Title: The Best Christmas Ever, part 5 of 7
Author: Depudor
Email: l_brew@email.msn.com
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Steven Antin and Columbia/Tristar Television. No infringement intended.
Thanks: To beta beauties Debi and Sue for their support and encouragement.
Feedback: Please.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Hamilton stared down into his hot chocolate, unable to turn and face his mother, knowing that the surprise and confusion in her voice would be reflected in her face. But he had to say something... respond...
"Yeah Mom?" he replied, still not turning around as he choked out the words.
Kate stared at the back of his head for a moment. "I forgot to tell you earlier, there was a message for you on the answering machine when I got home."
"Oh." But before he could ask whom it was from, he heard the bounce of footsteps on the landing at the head of the stairs, loud enough that he knew *that* was definitely Jake. For a moment he was relieved that someone was coming to break the incredible tension in the air, but then he remembered... He didn't know what she'd be wearing.
"Mom!" he yelled, jumping up from his chair. He heard the footsteps stop and retreat.
"What?" asked Kate, startled.
"Um... I just remembered that I forgot something."
He turned and fled up the stairs.
* * * * *
Hamilton lay in bed staring at the ceiling, nearly catatonic. Wrapped in her bathrobe, Jake sprawled out next to him, trying to comfort him in his trauma. She ran her fingers through his hair.
"Please don't do that," he begged. The very feeling made his stomach turn.
Jake pulled her fingers away. "Hamilton, come on..."
"Aren't you upset about this? If my mom starts asking questions..."
"Hey, I got a lucky break. I could've been caught going down those stairs dressed like Jacqueline. I can't believe I was so stupid."
"When you say 'dressed like Jacqueline'..."
"You want to find out?" She bent down and tried to kiss him, but he couldn't kiss back. "So is this why we're not going to fool around tonight? It's starting to seem like the fates are allied against us."
"Jake, I just made sex noises at my mother."
"Those aren't sex noises, Ham! You make those noises all the time, and you've never had sex."
He rolled his eyes at her. "Thanks a lot."
"And at this rate, you never will."
Hamilton sighed. "Just give me a minute, Jake. I'll be fine."
Jake thought she knew how to help. She leaned down and slid her tongue into his ear, nibbling the earlobe with her bottom teeth. She rubbed her hand slowly down his stomach. No response. Hamilton continued to stare at the ceiling.
"There are two possibilities here," he said. "Either she just thinks I'm a freak--"
"She won't think you're a freak."
"Or she'll think I was expecting *you* and that I'm gay."
"Maybe she didn't even think those were sex noises."
"Jake, trust me -- it was pretty clear that I was... You don't even want to know what I was thinking about when she..."
"Actually, I would love to know what you were thinking about."
Hamilton took his eyes off the ceiling for a moment and laid them on his girlfriend. Maybe this would help. "Well, I was thinking about you, obviously. Picturing you..."
"Yeah...?"
"In a teddy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah... red..."
"Uh-huhhh..." She began to run her fingers over his stomach again.
"And lacy..."
"And...?"
"And... tight... and... Oh, my God, it was my mother!" He slapped his hands over his face.
Jake got up off his bed and sat down on her own. "OK, I can see this isn't helping. Let's just try to get some sleep."
"I may need therapy."
"Hamilton, you're dating a girl whom the entire the entire school thinks is a guy. If you didn't need therapy, I'd think there was something wrong with you."
* * * * *
The morning of Christmas Eve dawned gray with flurries of snow. Hamilton had tossed and turned all night, and when Jake awoke she saw that his covers were all bunched up around his waist. She got up and tried to straighten them and cover him up without waking him, but his eyes suddenly flew open.
They looked at each other for a moment, then Hamilton squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face, remembering that the thing he'd hoped was only a nightmare was not a nightmare at all.
"I can't go downstairs," he moaned.
"Fine. You want breakfast in bed?"
"Yeah, why not? If she already thinks I'm gay, why shouldn't I have you make me breakfast?"
"Yeah. If only I could cook. Guess you'll have to get up."
Hamilton rejected this idea by rolling over and stuffing his face into his pillow.
"Come on, Hamilton. It's Christmas Eve. You can't stay in bed all day."
He lifted his head to look out the window at the opaque sky. "Looks like a good day for it."
"What about the big feast, and opening presents?"
"What about my mother? What do I say if she--"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Hamilton?" Kate called.
Hamilton looked nervously at Jake, then replied, "Yeah?"
"A package just came for you."
He wrinkled his brow, but got up and opened the door, doing his best to avoid eye contact with his mother.
"We seem to be keeping FedEx in business these days," Kate said, handing Hamilton the large envelope. She smiled at him, then looked past him at Jake, her gaze lingering.
"Good morning," Jake said.
"Good morning, Jake," Kate replied. "Why don't you guys come down now and get some breakfast? I want to start dinner preparations soon, and it'll be easier if I have you out of the way. Although, I may need your help in the kitchen later. If you don't mind being on pie patrol."
"OK," Hamilton said. He read the label on his FedEx as Kate left. "Hey, it's from--" He stopped, a look of confusion falling over his face.
"Who?"
"I just remembered... I have to check the answering machine." And he ran out the door and down the stairs.
* * * * *
While Jake and Hamilton ate breakfast, Kate finished wrapping presents, and soon there was a giant pile under the tree. Jake had never seen so many presents.
"Do your parents have other kids that you didn't tell me about?" she asked as they wandered into the living room.
"Nope. Just one very greedy kid." Hamilton rubbed his hands together eagerly as he stepped up to the tree.
Jake watched him, curiosity tingling her stomach the way it had on Christmas Eve when she was a child. He wouldn't tell her what was in the FedEx - only that it was a surprise - but whatever it was had successfully taken his mind off of his mother. And yet, Jake noted, beneath the excitement on his face there was a new layer of nervousness.
He turned to her and frowned. "It's too bad we couldn't have your mom send your presents here. There's not going to be much for you to open."
"It's OK."
"Although..." Hamilton said with suspicion, picking up a large gift with a tag that said, in his mother's elegant handwriting, 'To Jake, From Santa,' "I could've sworn this one had my name on it yesterday."
Jake had to laugh - Hamilton seemed genuinely jealous that his mother was giving some of his presents away. But she liked the idea, simply because they'd probably be better gifts than the ones from her own mother, which was why she was glad her presents weren't there. Her mother used to know what to get her, or maybe as a child she'd just been easily pleased. Monica had always given her gifts that made her feel so grown up -- perfume from Paris when she was seven, Italian leather gloves at nine when all the other girls were still wearing mittens, a straight-from-the-studio Versace gown when she was twelve. But by thirteen Jacqueline was more into computers than couture, and that was a world Monica knew nothing about. So the Christmas gifts became one more reminder of how little Monica knew about her daughter.
"I should run up and get your present," Jake said, remembering that she had something else to add to his haul.
"Just one? I thought you said that suitcase was full of them."
"Just one that you can open in front of your parents," she whispered, giving him a wink.
Hamilton started to give her a tantalized smile in return, but then he looked back under the tree, remembering something himself. "Good point," he said. He grabbed a small gold-wrapped package, tucked it underneath his shirt and headed upstairs.
* * * * *
Four o'clock rolled around quickly, and Hamilton and Jake had barely finished watching 'It's a Wonderful Life' when they were summoned to the kitchen to roll out the dough for the pie crusts. Hamilton shot Jake a warning look, and she quickly wiped away the lone tear that streaked down her cheek as the movie ended.
She followed him into the kitchen, where the air was thick with the delicious aroma of roasting goose. But she wrinkled her nose as she spotted the bowl of blackish-brown goop that sat on the counter next to the pie crust dough. "What's that?"
"Mincemeat, for the pie," Kate replied. She saw the look on Jake's face and added, "Don't worry. We also have pumpkin."
Hamilton leaned close to Jake and whispered, "Be nice. She only makes stuff from scratch once a year, so we try to be encouraging."
"I head that," Kate said. She handed Hamilton an apron. "Here, put this on."
"No way. I am not wearing an apron."
"I don't want you getting flour all over your clothes."
"Then don't make me work in the kitchen." He hung the apron back on its hook and then pulled his black sweater over his head and hung that up as well, so that he was wearing just a T-shirt. Then he grabbed a square pinewood board and laid it on the counter.
"What's that?" Jake asked.
"A pastry board," Hamilton replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Wow. That's so Williams-Sonoma."
Hamilton opened a canister and sprinkled flour all over the board. Then he picked up a rolling pin and started rubbing flour all over that.
"Look at you, Ham, all domestic."
He simply nodded, unfazed. "My mom always puts me in charge of the pies." He scooped up a chunk of dough from the bowl, dropped it on the board, and went to work.
And suddenly, Jake's teasing smile melted away. She'd caught sight of Hamilton's chest, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he forced the rolling pin down into the mound of cold, hard dough and then pushed forward. Biceps flexing, he rolled back and forth briskly, his sinewy arms pressing down hard, subduing the dough as if it were a savage beast. In a matter of seconds, he had tamed it into a perfectly flat circle, and Jake now understood why Hamilton was in charge of the pies.
"That's great, honey," said Kate, walking over to look. "You're so good at that."
"It's a lot like rowing crew," he commented. He gave Jake a surreptitious wink, and she suddenly realized just how much she missed crew. Damn that frozen lake!
Hamilton carefully peeled up the fragile crust and laid it in a pie plate, and he then blopped another mound of dough onto the board just as Kate asked, "Jake, could you get the cranberries out of the freezer for me?"
"Um... yeah," Jake replied. But her feet didn't seem to move. Hamilton looked sideways at her, and she whispered, "Could you hold off on that for just a second? I'll be right back."
She sprinted over to the freezer and opened it, cool air bursting out into the warm kitchen. It took her several seconds to locate the cranberries, but then she spotted them hiding behind the peas. She grabbed them, closed the freezer, and threw them down on the counter next to Kate.
"Thanks, Jake. Can you put them in that bowl for me and set it toward the back of the stove?"
Jake ripped open the bag and tried to pour the berries into the bowl Kate had pointed to. But they were all frozen together in a big block, and she found herself having to break off chunks to get it into the little bowl. It seemed a painstakingly slow process, and she noticed that Hamilton had already resumed his rolling. She watched him from behind now, his arms pushing forward, his back and shoulders leaning into it.
"So, Jake," Kate said, distracting her again, "do you do any cooking at home?"
"They have a cook at Jake's house," Hamilton said over his shoulder.
"Really?"
"No, well, not a professional cook," Jake explained. "We have a housekeeper who does the cooking. She used to be my nanny, when I was little."
"And she's stayed with your family all these years? That's wonderful."
"Well, my family is just my mom and me. But it made it easier for my mom to travel a lot, 'cause she never had to feel like she was leaving me with strangers." Jake finally got all of the cranberries into the little bowl. "You said you want these on the stove?"
"Yes, just set them between the back burners so they can start thawing. Steven will be here in a minute to make the sauce. That's his contribution to dinner."
"Cranberry sauce is the one thing my dad knows how to make," Hamilton explained.
"So you eat cranberry sauce with a goose?" Jake asked.
"We do," Kate said. She and Hamilton shared a laugh, but Jake didn't get the joke.
Hamilton turned to look at Jake and repeated, "Cranberry sauce is the one thing my dad knows how to make."
Jake nodded and smiled as the thought crossed her mind -- So this is what Christmas dinner is like in a real family.
And as if on cue, she could hear the front door opening, and soon Dean Fleming strolled into the kitchen. Jake had finally reached the point where she could see him enter the room without her palms sweating and her stomach tying up.
He walked over to his wife and kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Katie."
"Merry Christmas, sweetie," she replied. "Your berries are on the stove."
The Dean started rolling up his sleeves as he walked over to Jake, then threw an arm around her shoulders and gave her a painful squeeze. "Jake, old boy, did I tell you how thrilled I am that you've joined us for Christmas?"
"No, Sir. I mean, thank you."
"You've done a great job keeping Hamilton out of his mother's hair, and that's a task. Say, is Jake short for something? Jacob?"
"No. Just Jake."
"Just Jake. Well, that's original. Your mother's an actress?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Yeah, that's original."
And then the Dean let go of Jake and did something that really surprised her. He turned to Hamilton, who was still facing the counter, stepped up behind him, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed the top of his head.
"Merry Christmas, Ham," he said into his son's hair.
Jake had never seen the Dean show affection with Hamilton, but then, she figured it was something he probably wouldn't do in front of the other students. Yet even more surprising was Hamilton's reaction. Perhaps he had released all of his tension by pounding it into that dough, Jake thought, because she saw his shoulders settle, and for the first time that week, he seemed to completely relax.
He turned his head to look up at his father and said softly, sincerely, "Merry Christmas, Dad." And at that moment, he looked twelve years old.
The Dean went back to the stove and picked up his cranberries. "All right, are you kids almost done here?" he asked. "Because I'm going to need some room."
"I'll be done in a second," Hamilton said.
"Jake, do you like cranberry sauce?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. I can make it from scratch. None of that canned jelly stuff here. You can brag to all the other kids that Dean Fleming cooked for you."
* * * * *
The next hour passed in culinary chaos. Everyone was doing something. A variety of smells mingled in the air, each one better than the last. Kate showed Jake how to fill the pies, lay on the top crust, and pinch the edges to make them fluted. Then they popped them in the oven. Hamilton, meanwhile, was reassigned from pies to potatoes, and he was less than pleased. The Dean made a big production out of making cranberry sauce, which seemed to Jake to consist simply of cooking the berries in a saucepan with sugar and a little cognac.
By six o'clock, one of the pies had started to boil out of its crust, and soon the panoply of delicious smells was completely overpowered by the scent of mincemeat burning onto the bottom of the oven. Hamilton kept insisting that he had told them that the crust was overfilled and that if they had left him in charge of pies, none of this would have happened. This led to Hamilton's banishment from the kitchen, and he and Jake were put to work setting the table.
Jake noticed the lack of decoration in the dining room. "I figured your mom would put together some big fancy centerpiece or something."
"Yeah, we used to have one of those. Then Martha Stewart came along, and my mom decided it was all too cliché. Or bourgeois. I can't remember."
They had just finished laying four place settings when there was a knock on the front door. Hamilton and Jake exchanged a look and then went to answer it together.
"Finn!" Hamilton shouted as he opened the door. "I didn't think you were coming."
"I wasn't. But then I had a very last-minute change of plans." Finn quickly came in out of the bitter cold, and they closed the door behind him.
"Finn!" the Dean called, stepping into the front hallway. "We didn't think you were coming."
"Hi, Steven. I had a last-minute change of plans," Finn repeated. "I hope the offer still stands." He held out a bottle of wine. "Merry Christmas."
"Of course, of course. Merry Christmas."
The last person to step into the hallway was Kate, and the look on her face was like a cold draft blowing down the hall. Finn turned around to make sure the door was closed.
"Finn," she said simply, wiping a dishtowel over the gravy boat she was holding. "You decided to join us after all."
"Merry Christmas, Kate."
For a moment they just stared at each other, and then Kate said, "I'm afraid dinner isn't ready yet. Why don't you have a seat in the living room? Hamilton, will you put another leaf in the table and set another place?"
Author: Depudor
Email: l_brew@email.msn.com
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Steven Antin and Columbia/Tristar Television. No infringement intended.
Thanks: To beta beauties Debi and Sue for their support and encouragement.
Feedback: Please.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Hamilton stared down into his hot chocolate, unable to turn and face his mother, knowing that the surprise and confusion in her voice would be reflected in her face. But he had to say something... respond...
"Yeah Mom?" he replied, still not turning around as he choked out the words.
Kate stared at the back of his head for a moment. "I forgot to tell you earlier, there was a message for you on the answering machine when I got home."
"Oh." But before he could ask whom it was from, he heard the bounce of footsteps on the landing at the head of the stairs, loud enough that he knew *that* was definitely Jake. For a moment he was relieved that someone was coming to break the incredible tension in the air, but then he remembered... He didn't know what she'd be wearing.
"Mom!" he yelled, jumping up from his chair. He heard the footsteps stop and retreat.
"What?" asked Kate, startled.
"Um... I just remembered that I forgot something."
He turned and fled up the stairs.
* * * * *
Hamilton lay in bed staring at the ceiling, nearly catatonic. Wrapped in her bathrobe, Jake sprawled out next to him, trying to comfort him in his trauma. She ran her fingers through his hair.
"Please don't do that," he begged. The very feeling made his stomach turn.
Jake pulled her fingers away. "Hamilton, come on..."
"Aren't you upset about this? If my mom starts asking questions..."
"Hey, I got a lucky break. I could've been caught going down those stairs dressed like Jacqueline. I can't believe I was so stupid."
"When you say 'dressed like Jacqueline'..."
"You want to find out?" She bent down and tried to kiss him, but he couldn't kiss back. "So is this why we're not going to fool around tonight? It's starting to seem like the fates are allied against us."
"Jake, I just made sex noises at my mother."
"Those aren't sex noises, Ham! You make those noises all the time, and you've never had sex."
He rolled his eyes at her. "Thanks a lot."
"And at this rate, you never will."
Hamilton sighed. "Just give me a minute, Jake. I'll be fine."
Jake thought she knew how to help. She leaned down and slid her tongue into his ear, nibbling the earlobe with her bottom teeth. She rubbed her hand slowly down his stomach. No response. Hamilton continued to stare at the ceiling.
"There are two possibilities here," he said. "Either she just thinks I'm a freak--"
"She won't think you're a freak."
"Or she'll think I was expecting *you* and that I'm gay."
"Maybe she didn't even think those were sex noises."
"Jake, trust me -- it was pretty clear that I was... You don't even want to know what I was thinking about when she..."
"Actually, I would love to know what you were thinking about."
Hamilton took his eyes off the ceiling for a moment and laid them on his girlfriend. Maybe this would help. "Well, I was thinking about you, obviously. Picturing you..."
"Yeah...?"
"In a teddy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah... red..."
"Uh-huhhh..." She began to run her fingers over his stomach again.
"And lacy..."
"And...?"
"And... tight... and... Oh, my God, it was my mother!" He slapped his hands over his face.
Jake got up off his bed and sat down on her own. "OK, I can see this isn't helping. Let's just try to get some sleep."
"I may need therapy."
"Hamilton, you're dating a girl whom the entire the entire school thinks is a guy. If you didn't need therapy, I'd think there was something wrong with you."
* * * * *
The morning of Christmas Eve dawned gray with flurries of snow. Hamilton had tossed and turned all night, and when Jake awoke she saw that his covers were all bunched up around his waist. She got up and tried to straighten them and cover him up without waking him, but his eyes suddenly flew open.
They looked at each other for a moment, then Hamilton squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face, remembering that the thing he'd hoped was only a nightmare was not a nightmare at all.
"I can't go downstairs," he moaned.
"Fine. You want breakfast in bed?"
"Yeah, why not? If she already thinks I'm gay, why shouldn't I have you make me breakfast?"
"Yeah. If only I could cook. Guess you'll have to get up."
Hamilton rejected this idea by rolling over and stuffing his face into his pillow.
"Come on, Hamilton. It's Christmas Eve. You can't stay in bed all day."
He lifted his head to look out the window at the opaque sky. "Looks like a good day for it."
"What about the big feast, and opening presents?"
"What about my mother? What do I say if she--"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Hamilton?" Kate called.
Hamilton looked nervously at Jake, then replied, "Yeah?"
"A package just came for you."
He wrinkled his brow, but got up and opened the door, doing his best to avoid eye contact with his mother.
"We seem to be keeping FedEx in business these days," Kate said, handing Hamilton the large envelope. She smiled at him, then looked past him at Jake, her gaze lingering.
"Good morning," Jake said.
"Good morning, Jake," Kate replied. "Why don't you guys come down now and get some breakfast? I want to start dinner preparations soon, and it'll be easier if I have you out of the way. Although, I may need your help in the kitchen later. If you don't mind being on pie patrol."
"OK," Hamilton said. He read the label on his FedEx as Kate left. "Hey, it's from--" He stopped, a look of confusion falling over his face.
"Who?"
"I just remembered... I have to check the answering machine." And he ran out the door and down the stairs.
* * * * *
While Jake and Hamilton ate breakfast, Kate finished wrapping presents, and soon there was a giant pile under the tree. Jake had never seen so many presents.
"Do your parents have other kids that you didn't tell me about?" she asked as they wandered into the living room.
"Nope. Just one very greedy kid." Hamilton rubbed his hands together eagerly as he stepped up to the tree.
Jake watched him, curiosity tingling her stomach the way it had on Christmas Eve when she was a child. He wouldn't tell her what was in the FedEx - only that it was a surprise - but whatever it was had successfully taken his mind off of his mother. And yet, Jake noted, beneath the excitement on his face there was a new layer of nervousness.
He turned to her and frowned. "It's too bad we couldn't have your mom send your presents here. There's not going to be much for you to open."
"It's OK."
"Although..." Hamilton said with suspicion, picking up a large gift with a tag that said, in his mother's elegant handwriting, 'To Jake, From Santa,' "I could've sworn this one had my name on it yesterday."
Jake had to laugh - Hamilton seemed genuinely jealous that his mother was giving some of his presents away. But she liked the idea, simply because they'd probably be better gifts than the ones from her own mother, which was why she was glad her presents weren't there. Her mother used to know what to get her, or maybe as a child she'd just been easily pleased. Monica had always given her gifts that made her feel so grown up -- perfume from Paris when she was seven, Italian leather gloves at nine when all the other girls were still wearing mittens, a straight-from-the-studio Versace gown when she was twelve. But by thirteen Jacqueline was more into computers than couture, and that was a world Monica knew nothing about. So the Christmas gifts became one more reminder of how little Monica knew about her daughter.
"I should run up and get your present," Jake said, remembering that she had something else to add to his haul.
"Just one? I thought you said that suitcase was full of them."
"Just one that you can open in front of your parents," she whispered, giving him a wink.
Hamilton started to give her a tantalized smile in return, but then he looked back under the tree, remembering something himself. "Good point," he said. He grabbed a small gold-wrapped package, tucked it underneath his shirt and headed upstairs.
* * * * *
Four o'clock rolled around quickly, and Hamilton and Jake had barely finished watching 'It's a Wonderful Life' when they were summoned to the kitchen to roll out the dough for the pie crusts. Hamilton shot Jake a warning look, and she quickly wiped away the lone tear that streaked down her cheek as the movie ended.
She followed him into the kitchen, where the air was thick with the delicious aroma of roasting goose. But she wrinkled her nose as she spotted the bowl of blackish-brown goop that sat on the counter next to the pie crust dough. "What's that?"
"Mincemeat, for the pie," Kate replied. She saw the look on Jake's face and added, "Don't worry. We also have pumpkin."
Hamilton leaned close to Jake and whispered, "Be nice. She only makes stuff from scratch once a year, so we try to be encouraging."
"I head that," Kate said. She handed Hamilton an apron. "Here, put this on."
"No way. I am not wearing an apron."
"I don't want you getting flour all over your clothes."
"Then don't make me work in the kitchen." He hung the apron back on its hook and then pulled his black sweater over his head and hung that up as well, so that he was wearing just a T-shirt. Then he grabbed a square pinewood board and laid it on the counter.
"What's that?" Jake asked.
"A pastry board," Hamilton replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Wow. That's so Williams-Sonoma."
Hamilton opened a canister and sprinkled flour all over the board. Then he picked up a rolling pin and started rubbing flour all over that.
"Look at you, Ham, all domestic."
He simply nodded, unfazed. "My mom always puts me in charge of the pies." He scooped up a chunk of dough from the bowl, dropped it on the board, and went to work.
And suddenly, Jake's teasing smile melted away. She'd caught sight of Hamilton's chest, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he forced the rolling pin down into the mound of cold, hard dough and then pushed forward. Biceps flexing, he rolled back and forth briskly, his sinewy arms pressing down hard, subduing the dough as if it were a savage beast. In a matter of seconds, he had tamed it into a perfectly flat circle, and Jake now understood why Hamilton was in charge of the pies.
"That's great, honey," said Kate, walking over to look. "You're so good at that."
"It's a lot like rowing crew," he commented. He gave Jake a surreptitious wink, and she suddenly realized just how much she missed crew. Damn that frozen lake!
Hamilton carefully peeled up the fragile crust and laid it in a pie plate, and he then blopped another mound of dough onto the board just as Kate asked, "Jake, could you get the cranberries out of the freezer for me?"
"Um... yeah," Jake replied. But her feet didn't seem to move. Hamilton looked sideways at her, and she whispered, "Could you hold off on that for just a second? I'll be right back."
She sprinted over to the freezer and opened it, cool air bursting out into the warm kitchen. It took her several seconds to locate the cranberries, but then she spotted them hiding behind the peas. She grabbed them, closed the freezer, and threw them down on the counter next to Kate.
"Thanks, Jake. Can you put them in that bowl for me and set it toward the back of the stove?"
Jake ripped open the bag and tried to pour the berries into the bowl Kate had pointed to. But they were all frozen together in a big block, and she found herself having to break off chunks to get it into the little bowl. It seemed a painstakingly slow process, and she noticed that Hamilton had already resumed his rolling. She watched him from behind now, his arms pushing forward, his back and shoulders leaning into it.
"So, Jake," Kate said, distracting her again, "do you do any cooking at home?"
"They have a cook at Jake's house," Hamilton said over his shoulder.
"Really?"
"No, well, not a professional cook," Jake explained. "We have a housekeeper who does the cooking. She used to be my nanny, when I was little."
"And she's stayed with your family all these years? That's wonderful."
"Well, my family is just my mom and me. But it made it easier for my mom to travel a lot, 'cause she never had to feel like she was leaving me with strangers." Jake finally got all of the cranberries into the little bowl. "You said you want these on the stove?"
"Yes, just set them between the back burners so they can start thawing. Steven will be here in a minute to make the sauce. That's his contribution to dinner."
"Cranberry sauce is the one thing my dad knows how to make," Hamilton explained.
"So you eat cranberry sauce with a goose?" Jake asked.
"We do," Kate said. She and Hamilton shared a laugh, but Jake didn't get the joke.
Hamilton turned to look at Jake and repeated, "Cranberry sauce is the one thing my dad knows how to make."
Jake nodded and smiled as the thought crossed her mind -- So this is what Christmas dinner is like in a real family.
And as if on cue, she could hear the front door opening, and soon Dean Fleming strolled into the kitchen. Jake had finally reached the point where she could see him enter the room without her palms sweating and her stomach tying up.
He walked over to his wife and kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Katie."
"Merry Christmas, sweetie," she replied. "Your berries are on the stove."
The Dean started rolling up his sleeves as he walked over to Jake, then threw an arm around her shoulders and gave her a painful squeeze. "Jake, old boy, did I tell you how thrilled I am that you've joined us for Christmas?"
"No, Sir. I mean, thank you."
"You've done a great job keeping Hamilton out of his mother's hair, and that's a task. Say, is Jake short for something? Jacob?"
"No. Just Jake."
"Just Jake. Well, that's original. Your mother's an actress?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Yeah, that's original."
And then the Dean let go of Jake and did something that really surprised her. He turned to Hamilton, who was still facing the counter, stepped up behind him, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed the top of his head.
"Merry Christmas, Ham," he said into his son's hair.
Jake had never seen the Dean show affection with Hamilton, but then, she figured it was something he probably wouldn't do in front of the other students. Yet even more surprising was Hamilton's reaction. Perhaps he had released all of his tension by pounding it into that dough, Jake thought, because she saw his shoulders settle, and for the first time that week, he seemed to completely relax.
He turned his head to look up at his father and said softly, sincerely, "Merry Christmas, Dad." And at that moment, he looked twelve years old.
The Dean went back to the stove and picked up his cranberries. "All right, are you kids almost done here?" he asked. "Because I'm going to need some room."
"I'll be done in a second," Hamilton said.
"Jake, do you like cranberry sauce?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. I can make it from scratch. None of that canned jelly stuff here. You can brag to all the other kids that Dean Fleming cooked for you."
* * * * *
The next hour passed in culinary chaos. Everyone was doing something. A variety of smells mingled in the air, each one better than the last. Kate showed Jake how to fill the pies, lay on the top crust, and pinch the edges to make them fluted. Then they popped them in the oven. Hamilton, meanwhile, was reassigned from pies to potatoes, and he was less than pleased. The Dean made a big production out of making cranberry sauce, which seemed to Jake to consist simply of cooking the berries in a saucepan with sugar and a little cognac.
By six o'clock, one of the pies had started to boil out of its crust, and soon the panoply of delicious smells was completely overpowered by the scent of mincemeat burning onto the bottom of the oven. Hamilton kept insisting that he had told them that the crust was overfilled and that if they had left him in charge of pies, none of this would have happened. This led to Hamilton's banishment from the kitchen, and he and Jake were put to work setting the table.
Jake noticed the lack of decoration in the dining room. "I figured your mom would put together some big fancy centerpiece or something."
"Yeah, we used to have one of those. Then Martha Stewart came along, and my mom decided it was all too cliché. Or bourgeois. I can't remember."
They had just finished laying four place settings when there was a knock on the front door. Hamilton and Jake exchanged a look and then went to answer it together.
"Finn!" Hamilton shouted as he opened the door. "I didn't think you were coming."
"I wasn't. But then I had a very last-minute change of plans." Finn quickly came in out of the bitter cold, and they closed the door behind him.
"Finn!" the Dean called, stepping into the front hallway. "We didn't think you were coming."
"Hi, Steven. I had a last-minute change of plans," Finn repeated. "I hope the offer still stands." He held out a bottle of wine. "Merry Christmas."
"Of course, of course. Merry Christmas."
The last person to step into the hallway was Kate, and the look on her face was like a cold draft blowing down the hall. Finn turned around to make sure the door was closed.
"Finn," she said simply, wiping a dishtowel over the gravy boat she was holding. "You decided to join us after all."
"Merry Christmas, Kate."
For a moment they just stared at each other, and then Kate said, "I'm afraid dinner isn't ready yet. Why don't you have a seat in the living room? Hamilton, will you put another leaf in the table and set another place?"