Chapter Twenty-Three
I knew it was goingtoowell.
I should have expected that someone would ask, but I got so comfortable when his mom didn’t press and let my guard down and now I’m freaking out on a ladder, too high off the ground. From a question more terrifying than these horror-movie trees. When my heart calms down, and I hang a few ornaments to stall, I turn the question over to Beau.
“Yeah, Beau. What’s up with that?” Not my proudest moment, courage wise. But I’ve come to terms with that.
“I think Anna-Banana should stay out of other people’s relationships or I start telling her husband about that Christmas she got drunk on hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and danced with the tree and yelled at Mom for ‘getting frisky with her man,’ because Mom put the star on top of the tree.”
I laugh on my ladder. And cause the ladder to shake in a way that has me clutching whatever I can reach, which is a tiny tree branch. The spirit of Santa, which is probably a real thing, keeps me uprightandkeeps all the branches on the tree.
“Moooomm. Beauregard Dean is being a butt,” Annabelle whines.
“First of all, both of you are being butts, and second, you are not representing the South, and more importantly my parenting, very well right now in front of our guest.” Eve doesn’t even stop hanging ornaments in response to the sibling battle. This must be a regular occurrence.
“I’m just trying to help,” Annabelle says.
“Tell me more about this schnapps situation,” Tucker says to his wife.
“It’s nothing.” She glares at her brother.
“You ought not yell at your family,” Tucker says, laughing at his wife.
“Shove it, Tuck,” Annabelle snaps at the man.
Beau winks at me, awkward question avoided.
“Beauregard?” I drag out all the syllables of the new name. And there’s so many of them. Syllables that roll around in my mouth, causing more lip action than when he actually kisses me. It’s quite the name.
“It’s still just Beau,” he says mildly.
“But he loves to be called Beauregard. Especially Beauregard Dean,” Annabelle says.
“Just as much as she loves Anna-Banana,” Beau says.
“Should I tell Sonia about your first weekend in college?”
“Shove it, sis.”
I laugh again at the looks exchanged between sister and brother. They’re just like Priya, Ajay, and me. Eve still isn’t paying attention to her bickering children, hanging ornaments in her happy Christmas place.
My mom never got comfortable with the way we all bickered growing up. She looked out of place whenever we started and she was visiting, not knowing how to react to us. She mostly told us it wasn’t seemly for the heirs of Loot to be arguing, which made Chachi laugh and say we were learning conflict resolution the hard way, but we were learning. As we got older, the arguing got more affectionate, just like with Beau and Annabelle. Mom still didn’t approve, but she kept her disapproval to disappointed looks from across the room.
I think it was better when she was scolding me over the cool indifference.
Back in the present, we finish the tree outside and move the decorating party inside. I take one last look at the decorated tree, with lights turned on, and the sunset in the background over the rows of peach trees. This would make a good painting, with the beautiful colors and the creepy tree neutralized by the decorations. Not just a zombie with a bow on then. I take a quick photo with my phone. Maybe I’ll paint it when I’m back in the city, since I won’t be doing any creative interior decorating anymore.
Inside, Eve starts the fireplace, even though it is in no way cold enough to need it. I respect the dedication to the theme, even though I’m going to start sweating soon. She brings some eggnog and decorated sugar cookies from the kitchen to sustain us through the demanding work. Further respect for the woman who has Christmas cookies on hand during the holiday season.
The familiar smells of the pine tree, eggnog, cookies and the sound of the crackling fire smooth any remaining nerves I had about being around Beau’s family, and I get comfortable with the flow of this group of people who know each other so well. There’s a lot of affectionate teasing and laughter. A family completely relaxed with each other.
I can’t help but compare them again with my own parents and our relationship. Another pang hits my chest when I realize how much I’ve lost because they moved away.
Bubba, who must be a superior dog able to sense my feelings and that I need comfort, lies down in front of the part of the tree I’m decorating and rests his head on his paws. Or he’s pouting because no one is giving him any cookies. Either way, I have to reach out to my full extension to reach the branches over him, so his support and/or protest is noted.
“I hope you’re not decorated out,” Eve says.
I scoff. I’ve never been decorated out. My apartment gets a refresh too often because it’s the only space I can play with, and I regularly search Zillow for houses I can decorate in my head. It’s why it hurts that I finally applied my passion to work and now Chacha says I can’t do it anymore. “I willingly decorated twenty-five trees as part of last year’s Christmas sale at work. So I’m in my element.”
