Page 3 of Mr. Frosty Pants
As Casey waited for her to choose between a lamb and beef soup, he studied her closely for the first time since he’d arrived home. His mother’s hair was freshly cut in a bleached-blond pixie style. It stood out against her trim black sweater, and the contrast brought out a cunning spark in her blue eyes. Her red, corduroy skirt hugged her yoga-sculpted hips, and black tights rounded out her casual look. She looked good, but then she always did.
Casey’s own red sweater felt too warm and his jeans too tight. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, tapping his fingers on the counter restlessly. He’d kept his tone carefully neutral when asking about Joel, shoving down the insistentfeelingsthat had risen when he drove by the Vreelands’ old place. But now, overstuffed with them, he felt like he might burst open and spill everything out all over the counter anyway.
“Mom?” he asked again, several long seconds later. “Did you hear my question?”
“Sorry, honey. What did you ask?” She flipped between a pumpkin pie recipe in Grandmother Johnson’s handwriting and one in Grandmother Stevens’. “I wish Heather would hurry and finish the recipe spreadsheet I asked her to make. It’ll be so much easier when she has every dish all sorted by season.”
His mom had told him during a phone call several weeks before that she’d begun designing her menus around seasonally themed dishes because she’d read it was the newest meal trend amongst the wealthiest families in Atlanta and Dallas. And Deanna Stevens wanted little more than to be both wealthy and on trend.
Casey took a deep breath and steadied himself. “The Vreelands moved.” Stating it as a fact hurt enough that he turned his face away, pretending to look out the wide windows to the gray lake rippling by the edge of his parents’ new property. “Did you know?”
“Oh? Well, yes. I suppose I did,” she said. Casey turned in time to see her dark blue eyes soften as she glanced up from the recipe cards. She sent him a sympathetic smile. “Did you visit the old neighborhood today, honey?”
There was no reason to deny it. Still, he felt horribly exposed as he nodded. He remembered the shining armor displays at the Met in Manhattan and wished for a suit of it to cover his soft places, protection from his mother’s often unwittingly hurtful words.
“I see. Visiting old haunts.” She smiled sweetly at him again. “I used to do the same thing when I first moved to Knoxville. I’d go back home to Friendsville to visit.” Her eyes went distant. “It truly doesn’t seem that long ago. I can’t believe it’s been fifteen years since I last saw the old family home. Nowthatwas a true loss when we had to sell Papaw’s land. Not like when we left Manor Crest at all.”
Casey cleared his throat, determined not to be led off course. “After I drove by our Manor Crest place, I swung by Joel’s old house.” He fought the tremor in his voice. “They don’t live there anymore.”
“Well, of course not,” his mother said, blinking at him slowly, as though he were stupid. “Joel had to sell the house when his father went into the nursing home.” She pursed her lips. “Something about qualifying for Medicaid, maybe? I can’t recall.”
Casey furrowed his brow. He hadn’t known Joel’s father was in a nursing home now. Why hadn’t anyone told him? Sure, Charlie Vreeland had always been a jerk to him, and to Joel for that matter, but he’d been Joel’s dad. “When did that happen?”
“A year ago? Maybe two? I’m not sure, honey.” She shrugged. “I overheard something about it a while back when I was at my stylist.” She patted her hair, making sure the pixie was still perfectly mussed. “I made a mental note to tell you at the time, but I suppose I forgot.”
“What else have you heard about them?” Casey knew his voice was pitched too high—that it gave away all kinds of things he normally tried to hide. But even as he tried to temper it, Ann’s voice rushed in, reassuring him that he was a grown man now, and it was safe to be himself, along with other therapist bullshit like “breathe” and “be yourself.”
“Mmm. Let me think.” His mother narrowed her eyes, casting back. “There was some speculation that Vreeland’s Home and Garden was going to close down too. The new nail artist at my salon—Melissa, I think her name is? Anyway, she swears upside-down and backwards that Vreeland’s carries the best summer annuals selection and that if the store went under Knoxville would suffer a terrible loss.” His mother rolled her eyes, finally chose Grandmother Stevens’ recipe, and tossed Grandmother Johnson’s aside, turning her attention to seasonal sides next. “And maybe it would be. How would I know?” She shrugged. “I get everything through the landscapers now, and I think they buy from Lowe’s.”
Casey schooled his face. Even though he’d asked, he hadn’t really expected his mother to be so in the know about the Vreelands. Joel and his father weren’t society people and thus not on her usual radar. Besides, she’d always called Joel “that boy” and radiated icy displeasure whenever Casey told her he was jumping the fence to go hang out. Or, worse, whenever he invited Joel to come over to their place.
“Your aunt Courtney can’t make it until Christmas Eve. Did I tell you?” his mother said, flipping over a card for a seven-layer salad in her youngest sister’s handwriting. “But at least she’ll be here for the party.”
“You said.”
They studied the recipe cards together as a Christmas carol playlist he’d helped her create on Spotify drifted through a black, cylindrical Bluetooth speaker placed in the middle of the counter. All the mentions of snow in the lyrics made Casey almost miss Christmas in New York. For the last three years, his parents had flown up to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with him in the city. They’d all enjoyed the limited time together.
But this year Casey’s father had been promoted to executive VP, and one of his new positional duties was to throw a massive Christmas Eve party for his underlings, nevermind that most of them would probably rather be at home alone or with family on the night before Christmas. It was a company tradition. Casey’s parents had invited friends and family to the event as well, and, if his mother’s planning was any indication, it would be a great night. But two weeks in Knoxville without Joel, enduring the sticks and mud of a Tennessee winter, lacked the magic of the colorful bustle of New York and the potential for a white Christmas.Why did I think this was a good idea?
“I can’t believe Courtney’s the only one of my siblings living close enough to travel to Knoxville now. Remember the old days when the whole family used to get together for the holidays?” his mother asked wistfully, her eyes going soft again with memories. “I miss that.”
“It’s a shame the holiday rituals all fell apart after Grandma Johnson died.” And it really was. His mother’s side of the family was warm and loving, full of big voices and giant hugs.
It was his dad’s side he’d never enjoyed spending time with. Mainly because their hillbilly, Appalachian ways left his class-obsessed father wallowing in a paroxysm of shame. Unfortunately, on the ride home from those visits, his irritation usually got taken out on Casey in volleys of criticism and complaints.
His mother’s smile tightened, a grief spasm Casey recognized from the year following Grandma Johnson’s death. “At least Courtney’s coming,” she said again. “I’ve missed her since she moved to Atlanta.”
Casey let that sentiment rest on the counter between them long enough to gather a bit of dust before he came back to what he really wanted to know. “So, what happened to Joel? After his dad went into the nursing home, I mean? Did he go to college? Is he still around town? Does he run Vreeland’s?”
His palms began to sweat in the small silence that followed his questions while his mother chose between an acorn squash casserole dish and a nutty chicken stew recipe. “Yes, I think he runs the store or at least owns it. I’m not sure how much time he spends there, though. He definitely didn’t go to college.” She tsked quietly and rolled her eyes. “He never had much ambition.”
Casey bit back a retort.
Joel always had plenty of ambition, just in ways parents never understood. He remembered how Joel had loved to write gory short stories and had once shared with Casey a great idea for a terrifying horror book. He’d wanted to get into writing screenplays too. Joel had been committed to his little high school garage band for as long as it had lasted, and he’d have been willing to see it through if he’d ever gotten a record contract. Most of all, Joel had wanted to travel the world. But that obviously hadn’t happened for him.
Casey wondered what kind of life hehadmade. “Did he get married? Have kids?”
“I’m not positive, but I think he’s still single. Why?”
