Page 73 of Mistletoe Misses
“It means you like to talk a big game but rarely follow through. Let’s make proving me right interesting. If you’re still sitting there in fifteen minutes, I’ll pay you fifty dollars.” I take the bill out of my wallet and place it on the table for motivation.
His eyes widen. Fifty dollars will buy a lot of cheap beer for parties when he goes back to school, and I know that’s where his mind went.
“I’ll raise you twenty,” Cooper adds. “I’d love to see him finish something that doesn’t involve baseball.”
“Amen,” Kendall says, laughing.
Aaron scowls at her then comes back to me with his chin lifted. “You’re on.” Sheer determination paints across his face as he digs a knife into his icing container.
I get started too, and glance up at Dad’s a few minutes later. It’s not fair how he can manipulate the sloppy building materials and make them look good enough for a magazine photoshoot. My big, fumbling fingers can’t get the candy where I want it or make it stick. Not to mention icing is everywhere, especially where it shouldn’t be.
As predicted, Aaron loses patience within the first ten minutes and struts to the kitchen for a drink. Oliver follows suit, always in Aaron’s shadow, and they roughhouse or play video games to wait out the rest of us. Looking over at Kendall’s progress, she’s too meticulous and won’t be finished by judging time. Cooper’s, well, his looks like a kindergartner made it during recess. If the task can’t be attacked with military precision, he’s lost, but at least he looks to be having fun. He should be, Izzie sits beside him, helping him more than she works on her own.
Since Mom’s the judge, she’s sitting back chatting, sipping wine, and taking pictures of the fun. She laughs at our stupid comments and lack of skills, giving me another sound I wish I could bottle and keep with me wherever I go.
“No more candy,” she announces when the oven timer sounds. “Meet me at the kitchen island and present your designs.”
Yes, the competition is that serious. We all get in line by order of age. Dad’s last, of course, but he prefers it that way. It’s hischance to round out the judging and put us all to shame with added drama.
Opal kicks off the judging, and Mom studies every inch of her house. I’m impressed with her use of green and red gumdrops on the roof. She took the time to slice each one in half before placing them on the icing, making them look more like festive shingles. Looking down at the glittery sugar crystals I used with lazy abandon, I should have thought of gumdrops. They’re much cooler. She also created trees by separating and twisting strings of Twizzlers and adding fluffy snow with cotton candy on top of green sprinkles for grass. There’s even a walkway made of chocolate bars and smoke from the chimney in the form of blue cotton candy. It’s incredible.
“I think we have our first contender, Archie. Hope you brought your best,” Mom teases.
“Don’t you worry. Opal, honey,” Dad says, leaning around me to address her. “I love you, but you’re not winning this year.”
“That’s okay,” she says sweetly.
Next, Kendall sets her house on the island. She steps back and chews a nail while she awaits the evaluation. Kendall didn’t add any trees or special features to her house since she hadn’t finished, but she did a great job on the basics.
“Very nice, Ken. You were the only one to use mini-Hershey bars for the roof. It’s a unique choice, and the red sprinkles on the edges were the perfect accent.” She knows Kendall would appreciate theuniquecompliment more than something generic about her effort, like Cooper and I will probably get.
“Thanks, Momma.”
Izzie would be up next, but she tired of the excitement long before the judging began and escaped to her room. Cooper didn’t want her to be left out, so he set their houses on the counter, side by side, as the two of them always are. I wish she were here tostand beside him now because he looks to be coming apart at the seams. He’s fidgety and scowling more than usual.
“Well,” she begins, searching for a few kind words. It takes her a full minute to find them. “It’s better than last year’s at least.”
“I tried my best.”
“And I’m proud of you.” She pats his cheek and motions toward the bedrooms, giving him permission to go where his heart longs to be.
Half of me wants to slap some sense into him before he leaves and demand he man up and tell the girl how he feels. The other half can relate to his hesitation. I know he loves her, but he’s too afraid to lose her friendship if she doesn’t feel the same.
Dad nudges me from behind to wake me from my thoughts, and I add my house to the little neighborhood.
“Maddox,” Mom swoons. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t lie.”
A hand lays over her heart in mock displeasure. “I would never.”
True. I give her a nod of apology and accept her compliment.
Unlike the others, she doesn’t mention my decorating techniques or choices. Instead, she pushes aside the tray holding my house and leans both elbows on the counter. “Tell me what’s given you this new glow.”
“I don’t know. Lots of things.” Reliving my childhood, being with the people I love most, seeing them happy and thriving, rebuilding my heart, and letting go of my anger. Why am I feeling so peaceful? All of the above. “I like seeing you smile.”
“You’re the sweetest, but I know of another reason.”
