Page 40 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
The dads return home hungry, and we all have to eat in the living room so as not to disturb the puzzle on the dining room table. Afterward, we grab pillows and blankets and watch Christmas movies in the basement. Me, Charlie, Yvette, Lance, and Naomi all lie on the floor while our parents are on the couch and Kayla and Jasper share the love seat on the side.
Charlie holds my hand under a thick fleece blanket.
After Hans Gruber plunges to his death, we disperse. Kayla goes to take a nap, Lance stays downstairs by himself, and the rest of us converge in the kitchen.
“What are you cooking?” Mom asks while pouring herself a glass of wine. Tonight, dinner is up to me, Charlie, and Naomi, the three poor unattached souls teamed up like the singles table at a wedding.
“Pork tenderloin,” Naomi says.
“Oh, are you roasting?” Jaspers asks from his perch on one of the counter stools. Knowing him, he’ll probably stay there and watch us cook all evening.
“Yup. With potatoes, apples, and butternut squash,” Naomi replies.
“Mom,” Charlie says from where he’s pulling the marinated meat out of the fridge. “Do you want me to light the firepit outside?”
“Oh!” Susan brightens. “What a lovely idea. And I’ve got some juniper berries and cedar branches I foraged this morning. I would love to make an offering. But your dad can do the fire.”
Gary grunts. “Do we have enough wood?”
I struggle to hold in my laughter.
“Plenty of wood,” Charlie says mildly.
When our parents have retreated to the backyard, it’s just the four of us. I begin chopping the apples. “Do you think that’s a good size, Jasper?”
He leans over and inspects my work. Then he fixes my grip on the knife. “Lord, did you forgeteverythingI’ve taught you?”
“I don’t cook in the city and you wouldn’t either.”
Jasper harrumphs and sits back down, sipping his beer. Behind me, there’s a cacophony of noises and a “whoops” from Charlie as he digs through the cabinets in the butler’s pantry on the other side of the kitchen.
“You okay back there?” Jasper calls.
“Maybe. Um, which pan do you think I should use?”
Jasper puts on a big show of sighing and getting up to help Charlie. Naomi, who’s next to me peeling the squash, and I share an amused look.
She takes a step closer. “So, what happened last night?”
I make a face and she makes one right back. “Not like that! But, are y’all back together now?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “We didn’t talk about it.”
Behind me, Charlie and Jasper have dropped their voices too, and I can’t hear them over the sizzle of the pork browning.
“He’s in your city now,” she continues.
“I know. But he works a lot.”
She points her seed-scraper spoon at me. “Pot. Kettle.”
I roll my eyes. My family loves to think of me as a workaholic. The reality is that my job would have a great work-life balance if I had a personal life. But if there’s nothing but shitty dates and a quiet apartment waiting for me, why shouldn’t I put so much time and effort into my job?
“Okay. Well, maybe you both being workaholics is a good thing. I mean, imagine your life in New York with a boyfriend. Wouldn’t it be ideal if he understood the pressures of a job and had his own to keep him busy?”
We both let that sit for a minute. Maybe Naomi is expecting me to be picturing coming home from a long day of work just in time to get in bed with Charlie and catch each other up on our days. Or us sitting together with our work calendars and negotiating whose office events we make an appearance at and whose we skip.
But that’s not what I have in mind. Those fantasies I have about a charming small-town man and love at first sight? At the end of those fantasies, it’s obvious what happens—I quit my job and leave the city.
