Page 25 of The Alien Reindeer's Bounty
“I like string cheese,” Ruby whined. “Why do we have to be fancy?”
Odessa held her tongue because snapping at her kid was the opposite of helping.
“You know, that’s an excellent point,” Patricia said, sensing the need to intervene with her granddaughter’s mood. She finished loading the dishwasher and started the cycle. “Why don’t you put some string cheese on the plate, Ruby?”
Her daughter pulled out a handful of individually wrapped string cheese and shoved it on the carefully arranged cheese plate. Ruby took it out of the kitchen, proudly announcing that she helped.
“You have a temper today,” Patricia said.
Odessa focused on finishing the brie. What did her mother expect her to say? Agree that she was cranky and needed a nap?
A nap sounded so good, actually.
“Hey, Mommy, I wanna decorate the tree. It looks stupid,” Ruby called from the living room.
“Watch your mouth, goblin,” Odessa said. The undecorated tree sat in the corner of the living room, waiting for ornaments and tinsel. “We’ll decorate tomorrow. The Ministry of Christmas says the first day you can put up the tree is the day after Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t think there is a mini-tree of Christmas.” Ruby strolled into the kitchen, chewing on a stick of string cheese. “I think you’re pulling my leg.”
“Oh, do you? Ask your grandpa when he gets here.” The Ministry of Christmas was a tall tale her parents used as an excuse for why their tree went up late or they never played holiday music at home until after Thanksgiving. As an adult who worked retail, she completely understood the need for the holiday to be contained and resist the creeping of Christmas music and decorations in the stores before Halloween. As a kid, though, she had grown so excited at the first glimpse of candy canes and tinsel.
“Don’t worry. I fixed the tree. It’s not so stupid now.”
“I don’t like you saying that word, goblin. What’s a better word to use?”
“Fine, the tree is silly.” Ruby rolled her eyes. No need to wonder where she picked up that habit.
Typical Thanksgiving morning. Odessa spent last night baking rolls from scratch and that morning peeling and chopping vegetables for the sides. In past years, her parents hosted. The Beckers—Ruby’s other grandparents—spent the day with their daughter and grandkids in Boise.
Thanksgiving had always been just the four of them. Her mom cooked up a storm and Odessa arrived early to help with peeling, chopping, and anything else Patricia needed an extra set of hands for. Unfortunately, aging plumbing put their kitchen out of commission this holiday while repairs were made. The work—new plumbing and a new floor—should be finished by Christmas, which meant Patricia and Gerald arrived at her house slightly after the crack of dawn that morning.
Ruby buzzed with excitement and, honestly, so did Odessa. She never had a chance to entertain and couldn’t wait to try the sage, sausage, and apple stuffing recipe she found online. She wanted to feed good food to the people she loved and have a nice day. Simple goals.
So far, she’d been run off her feet and the kitchen felt like a sauna with the oven running since dawn, even with the windows opened. She needed a shower and a minute to catch her breath.
Or that nap.
At least she got Ruby to eat something that looked like a proper breakfast—a bowl of oatmeal with half a sliced banana. Usually getting that kid to eat when she was excited was a battle but the novelty of having breakfast with Grandma and Grandpa won out.
The knock sounded at the door, moments before opening. “Grandpa’s back!” Ruby shouted. “Grandpa! Michigan!”
Her parents brought their dog and Gerald took Michigan out for a walk. Michigan was a well-behaved dog, generally, but tended to be underfoot in the kitchen. At seventy pounds, the black lab mix could do serious damage with her constantly wagging tail.
“Dessa? Where do you want the pies?” Gerald appeared in the doorway, carrying a shopping bag filled with several varieties.
“I told you to bring a dessert,” Odessa said, turning to her mother.
“I did.”
“A pie, Mom. A single pie.” Her mother always brought too much food. Why bring one pumpkin pie when you could have sweet potato, pecan, and apple?
“Because we need one in every flavor, honey,” Patricia said, echoing Odessa’s thoughts. “Life would be so boring if we only had one pie.”
“And who is going to eat all this? There’s four of us, not an army.” Odessa turned her attention back to the oven. The brie was browning nicely.
“I invited Mads. He’s a growing boy. I’m sure he can eat an entire pie all by himself.”
“You did not invite that man.” Odessa grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter.
