn’t even sure why. Or why other people seemed to like them like they did. Couldn’t they hear the difference between that trivial tra-la-la and this wonderful quartet?

To be fair, she hadn’t grown up with classical music. Her mother had always preferred that tinny, obnoxious music. Lulu had even gotten her an Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas album one time, thinking Jane would be thrilled. And maybe she had liked it a little at first. But, good grief, she’d probably been four at the time. Something like that would only grind on her last nerve now. Just like any memories from her childhood grated. She sighed, thankful that era was behind her. Some stones really were better left unturned. No telling what one might find. The noise and chaos and mess of her childhood were not unlike what she found next door. As a teenager it had driven her up the wall and made it easy to leave home for college . . . and never go back.

As “Silent Night” began to play, slow and sweet like it should always be, she felt herself relaxing . . . just a smidgeon. Maybe she would regain the energy to finish decorating. She finished her tea and took another deep breath, then slowly stood up, looking around her. Despite it being by the front living room window, the Christmas tree did not fully block the view of Cindy’s front yard.

Jane felt her pulse quicken as she surveyed the life-size inflatable Christmas figures littered across the yard. Never mind that the sound of the pump growling 24/7 to keep them inflated was torturous, or that the bright-colored objects that glowed in the dark were so obnoxious. With the cloudy gray sky, they looked gaudier than ever. Who ever thought having Santa with a surfboard was a good idea? And an inflatable manger scene? Who thought that was a good idea? A new addition to the McEntires’ menagerie this year was a Grinch with a snarly expression possessively hugging a bag of toys. Was that meant to be a reflection on her? Did they all think she was a Grinch?

She turned her attention to her tree. At least it was decorated. With sparkly crystal snowflakes, pale blue icicles, silver glass balls . . . the only thing missing was the pale blue moiré satin ribbon trimmed in silver. She usually placed the delicate confection around the branches like a garland. Her finishing touch.

Spying the neatly coiled rolls of ribbon in a bin, she was just reaching for one when she heard a car engine outside. It was too early for Rob to be home. She peeked out to spy a black-and-yellow taxi pulling into her driveway. She set down the ribbon and went to the foyer window for a better look. Then, to her shock, she watched a plumpish woman with long white hair and a multicolored poncho emerge from the vehicle. The driver helped the woman remove a zebra-striped rolling bag and a smaller hot pink leopard print one from the trunk. Smiling and laughing, the fellow helped the woman get her luggage up to the house. And then it hit Jane.

“Mother?” she said to herself in disbelief. What on earth was Lulu doing here?

Before she could gather her wits or call Rob with this distressing news, the doorbell was ringing. Wishing she could just ignore it, go into her room, lock the door, and hide, Jane slowly walked to the front door. Her ears were ringing and her pulse was racing as she opened the door.

“Wha—” She didn’t even get the words out before Lulu grabbed her up into a bear hug.

“Oh, baby girl,” she gushed. “I’m so glad to see you.” She stepped back and patted Jane’s cheek. “You look too thin, Moonbeam. And pale too. Have you been sick?”

Jane had no words, watching as Lulu paid the taxi driver, generously tipping him and thanking him for the “delightful drive,” then looping the strap of her pink bag over one shoulder.

“It’s darn cold out here,” Lulu said as she wheeled her zebra bag past Jane into the foyer. “Do you think there’ll be snow?”

Jane mutely shut the door, trying to understand what was happening.

“I haven’t seen a white Christmas in ages,” Lulu continued, laughing. “But then again, no one does in San Diego.” She looked around the house. “My, my, it looks like you’ve done some redecorating since my last visit. But it’s been a while. Livvie’s eighth-grade graduation, I think. That’s been quite some time.”

Lulu left her bags at the foot of the stairs and continued on through the house, commenting in her usual candid way about the decor. Of course, she didn’t like anything . . . not that she said as much. But Jane had no doubts this was not Lulu’s eccentric style. Finally they were in the kitchen, where Lulu made herself comfortable on a breakfast bar stool.

“I should’ve gotten a bite to eat on my way out here, but I was so eager to arrive, I came straight from the airport. I’m ravenous, Moonbeam. Got anything good to eat in this big ol’ fancy kitchen?” Lulu kicked off her ankle-length fire-engine-red boots and stretched out her legs. “I’m going to have to do some tai chi before bed. I’m all tied up in knots.”

“Mother?” Jane spoke slowly. “What are you doing here?”

Lulu let loose with that hearty belly laugh that Jane remembered from childhood, acting like life was so perfect—just a great big bowl of cherries—while it was really just a great big mess. “I’m here for Christmas, of course. What did you think?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. But . . . uh, why? I mean, how did this happen?”

“Rob called last week and invited me.”

“Last week?”

“Yeah, it was so sweet of him. How could I resist? It’s been too long since I’ve seen my little Moonbeam and—”

“Please, Mother, do not call me Moonbeam. I go by Jane now. I think you are aware of that.”

“Yes, yes. Jane. Plain Jane. Such a sad little name.”

“I prefer it to—uh . . .” Jane couldn’t bring herself to say the detestable childhood name aloud.

“I know, I know. But when I think about you, darling, and when I pray for you, I always call you Moonbeam. Cut an old lady some slack, okay?” Lulu winked. “A rose is a rose is a rose by any other name, right?”