Gently, Stan swiped his thumb over the photograph. When Stan looked up from the photo, it was like he was seeing their barren kitchen for the first time. “Gosh, she’d hate this place.”
When his mom had been alive, the kitchen had been filled with decorations at the holidays. Mats with reindeer on them. Dish towels with little elves. Plates and glasses with holly stamped around the rim. They had none of that, now.
Stan tottered over to the counter as though unsteady, but his hand didn’t shake as he made not one but two cups of coffee. He hesitated then rummaged in the cupboard until he found the cinnamon. He shook some on top of both cups and handed one to Nolan.
“Your mother used to like to spice up her coffee at this time of year.”
Nolan hadn’t been a kid when his mom had died. He knew this. He’d made her coffees exactly like this one, but with too much creamer. “Yeah, but she also liked that disgusting eggnog-flavored creamer. Do you remember?”
Stan laughed. He actuallylaughed. Nolan couldn’t remember whether he’d seen his dad laugh in the years since Mom had passed. Nolan laughed with him, feeling the constriction in his chest start to dissipate. Maybe they would finally begin to heal as a family and move on.
He revised his hopes when Gramps marched into the kitchen with a dark look on his face. “What’s so funny in here?”
Nolan’s chest constricted again.
To his surprise, his dad answered the question. “Do you remember that creamer we used to get for Mary around Christmastime? The eggnog one?”
Nolan held his breath.
The crease in between Gramps’s eyebrows deepened before smoothing out altogether as his expression relaxed. “That awful stuff? Al Henderson had to order it in special for her since no one else in town was fool enough to drink it. Don’t tell me you miss it!”
“No,” Stan assured, one hand raised. A smile still pulled his cheeks tight. It was an unfamiliar expression on him since his hair had started to recede so badly and he’d gained more wrinkles. It reminded Nolan of the man in the picture on the table.
The old man shuffled closer and sniffed the air. “What’s that you’ve got?”
“Just a little cinnamon in with our coffee, like Mary used to make it.”
Nolan volunteered, “I can make you a cup.”
“Don’t be silly. I still have half a cup of coffee right here.”
And goodness only knew how old it was.
Nolan unfolded from the table. “It’s no trouble.”
He reached for Gramps’s cup, but the old man pulled it away. “No sense in wasting it. I’ll just add a shake of cinnamon on top and reheat it.”
It was probably that cup’s fifth time in the microwave today, but Nolan was too shocked to protest further. He sat again as Gramps puttered around the kitchen fixing his coffee.
Stan said, “Remember that one party your mom had us throw for the kids in your class? The cookie-decorating party?”
When Nolan slowly let out a breath, it whistled through his front teeth. “Oh, I remember. Mom had me dress up as an elf and help. I was not nearly young enough for my friends at school to think that was cute.”
Stan guffawed at the memory. Even Nolan spoke of it with a more rueful resignation than anything else. His memories of the teasing he’d received afterward had faded, and all he could remember was his mom’s excitement as she put on her Mrs. Claus costume. This, after she’d taken up his entire Saturday baking the sugar cookies and gingerbread cookies with her.
With a grunt, Gramps lowered himself into his customary chair at the table. He glanced at the picture. His expression softened. “I remember that party. She had me dress up as Santa and bring in candy canes for everyone.”
Nolan leaned back in his chair. Gramps wasn’t smiling—he was far too stoic for that—but he wasn’t scowling either. Maybe this was a good sign. Keeping his voice casual, Nolan asked, “Why was that, anyway? She was Mrs. Claus. Shouldn’t Dad have been Santa?”
“That’s what I said,” Stan grumbled, but he had a smile on his face when he said it. “Your mom said I was too young to be a convincing Santa. So, she stuffed me into that elf costume too. I think she just wanted to see us matching in the pictures.”
The smile fell off of Stan’s face. Inwardly, Nolan cursed. There it was, the reminder that Mom was gone. Nolan tensed, expecting the same dark mood to come over the table.
Instead, his dad said, “Maybe one of your cousins still has a copy.”
“I bet Martha does,” Gramps said slowly, warming to the subject. “You know how she hoards photos, especially the ones that she gets in Christmas cards. She always said she likes to see how everyone turned out.”
“Did we get a Christmas card from her this year?” Stan asked.
