A Christmas Arrangement (8 page)

“Ned Bunchkin and his friend are here.”

“You invited Nasty Ned?” I shuddered.  “How’s his booger collection?”

“Quinella McKay,” mom snapped at me with her power whisper.  “How could you say such mean things about our neighbor?  His parents are snowbirds.  They’re living in Arizona until March and poor Ned is all alone for Christmas.  I couldn’t let him sit over there while we whooped it up over here.  It wouldn’t be charitable.”  One of my mother’s new catch-phrases.

“Did you say he brought a friend?” I asked.  “Did his friend bring along his twelve-sided dice?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mom said as she shoved two giant bowls of rolls at me, “but I’m sure it’s not charitable at all, so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear.  Alex will sit next to her and you next to Alex.  Jack and Eleanor are across from you.” 

Oh good, Alex’s mother would have a clear path for plunging the carving knife into my chest.  And Ned’s friend was a her?  I’m surprised my mother didn’t protest to a life-size doll dressed as Wonder Woman sitting at our dinner table.

Allie came in through the side door of the kitchen from the garage.  “Sorry I’m late.”  She looked at me pointedly.  “I had to meet with my school advisor…about a class.”  I clamped my lips shut, signaling to her that I hadn’t shared her news with anyone.

“You’re just in time, honey,” Mom said.  “Here, wash your hands and then take this bowl of stuffing into the living room.”  I took in a sharp breath.  It was time to share my masterpiece.

I leaned over to Allie at the sink, my arms full of rolls.  “Gird your loins.  Nasty Ned is here and he’s got a friend with him.”

She grimaced.  “What was Mom thinking?”

I shrugged and rolled my eyes.  I turned sideways to fit through the doorway with my giant roll bowls, then turned to face the table. 
What fresh hell…

Elma the waitress sat next to Nasty Ned at my family’s dinner table. 

“Elma,” I said.  “I didn’t know…so Ned is…you’re here…at our house.”

“Hello, Quincy.  You’re mom’s done it up nice for Christmas.”

“Thanks,” I said. 

Alex came from the hallway with his mother and I pointed him to his seat.  I had to hand it to him, he took his place next to Elma like a champ.  Ever the gallant one, he didn’t even flinch when he saw the seating arrangement, despite knowing the possibilities of her reaching out and touching someone—actually just him—were high and likely.

The shock of Elma’s violation of the safe haven of my parent’s home had just begun to wear off when I noticed the table decorations.  Instead of the tissue paper accordion finials and evergreen trees Mom had used every year that I could remember, there were two large fresh floral centerpieces.

Eleanor sat across from me, and replaced her grumpy expression with a plastered smile once she saw that I’d noticed the flowers. 

“Are these pretty flowers from your shop, Quincy?” Aunt Jeanette asked from the other end of the table.

“Uh…no,” my sister Sandy interjected.  “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper brought them.”  Sandy glanced at me as if to tell me not to speak.

“They’re lovely,” Aunt Lynette said.  “Sandy, are you sure you’re expecting, honey?  You’re not showing at all.”

Sandy glowed while she fielded pregnancy questions and provided a nice distraction from the intentional slight Eleanor Cooper and thrown my way.  She didn’t want me making her family stuffing and she definitely didn’t want me making her Christmas centerpiece gifts either.  She was making it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me and I’m sure my relationship with her son was the next thing she intended to eliminate from her life.

“At least she didn’t buy them from another florist.  They’re too expensive,” I muttered.

“I didn’t know,” Alex whispered.  “She already had them when I got home from work.  Sorry.”

I flashed a quick smile.  “I know, it’s not your fault.”

Once all the food was placed on the table, my father, who sat at the end, offered to say the prayer.  The silence once everyone quieted for the blessing on the food was startling and peaceful.  The perfect tranquility was shattered about halfway through the prayer when Ned broke wind in a high-pitched screech that rapped about on his wooden chair.  Not to be outdone, Great Aunt Sadie threw her hat into the ring with a thunderous expulsion that surprisingly, didn’t knock her out of her seat.  My eyes flew open and I watched my father struggle to maintain a straight face.  His eyebrows were peaked and he increased the volume as his nearly deaf aunt mumbled about how something smelled. 

I stole a glance at Alex.  His mouth twisted and his eyes squinted shut as he tried not to laugh.  The sight of it made me giggle.  Allie looked at me and shook with silent laughter.  Finally, my father said amen, sweat pouring down either side of his bright red face and the rest of the table shouted their amens with the force of all the pent up laughter. 

Ned didn’t look like he was hiding from embarrassment.  It seemed more like he beamed with pride at his accomplishment and even Alex’s father grinned despite his wife’s chiding.  My mother switched on “The Little Drummer Boy,” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, loud enough that we had to shout to speak to the person across the table. 

I watched Alex and his parents exchange reluctant glances as the parade of Jell-O salads began.  Troopers that they were, they dished a little of everything onto their plates with one exception.  As the stuffing made the rounds I noticed that everyone but Eleanor tried a spoonful.

“Annette, who made the stuffing?” Uncle LaDell asked.

A large rock seemed to have settled in my stomach.  Or perhaps it was a serving of Aunt Lynette’s version of “Ambrosia” salad.  Mayonnaise in Jell-o?  Really?

“Are those water chestnuts?” his wife, Marie asked.

Things started to rumble in my belly.  I glanced sideways at Alex.  I didn’t dare look at his mother or Aunt Marie’s probably grimacing face.  He shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth and stared at his plate.  He grabbed my hand under the table and put it on his leg after a reassuring squeeze. 

I was too nervous to eat anything. Visions of later that evening, after the Christmas party, danced in my head, but the visions involved vomiting and trips to the ER rather than sugarplums.

“This is so good,” Marie said.  “Can I get the recipe?”

I froze, unsure I’d heard her correctly.  Once it sunk in, despite the desire to stand up and scream “In your face,” at Mrs. Cooper then pump my fists in triumph, I kept my composure. 

“Quincy, isn’t this Eleanor’s delicious recipe?”  Mom asked in an obvious attempt to keep things civil.  The problem was, I’d changed a few things, added a new ingredient, left out one or two as well.  It wasn’t Eleanor’s recipe and she knew it.  In her opinion I should never have had it in the first place.

“Well, I…” I looked across the table.  Mrs. Cooper’s lips were clamped into a razor straight line.   

“Damn, woman!  Would you keep your hands off of me?”  Alex shot up from the table.

“You put it there!” I said, perplexed.  Alex’s mother gasped and glared at me.

“Where?  Who put what where?” Great Aunt Sadie shouted.

My mother looked heavenward, her lips moving in fervent prayer, pleading for divine intervention no doubt.

“Come on everyone,” my father said in his musical baritone.  “This is a Christmas party.  Where’s all the goodwill toward men?”

“This one’s got plenty of it,” Alex said, jerking a nod in Elma’s direction while rubbing his behind. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elma said then smiled at me with a smug, dimpled grin. 

I looked over at Alex’s parents.  They stared at their son like he was standing in the path of an oncoming train.  I tried to say something to them but really, what could be said?  The McKay family express was barreling down the tracks with no engineer on board.

I stood up for lack of a better idea and planned my exit. 

“I think I just felt the baby kick!” my eldest sister cried out.

I caught the sly wink from Sandy and I knew I owed her big-time.  I decided against bolting, sat down and grabbed the stuffing bowl and shoveled like I was digging a well.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I woke up in pain and gastric distress. I’d been beyond stressed out at the party the night before.  And though most people claim not to feel like eating when they’re stressed out, I’m not most people.  Hit me with a too much tension and I might as well attach a permanent feedbag.  I’d filled my plate twice before dessert was even introduced. 

I’d also never been a drinker, but I was sure my food hangover could’ve rivaled the morning after a frat party.  I kicked off the covers in an attempt to shock myself awake.  It didn’t work.  I rolled off the side of the bed and lay there face down on the latch hook rug until the aching in my stomach propelled me into the bathroom.

It was a Saturday and despite our later weekend opening time at the shop, I rolled in half an hour late.  We had orders for two different Christmas parties, each with centerpieces of winter pines and red and white carnations and chrysanthemums.  There were three varieties of mums, including some in the shapes of cute little white buttons and some that had adorable, irregularly shaped petals called Tinsel mums. 

“Hello, Boss.  Boy, Allie, look what the cat dragged in,” K.C. said from behind the design table.

My head shook inside, like when Daffy Duck slams Elmer Fudd with a baseball bat in the old cartoons.  The shaking started at my head and shimmied all the way down to my toes. 

“Good morning to you too,” I said.

“Rough night, girls?” K.C. asked.

“I had a great time,” Allie said.  She looked over at me and her sparkly expression cleared.  “Are you okay, Quincy?  You don’t look so hot.”

“Too much turkey I guess.  I’ll be fine once I get to work.”

I grabbed an apron and set to work cutting large pine boughs into more manageable pieces.  I would eventually trim them into even smaller pieces and strip the bottom of the stems clean of needles, then insert them into wet floral foam.  With every cut the aroma of pine oil was released into the air.  The fresh, clean and pungent fragrance grew in intensity once I removed the larger quantities of foliage from the stems. 

“Ooh, K.C.,” Allie said as she divided up the flowers for each centerpiece, “you should have tasted the stuffing Quincy made yesterday.  It was so good!”

I couldn’t stifle the sarcastic laugh that bubbled up. 

“What?” Allie said.  “I thought it was good.  Everyone loved it!”

“Not everyone,” I said.  “But thank you, dear sister.”

“I sense something happened and you’re about to tell me about it,” K.C. said, her face lighting up.

I put my hand to my stomach.  My hangover was in it for the long haul.  It felt like my entire digestive system was groaning.  “There’s nothing to tell.  I’m being…well I just shouldn’t say anything, it’ll only make things worse.”

“No, you should say.  Get it off of your little chest.”

I scowled at her ample bosom.  “Hyilarious, Madam Bustalot.” 

She slapped her knee.  “Good one!  Now, what’s eatin’ ya?”

“It’s Alex’s mom.  I know she doesn’t like me.  And I made that stuffing yesterday using her recipe—which she didn’t want Alex to share with me—and then I changed it and people liked it which bothered her even more.”

“It’s just a recipe, junior,” K.C. said.

“It’s not just that.  There was way more last night.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.  It was just a dinner party, right?  I mean, what else could you have done?”

I noticed Allie’s mouth twitching.  She stared down at the flowers in front of her, appearing to be deep study of her work.

“All right.  Quincy’s not going to tell me.  Allie, what happened yesterday?”

Allie looked up at me.  I shrugged as if I didn’t care.  She hadn’t been there at the beginning anyway.  She’d missed most of the good stuff.  “Go ahead,” I said.

“I don’t know, really.  I didn’t see, but maybe his mom could have been a little offended by the um…undressing.”  The volume of her voice had decreased to a tiny whisper by the time she got to the last word. 

“How did you know?” I blurted out.

“Someone undressed?  What kind of party was it?  Maybe I should’ve been there.” K.C.’s eyes expanded above the tops of her cat-eye glasses.  Allie looked at me sickly.  “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail.”

“I don’t want to—” Allie said.

“Just tell her,” I said.  Everyone saw.  And even if they didn’t,” I cut my eyes to Allie, “someone filled them in.  I don’t care, you might as well hear it too.”  My stomach groaned again and I grimaced.  Food hangovers didn’t usually
increase
in intensity with time did they?

“Okay fine,” Allie said with a sigh.  “Mom says Alex was undressing Quincy while they were making out.”

“Lincoln’s bootstraps!  I wouldn’t have pegged you for an exhibitionist.  Maybe a nudist.  I was a nudist at one time.  My husband and I…” she paused and looked at both of us.  “That story will have to wait.  I must hear about the undressing.  Go on, dear.”  Her arms shot out and she grabbed Allie’s arm.  “And by gum, don’t leave out the part where Alex undresses.”

My stomach mocked me and revolted some more.

“Well, I wasn’t there to see it, but I guess Mom caught them um…I don’t know…in the middle of something in our old bedroom.”  Allie looked as sick as I felt.

“Whoa,” K.C said.

“She most certainly did not!” I protested. “Whatever she
thinks
was happening in there, she’s wrong.  We were talking about how his mother hates me, as a matter of fact.  And we were making out in the kitchen.  Not the bedroom.”  My mother as always, had employed her artistic license in the recounting of events.

I hitched in a breath. 

“Quincy, are you okay?”  Allie said.

“I’m fine.  I’m just a little nauseous.  I really ate too much yesterday.”

“No wonder.  You were eating away your sorrows.”  K.C. patted her ample behind.  “Sorrows, I’ve had a few.”

I chuckled at that one.