A Christmas Arrangement (7 page)

My mom’s twin sisters, Lynette and Jeanette, had both been invited.  Neither of them had ever married.  They shared a three bedroom condo in Salt Lake.  Their extra bedroom was used as a sewing room/yarn depository.  I feared one day we would hear from the authorities that they had been smothered to death under an avalanche of skeins.  Their younger brother LaDell and his wife Marie were also supposed to be in attendance.  They were coming all the way from Hurricane in southern Utah, pronounced
hurricun
, of course. 

I went in through the garage so I could sneak into the kitchen in the back of the house.  I was in luck.  I could hear Dad down the hall talking about his band, The Salt Flat Lickers.

I put the dish of stuffing on the counter then found a napkin to dab at the sweat which had accumulated on my forehead.  It wasn’t that my beautiful sweater was too hot.  I was in the same house as the woman whose recipe I had bastardized with water chestnuts.  A delicious box of StoveTop would have been perfect in my estimation for tonight’s party, but I was trying to please my boyfriend.  And pleasing him would require pleasing his mother.  And why did I want to please him so much?  Well…because…maybe I…was pretty sure I loved him. 

Yes.  Me.  I, Quincy McKay was in…love.  Probably.  With an actual man!  I hadn’t said the words to him yet, and we’d only been together for a few months.  But lately, among other things, I’d felt the overwhelming need to do whatever it might take to make him happy.  Even if it was making a woman who obviously thought nobody was good enough for her son, tolerate me.  I didn’t say like me.  But if I could get her to tolerate me, I would consider that a point in the win column. 

I reached for a mug and ladled some wassail spiked with Sprite out of the slow cooker.  The warm drink would help to calm my nerves.  I took a sip, burned my tongue and wondered why the slow cooker temperature had been set to
Surface of the Sun.
  I grabbed the nearest liquid, which happened to be cranberry juice, and gulped it down right from the serving pitcher.

“Hey, babe, you’re here.”

I jumped at the sound of Alex’s voice and spilled the red liquid down the front of my sweater.  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, knowing I would turn and face his parents covered in a red, just-butchered-a-deer, stain.  I opened my eyes but it was just him.  I exhaled for a good twenty seconds. 

“Are you okay?”

“Are they here?” I whispered.

“Yeah, we got here a few minutes ago.  Your dad’s showing them around.”  He gave me a quick kiss.  “You’re shaking.  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I began, but when I blinked nonchalantly, I felt tears in the corners of my eyes.  “I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

“Why would you be nervous?  It’s not my parents is it?” 

“No—I just—well, yes it’s your parents.”

“Quincy.  They’re gonna love you.  You have nothing to worry about.  If anyone should be nervous it’s me.  Your whole extended family is here.  I’ve got to impress them.”  The corner of his mouth hitched in a crooked grin.  My heart fluttered.  I couldn’t help but smile.  Not only was he sweet, he looked fantastic.  He wore a fisherman’s sweater and nice jeans.  He always looked handsome, but the fact we hadn’t been alone in the same room much since before his parents arrived contributed to extra palpitations.  He held up some jackets he’d been holding.  “Where should I put these?” he asked.

“Here, I’ll take them up to my old bedroom.”

“Okay, but you’ll have to show me that bedroom later.”  He bumped his eyebrows up and down.

“That sounds a bit creepy—my childhood bedroom and all.  But if you don’t mind Johnny Depp and Han Solo watching us, I guess I could go for it.”  I gave him an exaggerated wink.

I reached under the jackets he held and my arm brushed against his, sending a zing right through me.  Before I knew it, he had his other arm around me and I seemed to be entwined with him in several places.  The jackets fell to the floor.

“We’re in my parent’s kitchen,” I whispered over a smile I couldn’t get rid of. 

“I know, but I miss you,” he said.  He leaned down and put his mouth next to my ear.  “Your old bedroom’s sounding pretty good right about now, isn’t it?” 

The vibration of his lips next to my skin sent warmth to all the good places.  I couldn’t help myself.  I’d missed him too.  I tried to kiss him sweetly and quickly, but I was foolish to think it would end there. I guess he felt the same way.  Our lips locked with surprising desperation.

“Wait,” I said, through the heavy breathing.  “I spilled red juice all over my sweater.  We don’t want to ruin yours too.”

“Here, just take it off.”  Before I knew it his hands were under my sweater.  He pulled the bottom edge about half-way up my back and then stopped, and kissed me harder.  One of his hands slid down my back, a bit…uh…south of my belt line.

“And this is the kitchen.  Oh, Quincy…”

Crap—crap—double crap!

I closed my eyes.  “They’re standing behind me aren’t they?”  I wondered if his parents were impressed
now
.

“…so this is my…middle daughter, Quincy.  And of course…you know…Alex.”  My dad cleared his throat after an awkward silence.  “And it looks like they know each other, doesn’t it?” 

I turned to see a crowd of people and wished for spontaneous combustion. 

“We were just…she spilled on her…oh, here…” Alex stammered and proceeded to finish the job of taking off my sweater.  Baffled as I was at the maneuver, I didn’t want to make the scene even more awkward by resisting him, so I lifted my arms to comply.  One of the decorative large buttons from the cowl-neck caught in my lovely chignon and pulled some of my hair out of the fastener.

My sweater hung limply from his hand.  “She spilled...on her sweater…” Alex said, as he saw his parents’ bewildered expressions.   I heard Aunt Sadie’s gravelly old voice murmuring something about finally putting the good stuff in the Christmas punch.  Alex’s face reddened in such an oh-so-sweet way.  Too bad I was too mortified to enjoy it.  He shoved my sweater behind his back.  “So.  Mom and Dad, this is the woman I’ve been telling you about.”  He stiffly placed his palm on my lower back.  “This is Quincy.”

My face burned so hot I just knew my cheeks would scar.  “I’m so um,” my tongue was thick, I couldn’t swallow, there was no moisture.  The sounds coming out of my mouth couldn’t be described as words.  After a few throat clearings I gave it another try.  “I’m
so
Quincy.  I mean… so sorry.”  I held up my pinched thumb and pointer finger.  “I’m just a tad um-nervous.  Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, I’m so pleased to meet you.”  I went to shake both of their hands.  Alex’s father laughed and shook my hand vigorously. 

“Call me Jack.  We’re so glad to finally meet you.  You must be somebody special, the way this guy has been acting lately.”  He playfully jerked his thumb toward his son.  His eyes were the same warm brown as Alex’s.  For just a moment I forgot how embarrassed I was.

Then Mrs. Cooper took my hand.  My temporary amnesia was immediately cured and the embarrassment came back with full strength.  Her weak grasp reminded me of a wilted flower.  She must have been channeling all her strength into the creation of the daggers she glared at me.    Her expression shifted.  Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits.   “You’re the girl with the horns,” she said. 

CHAPTER SIX

I stood there staring at Mrs. Cooper, my mouth hanging open.

And then it all came flooding in.  The man at the warehouse store had had such remarkable brown eyes.  I glanced down at the jackets on the floor.  Daffodil-yellow, Moab-brown clay,
“Ski Utah!”

Alex laughed nervously.  “Mom, what are you talking about?” he said through closed teeth.

“At the store, you showed us your horns.”  She pointed at me.  Her glance shot to the top of my head, then moved to the bottom of the length of my hair.  I recalled the mischievous detail—okay lie—I had given about my camouflaging hairstyle.

I looked at one perplexed face after another.

“What
horns
, Quincy?”  Uh-oh.  My mother had probably caught on, at least to the Mormon/horn thing.  And it didn’t sound like she was laughing at the joke. 

“Alex, let me show you where to put those coats.  Please excuse us for just a minute.”  I left my dad to do damage control.  He could come up with some kind of performance to distract everyone.  I snatched the jackets off the floor, grabbed Alex’s wrist and ran.

“You showed her your…
what
?” Alex said, looking as if his head would explode. 

“Well, my horns, of course.  What else could I do?” I shrugged innocently.

“Oh, I don’t know—politely say hello?  What is she even talking about?” 

I explained the tired old myth which unfortunately had been given new life.  While it seemed a silly novelty now, it had been used as a hurtful tool of religious bigotry and discrimination against my ancestors. 

“Why would my mom do something so—weird?  And why would you do something so mean to her?”

“Hey.  Your mother asked to see my Mormon horns, so don’t get on my case about hurting someone’s feelings.” 

I swiped my hands up my face and felt the loose chunks of hair.  “Look, I’m sorry.  But you must realize I didn’t know that they were your parents.  And if someone asked if you had a physical abnormality based on your religion, in the middle of the feminine products aisle—”

“Okay, stop right there.  There will be no discussions of—”

“What?  You mean tampons?  Maxi-pads?”  He looked ill.  I smiled wickedly.  “Anyway, what would you have done?  I thought I handled it with humor and grace.”  Okay, maybe the grace part was a little over the top. 

“She literally asked if you had horns?”

“Yes!  And how could anyone expect me to think she was your mother when she didn’t even know I was a florist?”

“What?”

“At the store.  We were looking at flowers when two people came over and asked our opinions of the bouquets in the cooler.  I recommended going to a local florist and your mother proceeded to tell me how awful and expensive florists are.  Why in the world would I think that woman would be my boyfriend’s mother?  I didn’t realize my profession was so embarrassing that you couldn’t tell your parents about it.”

“Quincy.  It’s not like that.  Of course I’ve told them about you.  You work hard, I’m always bragging about it.  All I could talk about when I went home the last time was you.  I don’t know why she would say that.  I promise.  I’m proud of you, babe.  And so are they.” 

“I don’t know if I believe the last part.”

He sighed and jammed his hands in his pockets.  “It doesn’t make any sense.  She knows you’re a florist.  She probably feels really silly right now.”

“Maybe so.  I’m sorry if I hurt her feelings.  If it’s any consolation, my feelings weren’t hurt at all.”

“Oh, geez, Quincy.”

“Okay, that was too much.”  I rested my hand on his forearm.  “Honestly, I’m really sorry about the way things have gone with them.  I’ve worried so much about making them like me and I’ve already blown it.  I’ll go out there and apologize, okay?” 

“No.  Wait.  You don’t need to apologize.  If anyone should apologize it’s me.  I couldn’t control myself in the kitchen.  I can only imagine what your parents must think of me.” 

“I think we were mutually offensive in the kitchen,” I said.  I glanced up at the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and gasped.  “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like this?”  With my black t-shirt and dark jeans, ragged hair, and that special touch of smeared mascara, I looked like Alice Cooper.  “Your parents saw me like this.  I actually looked good when I left my house.”

“You looked great when I first saw you in the kitchen.”

I frowned. 

“And you still do,” he said.

I gave him an eye roll.

He pulled me into him, then smoothed and tucked my hair.  His eyes softened and he looked at me like he had in the kitchen, which was good but also very bad.  He leaned down and whispered, “You know, we are alone.  In your bedroom.”  He brushed his lips just under my ear.  “And I noticed,” he kissed the very corner of my mouth—the most pleasurable tease there ever was— “that you’re wearing the t-shirt I gave you.  Remember what we were doing the last time you wore that shirt?”

Oh boy.  I closed my eyes and sighed.  This couldn’t happen here.  Or now.  But we hadn’t been alone in a room for longer than five minutes in what seemed like years.  Even when we’d been alone we hadn’t really been because one of our mothers would inevitably call.  But his arms were around me and they were so strong and masculine and warm.  And his mouth was so perfect with those lips that knew when to be soft or firm at all the right times.  That perfect mouth was leaving a trail of heat down my neck at the moment.  Whoops!  How did my hands get under his sweater? 

I groaned and leaned back.  “What are we doing?  We can’t do this.”

“Aww,” he said, obviously disappointed.

“You’d rather my mother walk in on us naked in my twin bed?  That would
really
impress your parents.” 

He laughed, then gave me a bear hug.  I think he was trying to squeeze the lust out of the both of us. 

“Quincy?” My mother’s voice called out from down the hall. 

We busted up laughing. 

“We’re ready to eat,” she said.  “Are you still in there?”

“Alex?”  His mother’s voice came from the same direction.  “Honey, did you say Quincy brought the stuffing?”  He closed his eyes and cringed.

“
Three weeks,
” he whispered, the strain evident in his voice.  “Only two weeks, five days, and four hours until their plane lifts off.”

We gave each other a quick kiss and he took my sweater into the adjoining bathroom to rinse it out.  I made a quick swipe at my raccoon eyes and unfastened the rest of my hair, letting it hang down past my shoulders, then went out to face our superior officers. 

***

I met my mom and Mrs. Cooper in the hall.  Apologies were issued from both parties and accepted with reciprocal half-heartedness.  My mother pulled me aside to the kitchen to help serve the meal.