Page 9 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
Outside town, the car starts up a steady incline. We drive past the ski resort, which has its own Christmas tree out front, but this one looks to be planted. It doesn’t have magical dancing lights but big, shiny baubles adorn it and there’s a star on top.
The next turn is a small road. There are a few houses, but there’s enough space between them that the glow from one home doesn’t touch the other. Then, one last turn, and Bea gasps again.
I recognize the rental I booked. The house is glorious. Each forward-facing window has an electric candle in it and the double front door boasts two wreaths twined with gold ribbon and holly sprigs. White lights line the roof, a wire Santa and his sleigh perch next to a chimney, and the Christmas tree glows through the front picture window. People move around inside, reminding me of that scene inHome Alonewhere Macaulay Culkin creates a cardboard-only holiday party, but here all the people are real.
And when our headlights pan across the window, it reveals six faces pressed up against the glass.
We barely come to a stop beside my parents’ old Suburban when the door flies open.
“Watch the wreath!” someone shouts. One of Bea’s sisters.
“Watch it do what?” That’s Bea’s dad.
My mom cackles, ever the dutiful audience member for Erik’s dad jokes.
The crowd flows on either side of the car, and someone opens my door for me. I step out and am immediately wrapped in an incense-scented hug.
My mom.
She hugs me for a good thirty seconds and then rears back. “Your vibes are murky right now.”
“Vibes?” I raise an eyebrow.
She ignores me. “Desperation. And you’ve been working too hard.”
“That’s not new.” The interjecting voice is Bea’s sister Kayla. Once my mom gives her enough room, Kayla wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes too tight.
I blow a raspberry in her ear and she laughs. I have to bend down slightly to deliver it, as Kayla is the shortest of the Cummings girls. She squeezes again and I oblige with another fake fart.
I’ve always considered Kayla, Naomi, and Yvette to be my sisters. But never did I once think of Bea that way.
I work my way through eight more hugs with seven more people—Mom comes back in for another hug—before the crowd moves inside. Dad, Erik, and Lance, Yvette’s fiancé, are already handling our luggage, so I grab my laptop bag from the front seat and make my way inside.
The living room, the room with the tree we could see from the driveway, shows signs of a party—wineglasses on all surfaces, one of those pre-made cheese-and-veggie party platters on the table, and music playing from hidden speakers. One of Bea’s sisters is giving her a tour, and their dad hooks my elbow and starts our own tour.
“From the living room, you can go right into the kitchen from the butler’s pantry.” Erik gestures. “Would you believe there are zero butlers stocked in here? I told Jody we should have swung by Costco on our way up to grab a pack of twelve.”
Behind me, Naomi groans.
The kitchen’s huge, and we stall out there. Bea’s tour took the other route into the kitchen, and when she finally gets a good look at her dad, Bea laughs. “Dad, what the hell is up with your hair?”
Erik threads his fingers on either side of his head and pulls his hair away from his scalp. “Do you like it?” When he lets go, his brown wavy hair falls to brush against his shoulders.
“That’s like, Matthew McConaughey hair.”
“All right, all right, all right.”
“Don’t give him bongos, for the love of god,” Naomi shouts.
“You know why he keeps getting invited to Naughty By Nature concerts?”
This time, the entire room groans—except my mom, predictably.
“Because he’s Matthew Ma-conna-heyyyy, ho, hey, ho!”
There’s a chorus of “Daaaaddddd!”
The tour of the house goes like that for the next hour. Mom assures me she’s saged the house and she’ll put the furniture back before she leaves, but “isn’t the feng shui of the roomso much better?” In the sunroom, Jody has set up her yoga mat and tells us she’s gotten into yoga because it keeps her “hips flexible.”
