Page 72 of Mistletoe Misses
“What?”
Trying again, he frames a box shape with his hands and wiggles an index finger.
Seriously? What the hell is that? I can’t remember the last time I played charades.
“It’s a photo printer, dummies,” Kendall says, rolling her eyes. “She can print pictures she takes with her phone from this monumental evening of having us all together and put them in this.” She holds up a matching gift bag.
Mom cries more into her hand before accepting the bag. Reaching in, she pulls out yet another box.
“What is it?” I mouth to Cooper, and he shrugs. We’re sorely out of touch with today’s technology, gift-giving, and everything that makes Mom happy, it appears. Speaking of gifts, I haven’t done a lick of Christmas shopping. Maybe Carmen can help. She owns a retail store, after all.
“It’s a set of picture frame ornaments, magnets, and regular A-frames so she can sprinkle current photos of your ugly faces all over the house,” Kendall says, bringing us up to speed with her usual flair.
“We all know you’ll take up ninety-percent of them,” Aaron complains.
“That’s because I’m not ugly.”
Mom’s still sobbing when she ends the teasing with a group hug—the best damn hug I’ve had in a decade. “Thank you,” she manages, and the same sentiment builds on the tip of my tongue.
I feel the urge to thank my family for loving me despite all I lack, all I’ve missed, and all I have yet to make up for.
“Let’s take our first picture,” Kendall suggests and gathers us all in front of the fireplace.
All the boys, naturally, are herded to the back, a line of mischief and stature that doesn’t belong in the front. Elbows fly left and right and anyone within arm’s length gets impromptu rabbit ears. Oliver bounces on the fireplace hearth, trying to match the height of his brothers. Cooper puts Aaron in a headlock at some point—a gentle reminder that it’s never smart to mess with a soldier. We don’t take shit from anyone, not even little brothers.
Kendall and Opal huddle in front, their smiles poised in contrast to the immaturity happening behind them. While Mom takes in the sight of her boys acting like fools and her daughters showcasing their perfection, Dad clicks away. He knows not to stop taking pictures until he’s captured the moment Mom’s been wanting for years. Based on her face lit with the biggest, watery smile, we did it, and she couldn’t be happier.
???
We start decorating the tree the way we always do—each of us taking turns hanging our favorite ornaments. Some of these treasures have been part of our tradition since I was a baby, but the calm lasts all of three turns. Some of us—Kendall and Aaron—grow impatient with the casual flow of things. As it always did when we were kids, the peace morphs into a relay race, and then a full-blown free-for-all. We’re climbing over each other, elbows out, scrambling for the best ornaments, pushing our way to the tree as if our very lives depend on it. I’m amazed we don’t knock the tree and surrounding furniture over in our frenzy.
The chaos is magnificent, transporting me back to when I was twelve. When life was pure joy and the world was a playground. Euphoria washes over me, and for a bit, I’m tempted to let it carry me through the rest of the night. But since Aaron’s falling behind his big brothers in this activity, he challenges us to a flashlight snowball fight outside—something he thinks he can win. It’s a game we played every winter as kids, and since I haven’t experienced it with the twins yet, I’m the first to accept.
Soon, we’re running around in the cold darkness, completely absorbed in the game as if our lives depended on it. We build snow forts and form alliances to take out the opposition either by snowballs or brute force. Aaron teams up with Kendall and Oliver, but they don’t stand a chance against me, Cooper, and Opal. Cooper and I bring strategy expertise and years of training. I was an accurate baseball pitcher in high school, and my snowballs never miss. Opal, fierce and more ruthless than Kendall, is quick to throw herself into the fray for the sake of the team. I watch her and think, with a swell of pride, that we may have a future soldier on our hands. Oliver tries to make a dent with his speed and athleticism, but with Kendall barking orders more than she plays and Aaron going rogue, the three of them are easy targets.
Our team’s victory is one snowball away when Dad calls from the back deck, bringing us out of the war zone. “Who’s ready for the gingerbread house decorating contest?”
It’s time to enter his territory and start another Henderson tradition. Each year, the firefighters have an internalcompetition to see who from the station gets to compete in the Spectacular Gingerbread Decorating Contest. Dad always wins and practices his Spectacular-worthy design during our humble competition. One of these days, someone will overtake the hierarchy. My bets are on Opal. She’s quite the artist and has the most patience for placing all the tiny candy pieces.
After changing out of our wet clothes and warming up by the fire with hot cocoa, we gather around the dining room table set up with a buffet of every kind of candy and icing imaginable. Aaron starts trash-talking before my ass hits the seat cushion, and I can’t wait to shut him up.
“You all will be eating my crumbs when I grab second place,” he announces, and no one takes the bait but me. They’ve all had more practice at ignoring him.
“Only second?” I ask. “You don’t think you can beat Dad?”
“No one beats Dad. We’re all playing for runner-up.”
“I hope that’s not how you approach your baseball games.” I pause when a snort bursts out of Cooper. “If so, it’s gonna be a rough season.”
“You know I play to win, but this ain’t sports. It’s candy and crafts and not exactly my speed.”
“Yet, you still run your mouth.”
He beams at me. “Are you sure you want to participate? All this sugar might sweeten you up. Wouldn’t want to hurt your reputation.”
“I could use a new one of those, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t be here to see my transformation anyway.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
