Page 79 of This Broken Heart

“Trace, we can’t interrupt someone else’s Christmas.”

He starts crying again. This time it’s less of a wail and more of a heartbroken burble.

“Oh, listen to the poor thing.” Donnita’s face is full of concern. It’s a strange echo of the expression I’ve seen on Erin’s face. “Listen, I can understand if you want to spend the day in your own home, but we really would love to have you here. This is our first year without Gary and it’s awfully quiet. I think it’s hitting Erin pretty hard. She was such a daddy’s girl.”

“Please.” Trace wails.

I sigh. “If you’re sure we’re not going to be a burden.”

Donnita lights up. “Oh my dear, quite the opposite. Actually, I like Trace’s idea. What if we keep it a surprise?”

“Are you sure she’d like that?”

Donnita grins mischievously. “Who doesn’t like a little Christmas magic?”

53.

Erin

Mom’s giving me whiplash.

In the time it took me to take a shower, she went from saying let’s get Chinese later, to let’s make an entire Christmas feast. From scratch.

It’s not that we aren’t capable of cooking.

My mom is an excellent cook when she feels like it.

Which isn’t very often.

Cooking was more my dad’s thing. He was an amateur pit master, but could tackle just about anything if it went well with barbecue. He and I spent hours in the kitchen perfecting his spice rubs. We even made a special Thanksgiving turkey blend. I can recite it by heart.

Brown sugar.

Paprika.

Celery salt.

I grab a pad of paper and start making a list of the things we’d need. Marvin, dad’s beagle, flops down on the mat by the sink.

Mom stands on the other side of the counter, watching me scratchrosemaryandonion powderon the paper. “Is that for Gary’s turkey rub?”

I nod, squinting at the list to see if I’ve remembered everything. “We won’t have time for a whole turkey, but I could get a roaster chicken.”

“You’ll deep fry it just like he did?”

I meet her gaze, surprised to see so much emotion there. “Yeah. I can.”

“This is good.” She pushes away from the counter. “I know Gary would be smiling down on you, seeing you carry on the tradition.”

My pen pauses over the paper and I watch her for a few moments, wondering what’s gotten into her.

I can count the number of times she’s used his name this year on one hand.

She hasn’t wanted to talk about him. And last I knew, her game plan was to ignore the holidays as much as humanly possible.

“Make sure to get a really big chicken when you go to the store.” She pulls the flour cannister down from the cupboard. “I’m going to want leftovers. The biggest chicken you can find.”

It’s better than moping around, so I take my list and head out.

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