Page 6 of We Wish You a Messy Christmas

“Well, some people think my mom is a hoarder since her house is so packed. Do you think she has an issue?”

“I remember your mom’s garage and yard sales. Seems she was always trying to thin out stuff. Doesn’t strike me as hoarding. And after raising eight kids, it’s no wonder she gets stuck with a lot of stuff. And they’ve been in that house for years and—”

“Okay, okay. Good defense. Maybe you should quit being a marketing consultant and take up law.” He glanced her way. “Speaking of your career, I’ve heard that a lot of consultants work off-site, from home. Have you ever thought of that?”

“I do work off-site sometimes.” She turned to look at him, studying his profile as he focused on the highway. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugged, then smiled. “I don’t know.” He pointed up the road to a pull-out next to the river. “I want to stop and take off my coat. I’m getting too warm.”

“Yeah, and it stopped raining.”

Malcolm slowed the car to a stop before getting out. Still wearing the blanket shawl, Olivia got out, too, going over to the guardrail to peer down at the raging river below.

“Pretty wild today,” she said.

“Extreme kayakers might like it, but I’ll take the calmer stuff.” Malcolm unzipped his wool jacket and tossed it in the back. “Olivia,” he said suddenly with a slightly urgent tone. “I hope that if I were to get a job with Doc Wheeler and relocate, we’d . . . uh, well, we’d still stay in touch, right?”

She nodded and smiled. “Of course.” But even as she said it, she wondered . . . what did he actually mean? Stay in touch as in “let’s remain friends”? Or continue with a long-distance dating relationship? Which honestly sounded unappealing. The distance part anyway. What was he really saying? She wanted to know and yet didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to be an anchor holding him back from a dream.

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Because I don’t want to lose this—whatever it is we have going on here.” His smile filled her with a warm rush of assurance. And yet . . . what was he not saying?

“I don’t want to lose it either.” In that same instant, the heavy dark clouds overhead opened up again, and they both scrambled back to the SUV. Okay, she thought, it wasn’t the perfect spot for a marriage proposal. After all, who wants to say yes in the cold rain? Although she had wished that was the moment, was ready for that to be the moment, and she would’ve eagerly said yes even while getting soaked to the skin. But it was probably for the best, since catching her parents off-guard by showing up unexpectedly combined with the news of an engagement . . . well, it might send her poor mother into cardiac arrest. Even a careful, albeit late-in-coming hint that romance was brewing would be more than enough to unhinge her mother. Not for the first time, Olivia wished she’d given her mom a little heads-up months ago when this was all fresh and new. What had she been waiting for anyway? Christmas?

four

As Rob went for seconds at the loaded dining room table, every imaginable dish seemed to be there, from sushi to gnocchi to kimchi—an international smorgasbord. But since his taste was relatively tame, and since his wife rarely made it, he went for more lasagna. He knew Jane would give him hecky pecky, as his mother used to call it, for overeating so much rich food, and perhaps he’d pay for it at bedtime, but he did have a secret stash of Tums in his nightstand.

Pausing in the kitchen, fascinated by the chaotic clutter everywhere, he wondered if it was possible to love your wife for thirty-seven years and still not understand her. Rob didn’t know the answer to that perplexity, and he’d been asking that question of himself for many years. Jane remained a mystery. She had a sweet, caring side and a critical, judgmental side. How did both of those personalities occupy the same woman? And, unless he was imagining things, her obsession with perfection was increasing with each passing year.

To be fair, he’d appreciated her commitment to homemaking early in the game. Their house was always immaculate, his clothes clean and pressed, good food on the table, their only child conscientiously parented. Some of his friends thought Jane was the ideal wife. Especially when so many of his friends had wives with their own demanding careers, Rob had felt lucky to have a stay-at-home wife. But then Olivia had gone off to college, and Jane had suddenly seemed more driven than ever. A friend had said it was just empty-nest syndrome, and she would mellow in time, but it seemed like her previous high standards had become more ramped up than ever.

First, she’d insisted on remodeling their kitchen. And maybe it had needed enlarging and upgrading. But looking at Cindy’s old-fashioned, outdated kitchen and knowing the kinds of meals she whipped out . . . well, it made no sense. After the kitchen, Jane redecorated their whole house, and he began to worry that having an empty nest was going to empty his wallet. He even encouraged her to get a job or work in his office, but she wasn’t having it. Then he suggested volunteering at church, but she claimed there was too much to be done at home.

In the last ten years, her obsession over cleanliness and order and perfection had increased to an almost intolerable level. Okay, it was downright intolerable! If he didn’t escape from his home through work and playing golf on Saturdays and poker on Thursdays, he knew he’d be miserable. Sometimes, although he’d never admitted this to anyone, he was worried she was spinning into something like OCD. He’d read up on it and even mentioned it to her once, but she’d just laughed and made excuses. And, to be fair, he hadn’t noticed any obsessive habits that crossed over into compulsions. She didn’t turn lights off and on or check locks or insist they go back home to ensure the coffee maker wasn’t still on—although it turned off automatically anyway. But sometimes he wondered if those behaviors were just around the corner.

“Hey, Rob,” Erik said as he joined him in the kitchen, getting a beer from the fridge. “Halftime’s over, better get back in there.” He held up his IPA. “Need a brewski to go with that?” He nodded to Rob’s plate. “Mandy made that. Her mom’s recipe. Don’t tell her, but Cindy’s is still better.”

“Well, this was pretty good.” Rob reached for a second beer, his wife’s warning voice in his ear, but he didn’t care.

“Jonathon is still taking bets on the game. The 49ers might be down, but I’m predicting a comeback.”

“Rob!” Cindy said as she came into the kitchen. “I never got a chance to say hello and thank you for coming. I heard Jane isn’t feeling well. I hope she’s not getting what we had.”

“It’s just a headache. By the way, happy birthday.”

“Jocelyn just showed me the gift you brought.” She beamed at him. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did. Presents are fun. And I love the mug. The caption on it is perfect. Thanks so much. And tell Jane thanks, too, and that I hope she gets better soon.”

“I will.” Rob made an uneasy nod, hating to feel deceptive.

“I have some homemade chicken broth in my freezer. Maybe I’ll bring her some tomorrow if she’s still under the weather.”

“Thanks.” Rob forced a smile.

“Now, come on.” Erik tugged his arm. “Sounds like they’re playing.”

Rob’s smile turned genuine. “Excuse me, birthday girl, but it seems the 49ers are calling.”

***