Our First Christmas (30 page)

And, “Life is too short not to be sexy in the kitchen!”

The photographers and reporters laughed and wrote. We handed out bags of Christmas cookies as they left.

“I would have trusted that handsome photographer with the blue eyes and long hair to photograph me naked in an apron,” my mother said later.

“Oh, me, too,” my aunt said, waving a hand to cool down her suddenly warm face. “Let's invite him back for a private viewing.”

 

I saw Josh on TV playing basketball for our university once when I was walking my wobbling father to the bathroom in his bathrobe after his stroke. He was having an incredible season. I noticed he never smiled after he made a basket, though, like he always used to. I refused to watch another game.

He called, and I didn't take his calls. He e-mailed several times. I did not respond. When he came home for spring break, we sat outside on my father's picnic table, the conversation devastatingly painful, stilted. I could hardly speak. Seeing Josh re-broke my already broken heart. I still felt dead with guilt because of my father's frozen half smile.

After some small talk and silences he said, “Can I take you to dinner, Laurel?”

“No, Josh. I've already said no.”

“Lunch?”

“No.”

He wiped his eyes. He tried to hug me. I pulled back.

“I still love you, Laurel.” His voice cracked. “I still want to be with you, plan trips around the world together. . . .”

I did not respond. I looked straight ahead, then pushed my messy hair off my forehead and pulled my messy T-shirt down over my messy too-big jeans. I felt so ugly, inside and out. I didn't even want him to see me. I walked back into the house.

He left in his truck.

My guilt ate me further as my father continued to have setbacks that landed him back in rehab or the hospital, but through sheer will and determination, my father healed.

He had forgiven me. In fact, his exact words were, “It is not me who needs to forgive you, it is you who needs to forgive me, darling. I will be a better father.”

I would never forgive myself.

 

The Christmas Eve e-mails continued....

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Oh my goodness,” I breathed, two days after the TV station aired their report of The Apron Ladies and the state and local newspaper articles appeared. “Mom, Aunt Emma.”

Both of them hurried over to my computer, my mother with fabric with gingerbread houses tossed over her shoulder. “Look.”

My mother's hand flew to her chest. “I think Naughty Aprons for Naughty Women is successful.”

“Power in the kitchen, power in the bedroom,” my aunt added.

Sheesh.

 

We were bombarded with orders.

I sewed aprons like a speed demon and also kept track of, and mailed out, the aprons. Every apron we sold was wrapped in red and green tissue, this being Christmas, and tied with red and white ribbons. On the ribbon was a gold, oval sticker that said T
HE
A
PRON
L
ADIES
.

It was now chaos.

I was delighted and worried. I was not planning on staying in Kalulell. I had hoped to increase The Apron Ladies' sales, so my mom and aunt could make more money and travel.

They would need a manager for their business, someone who understood money, Web sites, orders, business . . .

My head spun.

I had managed a rock band, but I could sell aprons....

If I did, though, I would have to stay here.

In Kalulell.

Near Josh.

Could I?

I had two more dates with Josh. At the end of it, he said he would sell me the house and five acres.

I knew he would. The problem was that at the end of those ten dates, I'd probably be totally lost and in love with Josh again.

Then what would I do?

 

On Friday Josh called. Our conversation did not go well. “What's wrong, Laurel?”

“What's wrong is that I don't want to talk to you right now.” Zelda hissed at James and Thomas. They both leaped into my lap for protection, eyes wide.

“Okay, when?”

“When I can figure this out.” James whined in my ear.

“You mean us?”

“There is no us, Josh.” Thomas hid his nose in my shoulder.

“I think there is, honey.”

For how long? “No, there's not. There's ten dates, then you sell me my house and five acres back, and I return to Los Angeles.”

“How about this? There's ten dates, I sell you your house and five acres, and we go skiing together?”

“No.” I petted the trembling dogs. Zelda shriek-meowed.

“No? How about you tell me what's going on in your head? What you're thinking?”

“No to that, too. I have to go, Josh.” I hung up.

I don't know what to do about Josh. I do know I don't like myself right now at all.

I hugged James and Thomas. They were so scared.

On Thursday afternoon, I drove to downtown Kalulell to go to the fabric store. The fabric store was visible from Josh's office. I hoped he wouldn't be looking out the window. I darted in, bought three bagfuls of Christmas fabric, and darted back out.

Josh was leaning against my car. “Hey, Laurel.” He stood up straight, cowboy hat dusted with snow, those awesome legs packed into blue jeans.

“Hello, handsome cowboy.” I sighed, unlocked my car. He took the bags and put them in the backseat for me.

“How about Date Nine right now?” Josh said.

I burst into tears. He gave me a warm bear hug, and I hugged him back, my wet face on his shoulder, right in the middle of downtown Kalulell.

 

We took his truck and drove around the lake and stopped at our favorite place. It was private and quiet, snow covering all the trees surrounding the lake like cotton.

“What do you want to do, Laurel?”

“I don't know.” That was the truth. “I don't live here anymore. I live in Los Angeles.” Los Angeles had no appeal to me anymore, if it ever had. I had lived there for work. I'd had an exciting job. I traveled. I didn't want to live there again. I didn't want that head-banging job.

“I don't fit in here. I have pink-tipped hair. I wear odd clothes. I like colors and patterns.” I was wearing red jeans and a flowing, sari-like shirt from India with tiny mirrors underneath a black and white checked coat. I was not going to change that part of myself. But why did I think I needed to change in the first place?

“My family is crazy. All those wives. Half sisters and half brothers and stepbrothers. The dynamics. The Wild Bone. Fighting over pecan pie.” I thought of all of them. Noisy. Cantankerous. Periodic run-ins with the law. My latent guilt when I'm around my father.

“I don't have a job here.” Oh yes, I did. The Apron Ladies needed me.“There isn't a beach nearby. No beach.”

We sat in silence in his truck. Years ago we would have been naked by this point. He turned to me. “Laurel, you do live in Los Angeles, but you could move back to Montana. You do fit in here. You always have. Everyone likes your clothes and your pink hair, and who cares if they don't? You like it. For what it's worth, I like it. I like you the way you are. Your family is crazy. Whose isn't? At least they're interesting. They love you. The Wild Bone does seem to be in every generation, but it is what it is. When Aspen, Redwood, and Oakie recently made a snowman in the middle of the square and put three joints in his mouth and tucked a bottle of rum in his stomach, I laughed out loud.”

I laughed. The snowman made the front page of the newspaper. He was called “The Inappropriate Snowman.”

“You do have a job here; you can manage The Apron Ladies. Sounds like business is booming. Or you could do something else. Start another business. Or can you manage Hellfire from here when they're not touring? You could fly in and out of Los Angeles. Tour the world, then come home. Or if you want me to hang out with you, I'll move to Los Angeles.”

“You said that before. Are you kidding?”

“No.”

“From Montana to LA?”

“Yes.”

So he had meant it. “You would hate it, Josh. No land, no stunning home with a view of the blue and purple Swan Mountains, no elk and deer in your yard, no endless acres, no fishing, no river, no business.”

“Where you are, I'll be happy. If you decide to stay here, as far as the beach goes, I promise I will fly you to Oregon or southeast Asia to visit a beach anytime. Open a National Geographic and pick a place.”

“You . . .” I snuffled. “You would?”

“Yes.”

I was a mess. I had been afraid to go out with Josh ten times because I thought I would fall in love with him again. In love with those green eyes that had softened up these past weeks. In love with the way he listened. In love with the way he talked to me about his business, asked my opinion, cared about my day, my mother, my aunt, The Apron Ladies, my work with Ace Hellfire. In love with how funny he could be, how calmly cheerful, as if he was inviting me to enjoy life with him, he and I in a bubble where only Josh and Laurel existed. In love with his kindness and his toughness. And what if he decided he didn't love me, want me? Then what? Heartbreak.

But I hadn't fallen in love with Josh again when we started our ten dates. I was already in love with him. I had never fallen out of love.

How would he feel when he found out that I had caused my father's stroke with my unrelenting harshness? I was so shamed by that, so humiliated by what I'd done.

He reached across the seat and gently grabbed my hand. He brought it to his lips, then pulled me over onto his lap. “I want us to be together. I don't know what's going on, Laurel, but I'll wait until you figure it out.”

I put my forehead on his neck and he hugged me.

“While you're figuring it out, I'm going to kiss you, honey.”

And, ah, he did.

 

I laughed when I came home and found a box on the front porch. My aunt, mother, and I unwrapped it. It was champagne, the expensive stuff. I called and invited Ace and Scotty to Christmas dinner. He said he couldn't bear to see me, he was going to have another anxiety attack. I tried to calm him, comfort him. He sniffled. He heaved a sigh.

 

“The menu is set,” my mother said to my aunt and me the next afternoon in our sewing room. My mother was sewing an apron that looked very much like a 1920s flapper dress, only it was sheer purple and had a gold bow.

“Christmas dinner will be delicious,” Aunt Emma said. Her sewing machine was whirring. Her Christmas Super Snowwoman apron with a white furry bib and skirt was proving to be quite popular.

“Yes, delicious,” I drawled. “We have the traditional turkey, gravy, and stuffing. Then we have Beef Lok Lak, Cambodian ginger catfish, eggplant lasagna, banana bread, hash and onion casserole, meat-loaf balls, carrots and slew, which is a recipe from the Strip and Click, and a pecan pie war. We'll have a house full of possible trouble with four wives, siblings, half siblings, and two step-siblings. Velvet and Chantrea aren't speaking because Velvet dresses suggestively in front of three innocent boys, Aspen, Oakie, and Redwood, they of the inappropriate downtown snowman who was smoking not one, but three joints.”

“A song about Longer, Dick will set Boxing Richard off,” my mother said.

“If Velvet feels that her pecan pie is not appreciated, we're going to hear about it,” my aunt said.

“Watch out for Camellia's boys,” I said. “They're biters.”

“Chantrea and Amy are not getting along, either. Hopefully no butter dishes will be thrown again, at least not any of Mother's,” my mother said. “I'll put an old one from Goodwill at Chantrea's place setting, just to be safe.”

“Merry Christmas,” I said. “Make sure all the guns are locked up.”

“Merry Christmas!” my aunt and mother said. “Guns are already locked.”

Zelda hissed and clawed when James peeked in the door. He barked once, unconvincingly, and darted out.

“It's going to be a heckuva dinner,” my aunt declared. “The Kelly Family Christmas. Unpredictable. Are other families like this?”

I invited Josh to my house for dinner for Date Ten. My aunt and mother were out at a friend's house. They had hired a hypnotist to bring out their inner women's strength.

I pictured inviting Josh over.

I pictured the trouble I could get into, alone with Josh in my house.

“Come on over, Josh. It's Date Ten. Name your dinner.”

“Really?”

That low voice, that gravelly, happy voice, got to me. I put a hand to my heart. “It's your menu, Josh.” I knew Josh would keep his word. I could buy the five acres and the house back from him and save it for my family.

“Laurel, you make the best chicken tacos. I love them. And I love your pumpkin pie. Odd combination, but that's what I'm thinking of. Too much work?”

“Not at all.” I smiled into the phone. I loved that he loved my cooking.

There would be trouble tonight.

Sometimes we all need a little trouble.

 

After many worrisome medical disasters, my father finally recovered to about 90 percent of where he used to be. The left side of his smile was permanently tilted up, and his left leg dragged some, which was a constant, crushing reminder to me of my role in it, but he was intellectually all there.

I left for college in Los Angeles in the fall. It was at my father's insistence and threats from my mother and Aunt Emma and Aunt Amy to banish me to a remote village in Siberia if I didn't leave. Chantrea did not join the clamor for me to go, I noticed and, in fact, cried. I didn't blame her. We had grown so close.

Ironically, after that disastrous argument in the car before the crash, born from not feeling a part of my father's life and new family, I now felt welcomed and loved. Chantrea always told me, “You! My angel. Heart daughter. I love you.” The boys loved me, loved playing games and running around outside with me, and my father clearly enjoyed my company, his eyes lighting up whenever I was with him.

But college called. There was a family meeting with all three mothers, my aunt, and my father: The loud, vocal opinion was: Go, Laurel, go.

Except for Chantrea, who could only bring herself to whisper, “Go, Laurel, go.” I hugged her. She cried.

I went.

 

I did not return to the state university because I could not face Josh. I had hurt him. I didn't deserve him. He surely didn't love me anymore, and to see him with another girl would send me into a downward spiral.

At the end of my first year in college in Los Angeles, I heard that Josh had a girlfriend. Her name was Tracy. Of course I hated her. Two years after we left with Hellfire on tour, on a trip home to Montana, I heard from my sisters that Josh was engaged. This girl's name was Lavina. I hated her, too.

“I'm sorry, Laurel,” Camellia said, hugging me.

“Me, too,” Violet said, hugging me. I pretended I didn't care; they knew I was pretending because I sobbed like a dying warthog.

I went to bed for three days when I returned to Ace's guest house in Los Angeles and cried all the tears out of my body. It felt like I'd died. Josh and I were on our separate paths. I would make sure they didn't cross.

Soon after, Chantrea and my father split up. I thought it was fallout from the accident, and the stress of it all on their marriage. I had broken up a family. I took on more guilt.

When I later heard from Violet that Josh was no longer engaged, I was so relieved I cried for three pathetic days again. I hadn't heard from Josh in years. He surely wouldn't want to talk to me anyhow, much less be with me.

Hellfire was headed out for another world tour and I couldn't wait to get on a plane and go. The job was exhausting, nonstop, and earsplitting, which I wanted. Then I didn't have to think.

Over the years I loved working for Ace and Hellfire because the job allowed me to run.

I ran.

“I know we were young,” Josh said, after the chicken taco dinner, which he ate with gusto, “and I know it was a long time ago, but why did you push me away when we were younger, Laurel? What did I do that made you think we shouldn't be together?”

“I almost killed my father, Josh.” I told him what happened that night. I told Josh what I said, my exact words, my hands over my face. I rocked back and forth. “I was so mean and he became distracted. I made him cry. I caused the accident and I caused his stroke.”

He wrapped his strong arms around me. “You can't blame yourself, Laurel. You were twenty. You had felt rejected by him since he'd left when you were a girl. He hurt you, he hurt Amy and Camellia and Violet, he hurt your mother. He was gone all the time for work. Then he married another woman and had three kids, a new family.