Chapter 16: Christmas Ghosts and Norman Rockwell

The scent of espresso hung in the air, sweet and bitter, in the high-ceilinged old coffee shop with its festive pine garlands as snow fell softly outside. Jane turned her attention from the lamp-lit scene beyond the window with its heavy sill to Daria, who was absorbed in a book. Jane took a moment to gaze affectionately on her face, the pale cheek glowing in amber light like a distant star and her hair in a ponytail. Her oversized black cable knit sweater was stretched out just enough to reveal a touch of collarbone. A smile gently tugged at the corner of Jane's mouth.

Suddenly, Daria looked up. She met Jane's gaze and made a show of squinting her eyes suspiciously as she laid down her open book and picked up her coffee mug. She took a sip, donned a warm half-smile, and casually remarked, "So, I recently heard a portly septuagenarian is on his way to spread the good word about capitalism. Will the Lanes be celebrating his arrival?"

Jane gave a world-weary shrug and replied, "Oh, there are a number of ways that could go—but no matter what, it definitely won't be decided until the last possible minute."

"Didn't you take a photo of a dead mouse one Christmas?"

Jane nodded with a snort of amusement mid-sip, causing a small tsunami in her mug of green tea. "Yep, one of my family's brief adventures in world religion. My dad was jet-lagged from his trip to Amsterdam, trying to catch some sleep on the couch. Thirteen-year-old me wanted to know the holiday plan, and—probably to get me to shut up—Dad said we'd be observing the Druidic celebration of death and rebirth known as Alban Arthan. He told me to take a picture of something symbolizing it, so I snapped a Polaroid of a dead mouse and then, being a smartass, asked Dad and Trent to clap their hands à la Peter Pan if they believed in rebirth."

"So did the rodent rise from the dead?"

"Nope. We went out to the garage to check."

Daria smirked for a moment, amused, and then abruptly knit her brows. "Was every Lane Family Christmas like that?"

Noting her girlfriend's worried expression, Jane considered how to respond. Crap. Didn't mean to firebomb our nice time with my off-beat—but mostly sad, I suppose—holiday memories. Jane cleared her throat and attempted a light tone. "Well, it wasn't like that every year. Sometimes Penny came home from whatever third-world country she was exploring and brought animals with strange skin conditions, which Summer's kids enjoyed. And if Wind was there, we were usually able to get him to stop weeping over his latest divorce long enough to enjoy a goddess ritual or two. There were only a couple of years where it was just me, Trent, and that TV channel that looks like a Yule log."

Daria tilted her head slightly to one side with woeful eyes. "I stand corrected. It sounds just like a Norman Rockwell painting."

Jane jokingly held up her mug for a toast and said, "To families."

Daria clinked her cup against Jane's and replied, "Yup, to families." She paused, then said tentatively, "By the way—I've been thinking." Jane responded with a raised eyebrow. "Since the Lanes aren't really big on ham- and turkey-related Western traditions, and Trent will be spending the holiday with Tom's family this year…well, do you want to spend Christmas with the Morgendorffers?"

Jane considered the proposition. While the idea of an over-stimulated Jake excitedly basting a turkey as he fired off friendly questions was disturbing, it was also sort of nice to be invited to an actual "family Christmas." But would the jolliness level be unbearable? Would there be (oh god) singing? And what was the bedtime protocol for unmarried lesbian lovers?

"Um, Jane."

The slightly flustered artist looked up and abruptly overcompensated for her silence with an enthusiastic, "Yeah, let's do it!"

"Your eye is twitching."

Jane smirked. "Okay, but only because this is all kind of…" She trailed off.

"New?"

"Yeah."

Daria released her coffee mug so she could take Jane's hand. "Don't worry. After we've competed in the neighborhood Gumdrop Mountain competition, you can hang up your Team Morgendorffer snowsuit and relax with a square of our family Santa Claus quilt until it's time to gather round the ol' Steinway and awkwardly belt out 'Baby It's Cold Outside.'"

Jane narrowed her eyes. "Ha."

Daria gave her hand a squeeze. "It's pretty low-key actually. You can expect some ham and presents."

Jane cast her eyes up and to the right, then inquired in an exaggerated tone of befuddlement, "So you're telling me families use this appropriated Pagan holiday as an opportunity to spend time together…and eat ham? And there are gifts that don't involve interpretive dance?"

"You've got it. Christmas is basically a tug-of-war between Hallmark channel sentiment and filthy, shameless greed. But, babe…"

Daria's voice faltered, and Jane remembered how strange and thrilling it had felt the first time her girlfriend called her by Kevin's old term of endearment for Brittany. Daria soon picked up the thread of her thoughts with a sorrowful, "I'm sorry I didn't realize just how anti-Rockwellian your Christmases were back in high school. I should have asked."

Again attempting a tone that was more meringue than lead, Jane fluttered a hand dismissively and said, "Hey, we were teenagers. Who could expect us to notice every little thing happening outside us, especially since what was inside was continual chaos and spanking-new horror at the prospect of living in this particular reality?" Daria dropped her head and closed her eyes, a small smile beginning at the edges of her mouth in apparent acknowledgment of inward-focused Teenager Vision.

Jane continued in an uncharacteristically optimistic tone, "Besides, my love of ham has never steered me wrong. The ghosts of Christmases past couldn't possibly tarnish my joyful anticipation." She slowly lowered her head until she was at eye level with Daria and put on a smirk. "Plus, it's going to be really awkward for Quinn. I can't wait."