Page 22 of Touchdown Under the Mistletoe
All through dinner, I keep catching Travis’s eye across the table. He keeps smiling at me, and I keep feeling my stomach turn. It’s got nothing to do with Mom’s glazed ham or Rebecca’s perfectly glazed vegetables. No, no. The food is amazing. What I’m suffering from is a mix of butterflies and nerves.
After the dishes are done and the leftovers are crammed into Tupperware containers, Rebecca announces it’s time for the Steelbirds’ annual talent show. We all help push the furniture to the side so that a tiny stage area appears in front of the Christmas tree. Our parents and Travis’s aunt and uncle take the couch, Grandma settles in the armchair, and I sit down on the floor next to Aspen, who’s got Rosie in her lap. The baby is already clapping, even though nothing has happened yet, and my heart melts at the cuteness factor.
While Rebecca announces the ground rules and the grand prize, Travis leans in and whispers, “We’ve got this. No one can compete with what we’ve got planned.”
He’s right. Aunt Annie goes first, performing an interpretive dance to Michael Jackson’sThrillerthat involves bold moves I didn’t know anyone over sixty could still do. She’s surprisingly good, though, and the room erupts in applause when she finishes with a dramatic zombie pose.
Uncle William follows with a magic trick that goes slightly wrong when one of his cards catches on fire, but everyone applauds anyway. Travis’s grandma recites a surprisingly moving poem about Christmas memories that has Rebecca dabbing at her eyes.
Beau does a stand-up comedy routine about the disasters of home renovation, my parents sing an off-key duet ofBaby, It’s Cold Outside, and Aspen and Maddox perform a synchronized diaper-changing demonstration using a stuffed teddy bear.
Then it’s our turn.
Travis and I stand up, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m wearing yoga pants and a headband in front of his entire family.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Travis begins in his broadcaster's voice. “Thank you for joining us this evening for what promises to be the most riveting athletic display you’ve ever witnessed in this living room. I’m your host, Travis Steelbird, and tonight we bring you the Christmas Eve Championship of Ordinary Tasks.”
There are already chuckles from the audience. I take my position by the wrapping station we’ve set up with a shoebox, wrapping paper, scissors, and tape.
“Our competitor tonight is Riley Quinn, a true gift-wrapping veteran with an impressive career spanning over three decades. She’s here tonight to show us what happens when preparation meets opportunity, when skill meets determination, when—”
“Get on with it. Show, don’t tell,” Beau calls out with a laugh.
“Right.” Travis clears his throat. “Our first event of the night is competitive gift wrapping. Riley, are you ready?”
I nod and stretch my arms like a boxer preparing for a match.
“And we’re off! Quinn approaches the wrapping station with confidence. Look at that focus. You can see the years of experience in every movement.”
I pick up the wrapping paper and begin measuring it against the shoebox. The room is completely silent except for Travis’s commentary.
“She’s measuring the paper now. This is crucial, folks. Too much and you waste precious resources. Too little, and it’s game over. But Quinn, yeah, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Years of Christmas mornings have led to this special moment of pure triumph.”
I start cutting, and Travis moves closer, narrating every detail.
“Beautiful cut! Clean lines! The scissors are moving through that paper like butter! This is what we train for, Bob!”
“Who’s Bob?” Grandma asks, and I have to bite my lip to stay in character.
“And now… the tape.” Travis’s voice rises dramatically. “This is where careers are made or broken, folks.”
I reach for the tape dispenser, and right on cue, it sticks. I freeze, hand outstretched, and Travis gasps.
“Oh no, the tape is stuck! This is a disaster! How will Quinn recover? The clock is ticking! Christmas waits for no one!”
I jiggle the dispenser, and finally it releases. I pull off a strip of tape with a flourish, and Travis’s voice booms.
“She did it. The tape is free! What a recovery. This is why Quinn is considered one of the best in the business.”
I’m wrapping the box now, carefully folding each corner, and Travis continues his play-by-play.
“Look at that hospital corner fold. A high-risk, high-reward technique that only the elite dare attempt. The precision. The symmetry. She’s making it look easy, but make no mistake, this is years of training on display.”
I finish with a piece of tape on top and hold up the wrapped box like a trophy. The room erupts in applause and laughter.
“Perfect execution!” Travis shouts over the noise. “But we’re not done yet, folks! Now we move to our second event: competitive ornament hanging.”
I pick up the silver ball ornament from the box of props we prepared, and Travis shifts back into broadcaster mode.
