Page 26 of A World Without You
“Language!” Shannon pretends to be aghast.
“Susan Walker’s in the original! That’s the character, not the actress,” Clint argues with his son about the daughter in the movie who sneakily gets the real Santa to help set her mom up with the attorney played by Dylan McDermott...swoon.
“Yeah, but she’s cooler in the 90s one—she really understood the assignment of a Christmas miracle,” Bennett says, taking a sip from his mug.
“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” I ask Clint.
He tilts his chin in the air. “Die Hard.”
The small crowd at this long stretch of a table goes wild. Mom and Shannon say it is not a Christmas movie. Dad and Bennett agree that it is. I find myself not caring either way. I’m just immensely grateful to still have a seat at this table.
“You know what they need to do, though, is make a hockey Christmas movie. Now that would blow all these movies out of the water,” Dad says, and Mom laughs.
“They already did,” Bennett argues.
Dad waits for him to elaborate.
“The Mighty Ducks,” he answers plainly.
“Oh,” Dad says, though he seems a little confused. “Guess we need to add that to the Christmas movie roster. I love hockey.”
“Since when?” I ask with a smile in my voice.
He waves a hand. “I’ve always been a fan.”
“Liar!” Clint yells with a husky laugh.
“Am not!” Dad responds, but his smile indicates he’s new to the game.
“It’s okay, Gerald. Seattle is full of fair-weather fans,” Bennett says, smiling at me across the table as I shake my head.
“We are the most fair-weather!” I proclaim while Mom says, “Uh-uh, I still have my 12 Man jersey, and we haven’t made it to the Superbowl in years!”
“TwelfthMan,” I correct, and she snorts into her cider.
“Whatever, they haven’t been the same since that quarterback fell in love with that pop star,” she says.
“Let us have our fun, Bennett!” Shannon says, shuffling the cards.
“And when we win, they’re even more fun!” Mom tosses in, eyebrows raised.
“God is good!” Clint says with his eyes on the cards his wife is shuffling. No one acknowledges him.
“You’re making Bennett’s point exactly,” I reason, but Mom ignores me.
“Hey, I know the arena is always looking for seasonal employees. Maybe you could get into that,” Dad says, echoing my earlier concern for employment.
“And do what? Security?” I take another sip of my spiked cider.
His mouth turns down as he shrugs. “Whatever they need. Like you said, your options are limited right now.”
Nodding, I hope my feelings aren’t revealed in my expression. I’ve been applying for jobs in the Seattle area for months without a single bite. Feeling limited is the least of my concerns. I also feel stupid. Like I’m starting over—Iamstarting over. I feel like a joke. And selfish, egotistical, and desperate. And the thing is, I knew I would feel all these things, which is why I put off leaving Graham for so long. I made a bad choice and ran home with my tail between my legs.
“I’m sure they always need people for concessions,” Mom adds, and I try not to wince. Five years ago, I was on my way to be a corporate executive for a marketing company, and now my prospects include serving over-buttered popcorn to drunk hockey fans.
Fan-freaking-tastic.
“Or you could get a job driving the ice cleaner thing. Shannon, what’s that called again?” Clint asks.
