Day after Thanksgiving, 24 November
The smell of bacon frying woke Cora the next morning. She stretched and realized she still had her clothes on from the day before. Remembering her conversation with Harold, she chuckled and shimmied out of the garments as she walked to her bathroom, then hopped into the shower for a quick wash, not wanting her parents to smell weed in her hair. The rest of the evening came to her as she showered, and, recalling her mother's reaction, she abruptly stopped humming and frowned.
Turning off the water, she sighed. Her mother could be completely stubborn sometimes, and Cora suspected that this would be one of those times, no matter what her father and brother said.
She had to figure out how to act.
"Momma, that smells delicious!" Cora came up behind her mother at the stove to kiss her cheek, then turned to the kitchen cabinets.
"Cora, please set the table before your father eats all the bacon?"
"Martha, I've only had a couple of pieces!" came Isidore's voice from the living room accompanied by the rustle of the newspaper.
Pulling juice and milk out of the refrigerator, Cora laughed lightly. "Daddy and I set the table last night. It's all ready for us. We just need to make another pot of coffee and put food on the table. Do you need any help cooking?" She'd decided to follow her mother's lead this morning.
The red hair swooshed about as Martha shook her head. "No, baby. I am almost done. That fresh pot of coffee sounds good though." She deposited fresh bacon onto a plate already piled with it, then picked up a pot holder to get potatoes out of the oven.
"You've got it, Momma." Cora called into the living room. "Daddy, could you tell Harold to get his fat ass out of bed! Brunch is almost ready!" Spooning coffee into the machine, she shook her head. "Stoner," she murmured.
"I heard that, Cora."
Cora shrugged. "It's not like it's not common knowledge."
It wasn't long before the four were gathered around the table, helping themselves and each other to heaping servings of eggs, bacon, toast, potatoes, and fruit. Cora poured them all coffee, winking at Harold as she did. In answer, Harold rubbed his nose with his middle finger.
Rolling her eyes, Cora sat and ate. "Momma, did you and Daddy bring out all the decorations?"
"Yes. They're waiting for us, and so are the Christmas cds."
"Can we make cookies too?" Cora watched her mother out of the corner of her eye.
"Yes, we can do that."
"Do we have eggnog?"
"We do. Thinking of doctoring it for an after-dinner treat?" Martha glanced at her daughter before biting into a particularly crisp strip of bacon.
"I thought I might."
Isidore spoke up, catching his daughter's eye, apparently in tune with what she was doing. "I don't have rum, Princess, but we've got the good brandy and the expensive bourbon."
Grunting, Harold swallowed down some coffee then coughed out, "Bourbon."
Martha chuckled at this. "That sounds nice, Cora. We can watch old Christmas favorites if that's what the rest of you want. Get into the spirit."
"It's a plan, Momma." Cora grinned and reached over to press her mother's hand warmly.
The day passed fairly quickly, Martha and Cora decorating, Isidore helping with the lights and mounting the ladder to string garlands and hang mistletoe. Harold sat on the balcony, trying to steer clear of the merriment – and talking on his phone. Anytime Cora passed him, she would tease him about his "girlfriend," and Harold would pinch her or flip her the bird, depending upon how close she was, giving her a dirty look.
By the time they'd decided on a late dinner – Chinese take-out they sent Harold to pick up – the apartment looked utterly festive. It smelled of greenery and spices (helped by scented candles), as well as cookies. White lights shone from the tree, the balcony railing, and from where Cora had twisted a strand into each garland over every doorway. The three set the table, finishing just as Harold bounded into the room, laden with bags.
"Harold, do you mind pouring drinks?" Martha asked as she set the cartons out on the table.
"Sure, Mother."
They sat down to dinner, and Cora attempted not to read too much into the fact that her mother had not made one mention of the trip to England all day. In fact, she'd acted as if the question had never been asked. As the day had gone on, the number of nervous looks Cora exchanged with her father increased. And after dinner had passed without anything, she began to despair.
"Princess, Mother's picking the movies; I'll bring you the booze!"
"Okay, Daddy!" Cora called out from the kitchen as she extricated the smallish punch bowl from a cabinet and turned to get the eggnog.
Isidore found her shoulders bent, her head bowed, and her hand on the handle of the refrigerator. "Cora?" He put his hand on one of her shoulders.
"She's not going to let me go, is she?" Cora whispered, wiping a tear away from her cheek.
The father's heart in him surged up. "Please, don't think that way, Princess." Isidore put down the bottle of bourbon and sidled around to pull her into a tight embrace. "You know your mother wants what's best for you. She'll come around."
"In time for me to actually get everything done before the trip?" She whimpered the question into his collar bone.
He hazarded a soft chuckle. "The benefit of being as wealthy as we are is that we can get things done faster than most people. Don't you worry about that, Cora."
Cora heaved a deep sigh. "I want to go. I want to do things, see things…."
"I know." Taking her chin in his hand, Isidore lifted her head so she could see his serious expression. "Give her time. And let me talk to her. She just…." He heaved a deep sigh, his heart in his eyes. "She just doesn't want to let go of her little girl."
"Nor do you, Daddy, do you?" A tiny smile formed on Cora's face.
Isidore's expression continued to be completely serious. "No. But I know I must, some day."
At that, Cora let out a long, shuddering breath, tears coming to her eyes again. "I hope you know I'll always – always – be your little girl, Daddy. Don't you?"
"Yes, Princess." He reached up and ran his thumb along the tracks her tears made on her cheeks now. Smile, he whispered, "I do know that. Come hell or high water."
"Come hell or high water," she repeated in a whisper.
After a moment or two, Isidore rubbed Cora's back with his other hand. "What about this eggnog then? Do you think the English have this tradition too or no?"
This made her chuckle. "I don't know. I suppose I'll find out, won't I?" She poured the eggnog into the bowl, along with a generous amount of bourbon.
Isidore twitched a ladle out of a drawer and handed it to her before picking up the punch bowl. "So it will be an anthropological or societal case study along with being art history, eh?" He chuckled. "Grab the tray of glasses, will you, Princess?"
"Of course, Daddy," she said, smiling, feeling much better for having had their chat. Leaning up to kiss his cheek, she gazed at him an adoration. "Thank you," she said in a whisper, taking the tray and preceding him into the living room. "Eggnog!" she sang out, nearly laughing aloud at how Harold dived for the punch bowl.
"Christmas movies are all ready!" Martha sang out, patting the couch beside her, looking at her daughter.
Cora sat next to her mother, reaching up to put her arms around her neck and pressing a kiss to her cheek too. "I love you, Momma," she said softly.
Martha seemed a little caught off guard, but she smiled, slipping her arms around her daughter's waist. "I love you too, Cora."
When Cora woke it was the early hours, and she lifted her head from her mother's shoulder, yawning.
"Good morning, sleepy head," Martha whispered as she stroked Cora's hair.
"What time is it?" Rubbing her eyes, Cora yawned.
"Early. Don't worry about the time." She encouraged her daughter to rest her head back down. "We fell asleep watching movies last night. I woke only a little bit ago."
Cora snuggled up to her mother and sighed, of two minds about whether she should bring up her study abroad or not.
Before she could decide, however, her mother saved her the trouble. "Cora, I've been thinking about this trip of yours."
Nodding against Martha's shoulder, Cora held her breath and stayed silent.
Martha let out a long exhale, continuing. "I think you should go."
Her head whipped up so she could look her mother in the eye. "You do? I can go?"
"I don't like having you away for the holidays, but I know that you'll miss us as much as we'll miss you." She stroked her daughter's cheek and smiled sadly. "It won't be the same."
"I know, Momma. But I really want to go," she whispered, tears in her eyes.
"I realize that you do. And I appreciate you giving me the time to think about it without bringing it up again." She cupped Cora's face and kissed her forehead.
"Thank you, Momma. Very much."
Pulling her hands away, Martha waved toward the hallway. "Go on now, get some more sleep. We have a lot to do today if we're going to have you ready for the first."
Cora grinned widely and stood, kissing her mother's cheek. "You get some sleep too."
"I will. I'm going to nap right here." Martha stretched out on the couch, dragging a blanket from the back of it on top of her. "I want to look at the lights a bit longer."
"Thank you again, Momma."
"You're welcome, Cora," Martha said as her buoyant daughter sashayed down the hallway. Then, staring at the lit Christmas tree, she murmured, "My baby's growing up."
The next several days were a whirlwind of activity, getting Cora ready for her trip, upgrading her flight, making sure her exams and end-of-semester papers were finished, and getting some family time in before the big day. Martha even had a big, spur of the moment going away party on the evening before her daughter's departure, complete with the special bourbon eggnog, trays of Cora's favorite foods, and Christmas carol karaoke. Martha and Isidore sang a duet of "Baby, It's Cold Outside," Cora did a spirited rendition of "Winter Wonderland," and Harold… well, Harold ended up stoned and singing the Grinch song. It was a hit.
To Cora's surprise all three of them accompanied her to the airport. Granted, Harold did try to slip a joint into her carry-on, earning a clip to the back of the head from his mother when she caught him. But, without too much trouble otherwise, the four said their goodbyes, and Cora made her way through security.
The plane ride was uneventful, albeit long. Used to traveling, the length of the trip didn't affect Cora adversely; she'd brought plenty of art magazines, and enjoyed several tipples and naps in her comfortable seat. Nonetheless, she breathed a sigh of relief when the plane touched down. She really wanted a hot shower and a warm bed.
Dragging her wheeled carry on behind her, Cora made her way to baggage claim to pick up her suitcase. As she stood there, she noticed a dark haired man, tall and lanky, eyeing her up. Coloring slightly, she turned away, gaze fixed to the slowly turning baggage carousel. Once she'd retrieved her bag, she proceeded to the arrivals area, where she was to meet her ride to Oxford. Realizing that the dark haired man waited there, she started. Then, she saw the sign that he held. It had her name written on it.
When her eyes lifted to his face again, he smiled widely. "You're Ms. Levinson, aren't you? Cora Levinson?"
Cora smiled in return, hers a much smaller, shier smile. "I am." She nodded.
The smile warmed his eyes, despite their being an incredible shade of ice blue. "I'm very glad to hear it. I thought that might be you. I do apologize if I was staring before. But I do feel as if I know you already through your messages over the past few days."
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you –" she paused, moving her hand from her carry on so she could extend it to him, realizing he'd not yet said his name.
Tucking the sign under an arm, the man took her hand in both of his, wringing it gently. "Simon," he said. "Simon Bricker."