Christmas Catch: A Holiday Novella Read online

  “Looks good,” he says, peering at the pile of cheese I’ve been grating. He’s full of shit because I haven’t cooked anything yet. It’s just cheese and dry pasta and a giant pot of boiling water. He’s lingering.

  “Need any help?”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” This is the second time I’ve had to bring this up.

  “I’m avoiding it. They’re delivering bait to sell and it makes me dry heave.” I don’t blame him. Bait is rotting fish. If you’ve never smelled it, then you haven’t really lived. The fishermen say that you get used to the smell, but I think they’re full of shit. NO ONE could get used to that smell. Not even if you smelled it every day for a hundred years.

  “So you need a hideout.”

  “A fortress of solitude, if you will.” I roll my eyes at the Superman reference. Great. His solitude is my annoyance.

  “Well, if you’re going to hang around, you’d better help.” I point to the boxes of pasta and the pot of water. “Dump them in and stir. If any sticks to the bottom, I’ll grate your ass with this.” I hold up the grater.

  He shudders and goes to open the boxes of pasta.

  “How’s your mom doing?” I ask as he stirs the pasta and I keep grating cheese. I should have bought it pre-shredded, but they didn’t have sharp cheddar, which is what my family prefers.

  Sawyer sighs.

  “She’s, um, she’s doing as well as I think can be expected. She’s seeing a therapist and I think it’s helping.”

  He’s full of shit. I know Sawyer too well for him to lie to me.

  “Okay, so how is she really doing?” He looks up from the pot and the pain is in full view.

  “Not good, and I don’t know what to do. I feel guilty that she was here and she was alone when it happened. And then I almost resent her for not getting her shit together and then I feel like an asshole for resenting her. It’s kind of like living in a tornado.” Wow, some honesty. At least he’s opening up to me.

  “That sucks,” I say, because what else is there to say? I can’t tell him that I understand, because I don’t. I have two parents. My grandparents are all still alive down in Florida. The only death I’ve ever dealt with was my childhood dog, Thunder.

  “Yeah, it does.” And he goes back to stirring. I feel like I should give him a hug or something, but I can’t seem to cross the distance between us and make it happen.

  “How’s the pasta coming?”

  “Not sticking,” he says. “How do you know when it’s done?” I give him a look. Has he never made this?

  “What? The only pasta I’ve ever made myself is Easy Mac, and you just cook it ‘til it’s done.”

  I motion for him to get out of my way while I stick the spoon into the pot and pull out a few noodles, blowing on them so they don’t burn my mouth. Then I nibble on one and gather up some more so Sawyer can try it. I hold out the spoon and he opens his mouth, sucking air in so he doesn’t burn his tongue.

  “See how it’s still a little uncooked? We’re going to put it in the oven, and it will finish cooking and soak up the sauce to make creamy awesomeness.” I turn the stove off and get out the colander to drain the pasta. Sawyer takes the pot and tosses its contents in the colander and we both get a steamy pasta facial.

  “It’s good for your pores,” I say as we both lean back and laugh. Sawyer stands clear as I assemble the pasta in our biggest casserole dish. I always make extra so my mom can portion it out and freeze it for future use.

  “Thanks for your help,” I say as I shove the dish in the oven and set the timer.

  “I’m sure you couldn’t have done it without me,” he says, and I throw one of the empty pasta boxes at him. He ducks and picks it up.

  Then the door opens and the screaming minions return, along with my mother.

  “Sawyer!” she exclaims. So fake. She knew he was here. Now our mothers are conspiring with each other to get us together. God, it’s like the entire town is pushing us together. That would not surprise me one little bit. They’d probably had a town meeting and voted on it. They’d had meetings about stranger things before.

  “Hello, Mary. It’s good to see you.” Mom gives him a hug. Saltwater residents are huggers.

  “How’s your mom?” Like she doesn’t know. I’m sure they talked and planned this whole thing. I go to help the minions gather their things so they can be ready when Stacy and Drew get here in a few minutes, which gives Sawyer and my mom a chance to talk. Drew and Stacy show up and collect their spawn and step-spawn and suddenly the house is quiet.

  Ahhh.

  “So I invited Sawyer to dinner,” Mom says in a way that tells me that there will be no argument. I zip my lips as he gives me a smirk and gets out the salad bowl. He’s been in my house so many hundreds of times he knows where everything is.

  “So, Mom, Sawyer’s mom was looking for her crockpot but we couldn’t find it.” She pretends to think. An actress my mother is not.

  “I think I gave that back to her after the last community dinner. I’ll give her a call.” She goes to do just that and I give Sawyer a look.

  “You know our mothers are conspiring,” I say.

  “Uh, yeah. What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know.” Sawyer’s mother may be grief-stricken, but she’s still determined to get us back together. Maybe even more so now. That makes me feel kind of bad. Like I should go along with her, just because of what she’s going through.

  “Help you with the salad?” Sawyer says as my mom chatters away on the phone.

  “Sure thing.” The timer dings on the mac and cheese and I turn the oven off.

  Dinner with Sawyer and my parents. This is going to be yet another time warp.

  “So how’s your mother doing?” Dad says as the four of us sit down together. My GOD, how many times is he going to have to answer this question? I’m irritated for him. He must answer this two hundred times a day. At least one time for every resident of Saltwater, and probably twice for some.

  “She’s doing well.” This seems to be his standard answer. I don’t blame him. He should just carry around a recording and play it when he talks to people. That’s what I would do.

  “Good to hear, good to hear. If she ever needs anything at the house, any trees taken down, you tell her to give me a call, no charge. Your daddy was a good man and he did a lot for this town. Anytime she needs anything, you tell us. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sawyer always calls my dad that, despite it not being the norm around here. Everyone goes either by their first name, or their nickname.

  “Leave the boy alone,” mom says, passing the bread around again. “He knows that we’d do anything, right Sawyer?”

  “I do, thank you.” Poor guy. He’s probably overflowing with help. That’s another thing about small towns. When something bad happens to one resident, something bad happens to all of them. We take care of our own. It’s hard to remember the good things about this town when I can’t help but concentrate on the bad stuff. The stuff I wanted to leave behind.

  The conversation shifts to other things about the town, and soon I’m caught up on all the gossip that I’ve missed since I left. Marriages, divorces, affairs, babies, DUIs and all the other crap that goes on when people have too much time on their hands and no Starbucks in sight.

  We talk and laugh and I am actually having a good time. Sawyer nudges me under the table and smiles at me. For some reason it makes me blush and have to duck my head so no one sees. In the process I drop my knife on the floor.

  “Well you know what they say when you drop a knife,” Mom says, giving me a pointed look. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “They say if you drop a knife a man will come into your life,” she says, grinning at Dad as if they’re sharing an inside joke.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I say. Sawyer makes a choking sound that I think is to cover a laugh.

  “Nope, that’s what happens. I dropped a knife at dinner the night before I met yo
ur father.” Okay, let’s put an end to this conversation as of right now.

  I start buttering my bread so everyone will stop staring at me. Yeah, that doesn’t work. Mom and Dad start laughing and I want to sink through the floor. So instead I mumble something about getting a drink and go to the fridge and grab a Bud Light. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but desperate times and all. I need it right now. I crack it open on the counter and take a swig before I sit back down. Sawyer nudges me under the table and thanks my mom for the wreath that I gave him last night. That takes the heat off me and I appreciate it. He did me a solid and he’ll probably rub my face in it later.

  “Sawyer, would you like to take some of this home for your mom?” I get up to warm the apple crumble as Mom, Dad and Sawyer clear up the rest of the meal and put away the leftovers.

  “That would be fantastic. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” The other thing that goes around this town is Tupperware. Everyone is always trading meals and leftovers, so we just sort of have community Tupperware and it just keeps going around and no one remembers who owns what.

  Sawyer says goodnight and leaves, agreeing that he’ll say hello to his mother and give her our regards and all that jazz. The minute the door closes behind him, my parents are both smirking at me.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Nothing,” Mom says, looking at Dad as they go back to clean the rest of the kitchen. “Not a thing.”

  The next day I’m busy getting my presents together for my parents and siblings. It’s nothing too fancy, some new thick work gloves for Dad, some new shampoo, body wash and bath salts for Mom, a funny trucker hat for Drew and a cute tote bag for Stacy. I also have some little candies and toys for my nieces and nephews to put in their stockings. The rule at the Emerson house is that stockings are not to be hung until Christmas Eve. So many rules with Christmas.

  I get everything wrapped and ready to go, but I feel like I’m missing something.

  Sawyer. Of course I didn’t plan on him being here, so I didn’t plan on needing a present. I don’t have anything to give him, and there’s no way I can find anything in Saltwater that he couldn’t just buy himself. It’s too late to order anything online, even if I knew what to order. So I’m screwed. Gotta be creative with this one.

  What in the hell could I possibly give him? I’m coming up blank. This is going to require some thought. I grab my phone and text Allison.

  What would you get your ex bf for xmas?

  I’ve got no one else to ask, and I only have to wait a few seconds for a response.

  Do we want him to be an un-ex? Or do we hate him and just have to give him something?

  God, wasn’t that the question.

  Before I could figure out what I wanted to get him, I had to figure out what I wanted it to mean. It shouldn’t be too romantic, or give him any romantic ideas. I don’t want him to read anything into the gift. It should be plutonic.

  Plutonic gift.

  I wait a few more seconds for a response.

  Gift card? Blow job?

  Yeah, neither of those is going to happen. Especially the second one. She is being completely unhelpful and I suspect it’s on purpose.

  If you don’t want to help me, that’s cool.

  The phone rings.

  “Look, I don’t know this guy. I only know him from what you’ve told me about him. He’s a guy. Guys are so hard to buy for. That’s probably why I never seem to have a boyfriend around any major holiday. I think I sabotage the relationship so I don’t have to buy them a present. So I’m the wrong person to ask, babe.” I sigh.

  “I know, but I didn’t think this was going to be an issue. Why haven’t I thought of this until now?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, but you better think of something quick. Good thing you’re not Jewish, then you’d have to get him seven. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. By the way, when are you getting out of there?”

  That’s another mysterious question. Now that I’m here, and mom’s told me how much she wants me to stay . . . I don’t know.

  “No idea, but I’ll keep you posted. What’s up with you?” She tells me about how her holidays are going and then launches into funny stories about her bubbe. I adore that woman. Best advice you can ever get is from my friend’s Yiddish grandmother. Talking with her is sometimes like being in a Saturday Night Live sketch, only it’s real.

  “Okay, well let me know what you come up with, and when you’re coming back. I freaking miss you,” she says.

  “I miss you, too. I’ll keep you posted. Over and out.”

  “Roger, roger.” She hangs up and I’m left without any ideas. I can’t just get him nothing. Or not get him anything. However that’s supposed to go. Well, I’m not going to get any ideas by sitting around the house.

  “There you are. I was going to send one of the kids in to make sure you hadn’t jumped out the window and bailed,” Mom says as I walk back to the kitchen. The kids are strangely quiet, all parked in front of the television and munching on various snacks. Yup, I’m gonna have to vacuum again.

  “I was wrapping presents, for your information.” I grab a handful of chips from the bowl she’s refreshing for the minions.

  “Do you have one for Sawyer?” She asks casually, but she is definitely fishing. I don’t want to talk about it, but I need advice. And she and Dad have been married for over twenty years. She knows what she’s talking about when it comes to making a relationship work.

  “I don’t. I have no idea what to give him,” I say, slumping down at the table. Mom just laughs and goes to the cupboard, getting out a coffee mug and filling it with water and then putting it in the microwave. It’s instant coffee and chat time.

  She gets the creamer out of the fridge. It’s eggnog flavored. Once the coffee is done and I stir in the creamer, she waits for me to start talking.

  “I don’t know what to give him because I don’t know how I feel, and I don’t want to give him anything that’s romantic, or that makes him think romantic things. So I’m kind of screwed.”

  “That is a dilemma, Ivy. That is a dilemma.” She sips her coffee and waits for me to ask for her advice. She won’t give it until I ask.

  “Tell me what to do, I know you’re dying to,” I say and she beams and then leans in.

  “Well, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but if I were you, I’d do something that you used to do. You know him inside and out. The best answer is sometimes the simplest. What did you used to get him?”

  “But if I do something like that, he’s going to read something into it.”

  She shrugs and I sip from my own cup. “Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. But if you don’t do anything, you’re going to feel like an asshole, so suck it up and figure it out.” Sometimes my mom rivals Allison’s bubbe for her blunt advice. Shut your mouth and do it. Grow some lady balls.

  Okay, I’ll just do that.

  Where the hell do I start?

  I go to my thinking spot and park my car. It’s too cold to sit on the hood, so I stay inside with the heater on and my blanket around me. The snow starts to spit again. It’s been doing that, not really committing to a full storm, just teasing us with the possibility of a white Christmas.

  I’d like that, while I was here. Our house looks so pretty all covered in white, like’s it’s been frosted. Everything keeps running as usual when we have storms, except for school, if there’s a lot of snow. Everyone walks to each other’s houses and hangs out and watches movies and eats snacks in front of the woodstove. I’d done that a lot with Sawyer. So many times I lost count.

  And suddenly, I have an idea.

  Sawyer and I had a snow day ritual, and if the weather cooperates with me, it’s going to snow enough that it will be tricky driving. I just have to get a few things first.

  Saltwater may not be an island, but it feels that way most of the time. To get to any sort of major town with more than a few thousand people you have to do a lot of driving. In some ways, being isola
ted keeps the world out, but it also keeps us in. Sheltered.

  People use that an excuse to never go anywhere, seek anything else.

  As I head out of town I think about how long I’m going to stay. My break goes past New Years. I have quite a few papers to write that are going to require research, but the tiny Saltwater library just outside of town has Wi-Fi and I don’t think they would mind if I snuck in a mug of coffee. And it would make mom happy.

  And Sawyer. There’s always Sawyer.

  Half an hour later I feel like I’m back in “civilization”. I hit the McDonald’s for a caffeine buzz, the pharmacy to get a new bottle of shampoo, and the grocery store to get the things for my present to Sawyer. I also stop at the small department store and buy an extra blanket. I always used to tease Sawyer about stealing mine, but he just said that he liked being wrapped in something that smelled like me.

  Despite his career change, Sawyer still smells the same, and not like fish or bait at all. It’s so bizarre that he’s running his father’s business. It’s hard to think of him as an adult, making decisions like that. I’d kind of like to see it in action.

  Mom calls me when I’m walking back to my car. The snow is supposed to get bad, so she wants me home ASAP. My car may be fashionable and sexy, but it’s not too good in the snow and slush. I’m screwed if another deer comes at me, too. Flipping wildlife.

  “Oh, good, you’re back. I was getting worried.” Dad and Drew are tramping through the house, their arms full of wood for the woodstove. Our power goes out a lot in the winter. You put a lot of snow on tree limbs and those things are going to break and snag the lines and create all sorts of issues. We have a generator, but wood for the stove is cheaper, and heats the house better.

  “The kids are with Stacy getting supplies. I can’t believe I forgot to get potatoes. Fingers crossed she can find some.” Mom is frazzled, her hair escaping its braid and curling everywhere. She’d gone prematurely grey, but she was still a gorgeous woman. Not to be critical, but a lot of the women around here have . . . um . . . a kind of masculine look about them. I blame it on the hard living. Tends to harden people on the outside. But get to know them and most of them have good hearts underneath it all.