Page 84 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Hold on. Just hold the fuck on for a second.” Marisa put her fingers to her temples but stopped rubbing when she saw what was in her dad’s hands. “Are those brats?”
“Sure are, honey bun.”
“Pork brats?”
A confused crease crossed her mother’s brow before a dawning look of awareness smoothed everything out. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, patting Marisa’s shoulder in a my sweet Southern child rhythm that Marisa did not appreciate. “We haven’t kept kosher for years.”
“Years?” Aaand the tension headache was back. Yup, just sitting there right between the eyes. “I’m not hearing this. I am so not hearing this.”
“Hear it or not, it’s the truth. Gosh, I can’t even remember the last time we had any kosher meat in the house that wasn’t catered by your aunt.”
A niggling feeling crept its way into Marisa’s mind in the form of a strange hunch she’d never given legs to before. “You did all of this for Aunt Gail?”
Her father put the brats and other assorted meats on the kitchen table. “We didn’t really have a choice. Think what you want of her, but she’s helped us out a lot over the years financially, and your mother and I weren’t always in a position to turn her down. Let’s see,” he added, holding up his fingers to tick things off. “There was the roof leak thirteen years ago that started out as a patch job but turned into a total replacement.”
“Then the neighbor’s tree came down in that summer storm, and a huge bough broke off and landed on our shed. What a nightmare that was. Did you know that if a single branch hangs over your fence, you’re responsible for it, even if the tree itself is planted on another person’s property?” Her mother shook her head. “We had to replace the entire structure and the lawn mower and the snow blower.”
“There sure were a few years where we got dealt some crummy cards, honey bun. Your Aunt Gail was always the first in line, ready to cut a check.” Then he slipped his hand to the side of his mouth. “Though she made sure everyone knew about her generous goodwill.”
“Made me sick.” Her mother huffed. “But we had no choice, so we thought it best to appease her and some of the other less savory members of the family by hosting the holidays. We had the space, after all, and it was just easier to make her happy. You see, dear . . .” Her mother drew Marisa close and cupped her shoulders. “Your aunt was, well, a bit of a bitch.”
What came out of Marisa’s mouth next could only be described as a guffaw.
“I get the shock,” her father said through a warm chuckle, “especially because you only ever visit on the holidays when she’s around. I can understand why you stayed away, though.” He found a spot of water on the counter that urgently needed drying off. “Never liked the way she was so disapproving of your candy business. It wasn’t right. Your mother and I should have spoken up, but we could never find the courage, given all the gifts we accepted from her over the years. But we know now that all the flashy funds in the world don’t entitle anyone to speak about our daughter that way, family or not. I’d give every cent back if I could, and I’m not going to fall in line anymore out of fear for family reactions. Your mother and I are just so damn proud of you, honey bun. You’re making a life for yourself on your terms in a way the two of us were never able to.”
“And with that handsome Alec no less. Oh, by the way,” her mother said, slinking closer. “Jules showed me a picture of the gingerbread fudge. You remember him, don’t you? We like to play pickleball together now,” she said, smiling. “But would, uh, you happen to have any extra? It looked mighty delicious.”
“Um, Ma? Ew.”
Her father wrinkled his nose. “Gingerbread’s not my style, but I ordered three boxes of your buttermints a few weeks ago, and I’m almost out. I hadn’t realized you closed down your online shop, though. What do you say to hooking your old man up?”
“Wait.” Marisa panted through the double hug of parental love she’d been unexpectedly sandwiched between. “Dad, you’re my buttermint buyer? The one who buys three boxes every two weeks like clockwork? That was you? But your name wasn’t on it, and the shipping address was different.”
Her father shrugged. “Had them sent to my golfing buddy Arnold’s house. I didn’t want to embarrass you by seeing your good old dad’s name show up on orders twice a month.”
“Holy shit. Embarrass me? You thought you would embarrass me?” Marisa couldn’t keep the snort-laugh in anymore. She let it flow wild and free, not caring a whit about the wads of tissues her mother kept bunching into Marisa’s hand or how her dad kept doing the it’s okay, kiddo back pat that just made her laugh even harder. “Those orders were literally the things that kept me going.”
All this time, she’d thought the worst of her family. Well, not the worst, but certainly not the best.
The failure, the stigma, the disappointed looks and hurtful comments. How many of them had been from her parents? She searched her mind for examples, but all she came away with were images of the silent worry scrawled on their faces while Aunt Gail spoke her thoughts freely, and the other cousins and such fell in line for fear of being cut off.
But Aunt Gail would no longer be a part of the family soon, and while Marisa wasn’t exactly happy to hear someone’s marriage was ending, she also wasn’t not happy.
“Just know that you’ll always have two very happy customers of Sweetest Heart’s Desire, and I imagine Alec as well.” The hope in her mother’s voice was the drop-tower plunge that shot Marisa back to reality.
Alec.
He was gone, and she had to disappoint her parents all over again, though this time for a different reason entirely.
“He, uh, had to go back to England.”
Her parents gave her a sad look and nodded their understanding. Then her dad added, “To finish his season?”
“Yeah, to finish his season.”
It was as good an answer as any, and who knew? It might have been true. That had been the plan originally, but then again, she couldn’t help but remember how capable he was of going rogue.
He didn’t need to run anything by her or include her in his plans. Never had.
