Story disclaimers are all in Chapter 1.
Chapter 7: Christmas Wrapping
Stephanie snugged her mother's spare wool sweater more securely around her shoulders. She'd forgotten that the whole northern exposure of her parents' living room was in the heating system's no-man's land, leaving its occupants to huddle like penguins in the season's brisk drafts.
Of course, normally by this time of year she'd have spent the past few weeks since Thanksgiving getting used to the winter wonderland of Trenton's December weather. And also refreshing her internal map of the heating vent locations in her childhood home. Not to mention having her winter wardrobe locked-and-loaded instead of probably still in vacuum bags in the drawers under her bed.
The fact was, she halfway felt like maybe she was still having a nap on this morning's plane up from Miami. Or better yet, having a strangely overcast, Trenton themed dream while still in bed, wrapped in Ranger's strong arms. Of course, if that were true, she'd be dreaming of someplace luxurious and warm, cocooned in the sensual heat that she always felt when close to him.
Legs wrapped around legs, arms embracing, lips swollen with desire….
She closed her eyes, inhaling… and nope. The air was chill and dry, infused with the scents of her father's after shave and her mother's cooking. She reopened her eyes; she was definitely in Trenton.
She'd texted Ranger shortly after her flight landed, to let him know she'd made it. And again, as her parents' house drew near, just as an anchor. His replies, efficient as always, nevertheless gave her the sense that he was somehow on this journey back home with her. Though she already knew in her heart that he'd made the decision to relocate to Miami, at least making it his home base going forward.
She felt her breath hitch as it had done countless times on the plane. And again during the long drive up from Trenton International, while her father drove them past mile after mile of towering snow banks and charcoal shadowed, leafless trees.
Though it felt unnervingly sad, she wasn't sure why it would be different having Ranger in Trenton for only a handful of months during the year. After all, she hadn't seen him hardly at all during the beginning of this year. And bookending the year, she hadn't seen him at all since the end of summer, after Scrog.
But, somehow, in her mind's eye he'd always been there. Whenever she'd seen a Rangeman SUV go by, it was as though Ranger had touched her. Whenever one of the guys had stopped by Vinnie's for paperwork and a check, they'd taken her greeting back to him. She'd always known she could drive to the Rangeman building, use her key fob up to the seventh floor, and be relieved of whatever worries she had.
Not if he wasn't living there anymore, a traitorous voice intoned in her mind. Then a different, quieter voice asked what it would be like if Stephanie stayed in Miami and was here in Trenton for only a few months out of the year.
She looked around at her childhood home, with its Christmas tree surrounded by wads of discarded wrapping paper and piled-up gifts. Her father could be seen through the doorway into the den, where he focused on some college bowl game on TV. Meanwhile her sister Valerie and family occupied the connected living and dining rooms. Her mother and Grandma Mazur were in the kitchen debating whether to put marshmallows on the candied yams.
All of this said "home" just as much as her own apartment with Rex's squeaking wheel. What would it be like if she were only here for holidays and visits, rather than full time?
Now there was something to think about.
"Girls," Valerie called out. "Let's help Grandma and Grampa Plum out by picking up the wrapping paper that's all over the floor." Of course, by "let's help" she meant that her daughters should actually do the work. Now starting to show her newest pregnancy after four months, Val was taking advantage of all opportunities to stay seated. And, to be fair, she was still busy picking glitter out of her youngest daughter Lisa's thick, Dutch-cut hair after an ill-advised gift envelope had sprayed its sparkly goodness all over the chubby toddler.
"Hey, Angie." Val's daughter Mary Alice called her sister, who'd started to diffidently sort through the discarded wrapping paper and ribbons strewn across the floor. "Turn up the music. It's the Run Run Rudolph song." As the bouncy music ramped up, both girls started dancing in the wadded paper, red and green LED Christmas bulbs swaying from the headbands Stephanie had brought from Florida.
Smiling, feeling her own head start to bop to the rhythm, Stephanie was pleased that her headgear gifts had been such a hit. Of course, her father in his recliner wasn't wearing his, though Stephanie privately thought it would help his concentration. Valerie and her daughters, though, along with Grandma Mazur had all put on their respective holiday headgear immediately.
She'd long ago figured out that the trick to finding satisfying gifts was to know what joys you shared with other people and shopping with that in mind. And, also, it helped to include the gift receipt whenever possible.
Thinking of gifts, she scooted the bag containing her own presents closer to her chair. These days, her mother gave them all Macy's shopping bags to take gifts home, having finally run out of her impressive stash of Bamberger's department store bags. Probably those bags had become collector's items by now and her whole family had missed the opportunity to cash in on a craze for obsolete department store paraphernalia. Which was maybe why they still lived in a one-bathroom home in the 'Burg instead of a mini-mansion down the shore.
Stephanie shrugged; that type of second-hand riches was something other people's families pursued. Instead, the Plums were more likely to case yard sales to inspect other peoples' cast-off treasures, carefully choosing knick-knacks, used kitchen implements, and car accessories that were maybe even worth the two dollars charged for them.
Her attention returned to the room as the stereo, and her nieces, started on Little Drummer Boy. Looking down, she took a quick inventory of her own Macy's bag of Christmas riches. On top of the pile were vouchers to Mr. Alexander's hair salon. Those were from her sister, who apparently had actually been listening to Stephanie's hair dressing woes during one of their phone calls over the past couple of weeks. Go, Val.
They were very timely, indeed, she mused while patting the rat's nest that had escaped her Christmas elf hat. Yup, sun- and salt-teased hair, meet dry cold wind. The ultimate in Don King inspired hairdos. Maybe she could even get an appointment tomorrow if she woke up early enough.
She looked back into her bag. Underneath the vouchers was a booklet of movie theater tickets, and then a boxed set of nail polish in different shades of pinks and reds, named after roses. There was the annual dress-up gift from her mother: a silk blouse and matching scarf, this year. And, underneath all of that was the Dolce & Gabbana perfume set with skin cream. She snorted; it looked like some of her family was trying to get her prepped for date night.
Clearly, though, the rest of her family was as goofy as she was, she thought as she pulled out "Shaky Shaky Hamster, just add batteries." Since she'd taken care of the batteries right after opening the box, she flipped on S.S. Hamster's switch and set the six-inch-tall plush, vibrating figure on the side table. She admired his dancing style as he wobbled and shook around, flippy forearms bobbing and neck bell ringing, all in time to a built-in, tinny recording of "Shake, shake, shake your booty."
Even if she hadn't seen the "To / From" tag on the box, she'd have known that S.S. Hamster was from her Grandma. Truly an inspired gift, she giggled quietly as she watched him boogie down against a stack of Reader's Digest magazines. She wondered if she and S.S. Hamster could teach Rex this dance so they could have disco party nights in her apartment.
She also wondered if her Grandma had been the one to take her nieces holiday shopping, given that their gift to her was the box labeled "Animal Butt Magnets." ("They're for your fridge, Aunt Steph," Angie had earnestly explained as though she worried where her aunt might mistakenly use them, otherwise.)
Beyond that, rounding out the practical portion of her holiday, there was a new set of kitchen towels, a Ghost Busters ceramic mug, and a set of cork-bottom coasters from The Funplex down in Mount Laurel. ("Next time, we are absolutely not taking the Fun Twister," Val had squinted at her daughters, a squeamish look passing briefly over her features.)
"Hey, perfect timing," Angie called out. "It's the Christmas Wrapping song." Mary Alice hooted, lifted up the gift paper she'd just stacked and threw it in the air. After looking around, Angie got in the spirit and booted the pile of ribbons next to her, scattering them into strips of color on the floor around her.
"Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas," her nieces began singing the song's refrain along with the stereo. "Merry Christmas. But I think I'll miss this one, this year." The girls sang and scatted along with the joyful rush of instrumentation until the next lyrics began, prancing in the living room like elves. Or, perhaps still like Rudolph the Reindeer in Mary Alice's case.
As they sang, fumbling humorously over the rapidfire words in the song, Stephanie hummed along. It was one of the seasonal tunes that she and her best friend Mary Lou had cranked on the car radio in high school. Energetic, it was also a bit rebellious with its description of a single woman, her frenetic lifestyle, and her choice to be alone on Christmas Eve. And then, after all, it had a happy ending since she found the guy she'd wanted to date in the grocery line that very night. It had been a grown-up, urban romance that Stephanie could fully imagine in her teens.
Yet now, she thought it would be lonely to spend all of Christmas by herself. Not rebellious independence, at all. Like Thanksgiving, it was a holiday made for family. It was a time to remember being a child, while taking a peek at what older age might bring. In her case, of course, one look at her Grandma Mazur was all she needed to have a fairly strong idea of what was in store for her. Though, she resolved yet again to avoid becoming a notorious funeral crasher in her golden years. After all, one could indulge one's quite sensible curiosity— and even experience the righteousness of having outlived a rival or a scoundrel— without prying open caskets, toppling floral arrangements, or otherwise starting a mortuary riot.
With that thought, she mused that Christmas was also a time to remember that, even if your own family wasn't perfect, they were here for you when you needed them. The way her father, taciturn and gruff, had actually been happy to spend a few hours driving on cold, icy roads to retrieve her from the airport earlier today. The way her mother, nag as she might, always welcomed her prodigal Stephanie when she showed up for nothing more than to do her laundry or cadge an unscheduled free dinner. The way her sister never held it against her that she'd been inconvenienced— and even abducted— as fallout from Stephanie's crazy life.
Which made her think of Ranger. And yeah, okay, she'd pretty much been thinking of Ranger every few minutes since he'd kissed her goodbye this morning at Miami International airport. Mmm, and what a kiss….
She exhaled again, realizing that the warmth currently suffusing her soul was because she was so glad to know that he'd spent the holiday with his family. She was fairly sure that he had spent some past holidays alone, whether due to a mission or to his self-chosen isolation. Like his mother, she was so glad that he was choosing a new path. And she was especially glad she'd had the opportunity last night to spend a moment with him on that path, along with his family.
Blinking away her blurry vision, she saw that her nieces had gathered larger pieces of the snowflake and palm tree paper she'd used for the gifts she'd brought back from Florida. They weren't being as careful, though, with the rest of the paper. The paper with skiing dachshunds in Santa hats had been Val's favorite this year. Grandma had been responsible for the Gilmore Girls paper, which was actually cool because it clearly featured several different flavors of donuts along with full coffee pots. Meanwhile, her mother had opted for the standard Christmas tree and garland motif.
"Angie, Mary Alice," Stephanie's mother peeked from the kitchen, "Try to fold the big pieces so we can donate them to the nursing home where Aunt Tootsie's husband is."
Valerie rolled her eyes from her perch in the dining room, which was really just the space between the living room and the kitchen. "Mom, Sisters of Mercy hasn't accepted used wrapping paper donations since you were a child." Absent-mindedly settling Lisa on her other knee, she glanced at Stephanie. "Last year they tossed the bags in the recycling bin out back before we even left the place. I swear I saw scraps of Grandma's WWE Smackdown wrapping paper sticking out of the bin as we drove away."
"Wow that's a shame," Stephanie shrugged, not wanting to hazard a guess on whether they threw out all the donated wrapping paper, or just the WWE pattern. While it was always fun to check out hot, sweaty wrestlers, she could imagine that some of the elderly pacemakers might not have survived the excitement.
The music changed again, and Val's daughters started singing "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus" right as Albert Kloughn toddled down the stairway from the second floor. Stephanie grimaced slightly as she realized that she hadn't even noticed that the doughy man was missing.
"About time," her father grumbled as he left the den to head upstairs to the bathroom. Hmm, maybe her family should have cornered the collectibles market in Bamberger's shopping bags, after all, and taken the money to move down the shore to a house with two bathrooms.
As her daughters continued singing about Mommy and Santa, Val held out her hand to Albert and cooed, "Now, we know that nobody but my Cuddle Umpkins, here, touches these lips." Albert ducked his head and Stephanie was able to confirm that his embarrassed flush had spread all the way to his notable bald spot. Unstoppable, Val continued, "Come here, Smoochie Bear."
At that moment, Stephanie's stomach growled loud enough that Val, Albert, and her nieces all paused to look her way. "Oops," she said, realizing that she hadn't really eaten— other than a couple bags of airline pretzels— since breakfast with Ranger.
And here we go, she thought. Because her thoughts had turned to Ranger, yet again. He'd somehow figured out that the Corner Café in Key Biscayne's diminutive downtown was one of her favorite stops. (Oh, who was she kidding? Of course he'd figured that out. He was Ranger, so duh.) What was truly amazing, though, was that he'd managed their time this morning so they'd actually been able to stop in for a final pastry and coffee run. Apple turnovers! Cinnamon sugar rolls! Chocolate coconut donuts!
Which would be just the starting point for the sugar and fat she'd need to make it through the next week. Or two. Or three.
Well, first things first. She flipped off the switch on S.S. Hamster's back, tucked him safely back in her shopping bag, then threaded her way past the dining table toward the kitchen. Where she found her mother and Grandma Mazur still arguing about marshmallows.
"Mother, they're fruit-flavored," Mrs. Plum shook her head in exasperation, reaching for what looked suspiciously like an early cocktail. Or maybe something normally on-the-rocks, but without the icy rocks to water it down. "We're not putting them on the yams, and that's final." She took an emphatic sip and then slammed the glass down on the counter. "Hi Stephanie," she sighed, not quite able to change her tone of voice in time for the greeting.
While Stephanie mumbled a reply, Grandma Mazur winked at her. Then she grabbed the bag of marshmallows. "Since you don't want them for dinner, Helen, I'm taking the bag upstairs with me while I try on those leopard print, booty-shaping leggings I got from the Shopping Channel. Gotta emphasize the positive the next time I go clubbing. Hunks these days want something to grab onto."
"Dear Lord," Stephanie's mother said, lifting her glass again, while Grandma Mazur held the open bag out to Stephanie.
"Try some," her grandmother said. "These babies go with anything, no matter what your mother says."
Stephanie gratefully took the heaping handful that her grandmother poured into her hands. "Mmm," she half moaned, feeling the burst of lemon, lime, and orange on her tongue, mingled with the always enjoyable marshmallow texture. Just enough to tame the infamous beast of her stomach, At least for now. Grandma Mazur always knew what was needed.
"These are good," she said, mentally adding a note to herself to see if she could find these marshmallows the next time she went shopping. She nibbled her lip, then turned to her grandmother. "Being honest, though, I agree with Mom that they'd be weird on the dinner yams." Privately she thought they'd be cool as a side dish, though she suspected her mother wouldn't agree to that idea, either. In any case, it wasn't something she felt like arguing about.
"Oh well, more for me," Grandma Mazur smiled with a minor denture-adjusting lip pucker. "See you gals in a bit for my fashion show," she turned in a movement that Stephanie suspected was a pirouette, though she found it hard to not reach out as though the older woman was about to tumble. With any other person in Grandma Mazur's age and condition, it would've been a possibility. Of course, she'd dealt with the uncanny Mazur luck for long enough to not worry.
"Stephanie," her mother interrupted her thoughts. "Can you help with the salad? I'm running behind now." Her sigh was strong enough to blow hair away from her face.
"Sure," Stephanie answered, moving to the counter where the salad ingredients had already been laid out in parallel formation along with the cutting board. It was oddly reminiscent of how she'd seen some Rangemen set out their weapons, one by one, prior to suiting up for a job. She started to tear lettuce into a colander, snorting as she imagined her mother reviewing her food arsenal for suitability to the meal's requirements. Standing at attention, she'd select the tomatoes and carrots, but dismiss the garlic as inappropriate given the close quarters of the dinner mission.
As she imagined her mother suiting up for a redecoration job with the guys, she did giggle slightly.
"Honey, it's good you got back for the holidays," her mother said while pulling her famous Jello salad from the refrigerator. She squinted at the pan, holding a dinner knife as a substitute ruler, and then began carving the pan of Jello into even rectangles before putting each piece on a small plate. "Your grandmother thought you were purposely staying longer so you could 'hang with all the hotties'," her voice incongruously finger-quoted the last phrase.
"Unfortunately, all the hot guys were busy at work while I was at the beach," Stephanie said, rinsing the lettuce in the sink. It was certainly true of the friends she'd met. Then, unbidden, she visualized Ranger at work in his Rangeman office from Thanksgiving through Christmas Eve. So, she was telling the truth about him, also. And now she was thinking of Ranger yet again.
She wondered what he was having for dinner tonight as he monitored his control room in Miami. She pictured a clone of the Trenton office, with its large windows looking out over Trenton, its floor of cubes, and the control room with its wall of monitors. To give it the feel of a different location, she mentally erased Junior and Chester Deuce's Olympic rowing team banner from the wall outside the breakroom. But that just made it look like Rangeman when they'd painted the walls last summer.
Okay, she needed to ask Ranger to give her a tour of the Miami office the next time she went down. Which, she admitted to herself, meant that she did plan to use those tickets to visit him. She exhaled, then looked down only to realize that she'd torn far more lettuce than it was likely that her family would want for salad. Setting the colander in the sink to rinse the lettuce, and then dumping the lettuce into her mother's salad bowl, Stephanie turned to the carrots.
"Are you seeing Joe Morelli tomorrow?" her mother interrupted her thoughts. "You should invite him to dinner. I'm making a casserole with the leftover ham, along with those sweet rolls that you like from the bakery."
"Thanks Mom," she said, realizing that she'd almost pulled the carrot peeler over her thumb instead of the first carrot. "I'm not sure what I'm doing tomorrow. But Joe and I broke up, so please don't invite him to dinner on my behalf." She hoped that sounded final, since she didn't want to go into a discussion of boyfriends. Of course, having been away for a while, she'd discounted how focused her mother could be on the topic.
"I know, honey," her mother said. "But you two always get back together again. You might want to check on him before he slips away for good, this time. I heard from Mrs. Marlinowski that she saw him on what looked like a double date at Pino's a couple weeks ago. And Mrs. Amos said her husband recently saw him with Mimi Kasem's daughter in the food hall by the Garden before a Ranger's game."
"Mom, really. We've broken up." Stephanie squinted, renewing her attention on the carrots.
They worked in silence for a while, letting the sounds of Jingle Bell Rock from the living room fill the air.
"You know," her mother resumed. "You could definitely do worse than Joe. He's got a good, respectable job and a house of his own." She paused to glance sideways at Stephanie. "After everything that happened before...," Mrs. Plum waved her spoon as though shoveling the past to the side. "Well, you know. Anyhow, I wasn't sure about you dating him again when you first started. But he's changed his ways and grown up. Most of all, he likes you."
"Yeah," Stephanie agreed vaguely, wondering why that didn't seem like enough, anymore.
Her mother continued. "Beyond that, he doesn't seem to mind that you're divorced." No doubt seeing clouds presaging a storm on the horizon of her daughter's face, Mrs. Plum hurried to add, "Not that it's a problem these days, of course. Just look at Albert and Val. I think he was happy to find someone a bit more mature. He treats her well, and they're very happy. Not everyone gets another chance like that."
Having recently left a room where Albert was happily being Val's "Cuddle Umpkins" and "Love Dumpling," she shuddered briefly. She wasn't exactly sure where her discomfort originated, since she had no problem with the men in her life calling her nicknames, like "Cupcake," "Bombshell," or even "Babe." Each one was special to the person who used it.
Then it dawned on her that she didn't have any affectionate nicknames for the men in her life. Of course, other than "Batman" for Ranger. And she couldn't even imagine being with a man who'd consent to being her "Pudding" or "Smoodgie Woodgie."
Well, huh. She absent mindedly poured the cut carrots into the salad bowl and picked up the bag of croutons.
Meanwhile her mother continued her sales pitch. "You know, honey, you're in the prime of your life to have children. And it's good for children to have a father."
As though on cue, Lisa started to cry from the other room, a full-bodied howl, while Mary Alice trotted into the kitchen, holding her finger.
"Grammy, do you have bandaids? I got a papercut."
After a quick peek at the girl's finger, Mrs. Plum stationed Mary Alice under the sink's running water. She then reached into a cabinet, pulled out a surprisingly large box labeled "In Case of Kitchen Accidents," and retrieved a bandage.
As Stephanie mused that she should have a box like that in her kitchen— well, if she started actually cooking— Val appeared in the doorway. Bouncing her still wailing youngest daughter, Val asked, "Is everything okay?" She freed one hand to brush her hair behind her ear, almost losing Lisa as the little girl squirmed sideways in her arms.
"Just a little owie," Mary Alice replied, holding up her still bloodied finger and the wrapping it in the paper towel that Mrs. Plum handed her along with the bandaid.
At that moment, a hissing sound erupted from the stove, heralding a boiling froth that was spilling over the side of a pan.
"Son of a sea monkey!" Mrs. Plum exclaimed, rushing back over to the stove. Stephanie, sensing that Val was about to hand over Lisa, instead went to help Mary Alice with her bandaid. Perhaps aware that her aunt had just dodged her child-bouncing opportunity, Lisa momentarily quieted, squinched her face, and then let out a truly ear-shattering scream.
At which point Grandma Mazur appeared, wearing her promised leopard-print tights. "Check this out. Who wants to join me for the New Year's Eve dance party at Club Caboose?"
"Mother…," Mrs. Plum blinked, holding a still frothing pan in one hand and a towel in another.
"Grandma M., looking good," Mary Alice enthused. As Stephanie finished applying her bandaid, her youngest niece, Lisa, ceased crying in her mother's arms. Then, a look of surprise overtaking her still chubby face, she let out a thunderous belch.
"That's it, Lee-Loo Boo-Boo," Val cooed to her daughter. "Let it all out." She resumed bouncing Lisa, who was now smiling. Reaching up with plump fingers waving, the girl snared and pulled the hair that Val had recently tucked back. And now Stephanie knew why Val was wearing an unusually not-stylish, stretchy exercise headband and also how hanks of hair kept escaping its confines.
Mary Alice inspected her finger bandage, then smiled at Stephanie. "Thanks Aunt Steph. And Grandma P." She then turned, tossed her long hair with whinny, and trotted back toward the living room.
"Gotta love that girl," Grandma Mazur said, watching Mary Alice leave the room, followed by Val. "So, Steph, want to join me for the big New Year's Eve party?"
"Let me think about it," Stephanie said, still blurry after having returned home only a few hours ago. "But you're right about those tights. They definitely emphasize the positive."
And she wasn't kidding. Though it wasn't clear whether Grandma Mazur's ready-to-party look was more due to the technicolor leopard print of her new tights or the barely-there length of her sixties inspired micro-mini dress. Or maybe it was the way she swayed slightly on her hips to stay balanced on her gold flecked, platform shoes. One of these days, she had to figure out where her grandmother got her fashion ideas. Was there maybe a Teen Vogue or Seventeen magazine for seniors who liked to party?
"I know, right? I'm definitely getting lucky in this outfit." Her grandmother fairly beamed while, in the background, Stephanie heard the glug of her mother refilling her cocktail glass. "Anyhow," Grandma Mazur continued, "let me know if you want my plus-one ticket for New Year's. If not, I'll give it to Sally."
Stephanie scattered croutons in the salad and started mixing them into the lettuce and carrots. "You know what, Grandma? Why don't you give the ticket to Sally, and maybe I can come over to see both of you all dressed up before you go out."
"You bet. I'll call Sally first thing tomorrow. Club Caboose is the 'happening dance venue' in Trenton," she winked as she spoke in a fake announcer voice. "They even say so on their ads. So you know he'll be thrilled." Her grandmother turned toward the living room. "Oh, love that song," she said, cupping her hand around her ear. "I'm going to go practice my dance floor moves."
"You go, Grandma," Stephanie said as she drizzled her father's favorite Wishbone dressing on the salad and gave it one more toss.
While she and her grandmother had been talking, her mother had turned her attention to the oven. Carefully balancing, she pulled out the glazed ham. Stephanie inhaled the smell that meant Christmas dinner and smiled.
"It must be difficult to be back after being away for so many weeks," her mother said, facing away while she transferred the ham to a platter for Stephanie's father to carve.
"Yeah, I forgot how cold it is during the winter," Stephanie pulled open the bag of Costco dinner rolls and poured them into a napkin-lined basket for the table.
Mrs. Plum paused to remove her oven mitts for a deep sip of amber liquid from her glass. Her face was more relaxed as she put it down. And the glass was definitely emptier. "You know, I halfway expected you to call, this morning, to tell us you'd missed your flight back."
Stephanie blinked, knowing that she'd certainly been tempted. Even before last night with Ranger. And this morning, when the softness of Ranger's kiss at the security line had melted her even before she'd seen the unusual gentleness in his eyes as he'd released her. He'd still been there after she'd passed through, alert as the soldier he'd been, eyes following her. And she'd almost turned back. Almost, until he'd nodded and stepped back, lips tilted into a smile as she finger-waved goodbye.
Seeing her mother's assessing gaze, Stephanie knew she'd taken more than the usual amount of time to answer. "I admit I did think about it," she replied carefully. "I even got a job offer. Two, actually."
George Michael's voice sang Last Christmas in the other room, accompanied by the sounds of Grandma Mazur trying to teach her nieces a line dance that she'd learned last month at the Banana Cabaret. Which made Stephanie wonder at the propriety of the dance, but she figured Val was in charge of what was suitable for her daughters. And, apparently their grandmother hadn't reached that threshold yet.
Her mother began pouring Italian meatballs— the accompaniment to any holiday dinner at the Plums— into a chafing dish. "Were they better jobs than you have at your father's cousin's place?" As usual, Mrs. Plum refused to say Vinnie's name. "Would you get a regular paycheck?"
Stephanie nibbled her lip, then answered, "Yeah, one of them has a regular paycheck. It sounded like it might be enough to actually get by, down there" At least, that's what she'd inferred from Ranger and his sister Ariana.
"Tell me it doesn't involve guns and death threats, and working with ex-cons, and I'll give you my blessing." And, speaking of blessings, she didn't miss her mother turning away to surreptitiously sketch out the signs of the cross.
"Wait, what?" Stephanie felt her eyebrows arch toward her forehead as though searching for clues in her tousled hair. "And, Mom, I don't work with ex-convicts. I arrest them. And I work with ex-military, at least sometimes."
Her mother nodded, turning toward her. "Stephanie, all I ever want for my daughters— all your father and I want— is for you to be safe and happy. I was lucky enough to find that right here in the 'Burg, with your father, as his wife and your mother."
Mrs. Plum's hand stilled before she once again reached for her glass. Instead, she idly began organizing the serving bowls and platters into rows on the countertop. Plates of Jello salad congregated in their own group, off to the side. Green bean casserole lined up in formation with candied yams and dinner rolls; Italian meatballs, salad, and mac-and-cheese for the kids formed their own queue. The glazed ham was on its own, with little cloves stuck in it like it was wearing one of those dotted, green-screen action suits for Hollywood; dinner's heroic action figure was primed and ready for its next scene.
Stephanie's mother continued speaking while she arranged bowls and platters. "When you and Val first married, I thought you were both all set, but of course Steve and Richard ("that dirtbag, Dickie Orr,' Stephanie silently substituted in her mind) both turned out to be bad husbands. I guess boys raised in the 'Burg aren't trained to be good men, these days."
"Mom," Stephanie began, though she wasn't sure what she planned to say. Because, really, where to start? But her mother held up her hand before she could formulate her thoughts.
"Let me finish, honey," Mrs. Plum glanced at Stephanie, eyes seeming to glimmer in the kitchen's old-fashioned fluorescent light. "I've come to see that Albert is good for your sister. And, I hope you find someone who's right for you. And, since I guess it won't Joe, I'm pretty sure it won't be someone from the 'Burg. Though a mother can try."
A surprising, fleeting smile lit the older woman's face momentarily. Then she leaned forward, catching Stephanie's eyes, "Honey, you've been so much happier on the phone these past few weeks. That's the daughter I remember and want to see, again. Even if I can only see you on holidays. Because… nice weather, a good job, maybe a nice man with an equally nice tan," her mother's gaze was almost mischievous and Stephanie briefly wondered if her flight, this morning, had accidentally landed in some parallel, Pod People land.
Her mother shrugged. "With all of that, if I were young and single, I'd almost want to move down there myself."
"Mother!" Stephanie couldn't help exclaim while, at the same time, she wondered if her mother was demonstrating the first signs of morphing into Grandma Mazur. Ranger was right; she came from a long line of scary women.
"Anyway, it's something to think about," Mrs. Plum eerily echoed the phrase that was in Stephanie's mind. Then, standing up, her mother said, "Now, help me carry this all to the table for dinner."
"Okay, Mom." Stephanie tucked her shock into a corner of her mind for later review, and picked up the ham platter, since it was heaviest. Trailing her mother, who had the green bean casserole, she walked into the dining room. From which there was a framed view of her grandmother teaching Angie and Mary Alice a dance, with chairs, that looked suspiciously like another one from the Banana Cabaret.
"Jesus Christ in a bathtub," Mrs. Plum exclaimed. "Mother, what are you doing? Oh, never mind. Dinner is served. Someone bring those chairs back to the table. And Angie, can you go ask Grandpa Plum to take out the earphones and come to carve the ham?"
And, with that, the family began to coalesce around the dining table and Stephanie's stomach let out a profound, ready-to-eat growl. It really all smelled delicious. Stephanie sat down in her usual chair next to her grandmother, with her nieces on her other side. Her father said grace, and then began to carve the ham. It was Christmas dinner at the Plums, whether or not they were Pod Plums or the real thing.
To be continued…
Notes: Christmas Wrapping (by The Waitresses) and Last Christmas (by Wham!) are in my "go to" holiday mix when the whole season starts to make me nuts. Also, I have a secret fondness for Little Drummer Boy, since my otherwise staid and uptight grandfather thought it was hilarious to put that song on the house-wide speakers first-thing on Christmas morning (like 6AM) to wake everyone. Rumpa-pum-pum!
