Page 29 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

Olivia cringed.

“After Cindy left, your mother went into a tirade over how they should’ve replaced their septic system ages ago. Good grief, you’d think the McEntires’ sewage had flooded your parents’ front yard. Your mother even threatened to call the board of health.” She shrugged. “And I’ll admit it does smell a little outside. But it’s just temporary. And it’s not like anyone is having a barbecue.”

“It is pretty stinky.” Olivia sighed. “It’s so sad for the McEntires. Such a bind. I wish I could invite Malcolm and his family to spend Christmas with us. I mean, can you imagine trying to cook for twenty or more people with no plumbing—and that stench?”

“That’d be perfect,” Lulu declared. “We will do that.”

“Do what?”

“Invite them all for Christmas.”

Olivia blinked. “Seriously?”

“Why not? It can be the cherry on top of Jane’s little intervention sundae. And just imagine a house full of happy people gathered here. I’ve been in Cindy’s house. This place is bigger and has a much better layout for entertaining.”

“That’s true.” Olivia tried to imagine her mom’s reaction, then decided it was better not to think about it.

“And to take the pressure off you, I’ll invite them.” Lulu grinned. “I’ll go over there right now and start putting together a plan with Cindy. She’s such a delightful person.”

“Maybe you should ask them about participating in Mom’s intervention while you’re there,” Olivia suggested, thinking she’d prefer to have that one off her shoulders too. Maybe she was cowardly, but she just wanted to preserve her relationship with her mother. And Lulu seemed skilled at ignoring conflict . . . and thrived on acting like all was well when it was really going somewhere in a handbasket.

While Lulu went next door, Olivia went to check on her mom, discovering she’d sent Dad out for an order of Thai food.

“It just hit me,” she explained to Olivia in a slightly hushed tone, “that if I ordered takeout dinner, your grandmother would not need to concoct some horrid meal.” She smiled victoriously.

“That’s a great idea.” Olivia sat down on the sofa across from her. “How’s your hip feeling? Are you staying on top of your pain management?”

“Your father just gave me a pill. I’m fine.” She scowled.

“You don’t sound fine.”

Jane twisted a tissue in her hand, coiling it tight.

Olivia leaned forward. “You seem troubled, Mom. Are you okay?”

Jane’s eyes flashed with anger. “Of course not. How could I possibly be okay?”

Olivia just nodded, waiting . . . hoping for a breakthrough.

“Good grief, can you imagine how humiliating it was to be taken by ambulance to the hospital—with bright blue hair and a clay facial mask that was cracking up?”

Olivia couldn’t help but giggle. “I bet you were a sight, Mom.” She sobered. “I’m sorry.”

“And injuring my hip was no walk in the park either.” She pointed to her wheelchair. “Then being stuck in this thing, unable to perform the simplest tasks without help.”

“I don’t mind helping you, Mom.” Olivia knew that was only partially true. Her persnickety mother was not the easiest person in the world to assist. It seemed she never got anything quite right or good enough to satisfy her.

“And I appreciate that, Olivia. But on top of everything else, I have to endure my lunatic mother, the queen of bad taste, taking over my home and my kitchen.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m afraid to go in there and see what a mess she’s made of my beautiful kitchen.”

“It’s not that bad.” Okay, Olivia knew that was a lie. But Mom seemed so tormented, she just had to throw her a bone.

“And now having the neighbors traipsing in and out, using my shower and my towels and who knows what else.”

“Erik and Cindy can’t bathe at their house, Mom. And they’re using my bathroom, and I’ve been doing the cleanup and laundry.”

“What about Malcolm?”

“He’s barely here, Mom.” Olivia was losing her patience. It was one thing to get her mom to open up, but it was feeling more like a dam that had been broken. How to stop the flood?