Oh joy. More Christmas decorations. “And yourself, apparently.”
“And myself. Always myself.” She lifts one end of the garland around her neck and tosses it over her opposite shoulder like a scarf.
“Wait ’til she breaks out the ugly Christmas sweaters,” says a man at a nearby table.
“And don’t forget the elf shoes,” the man beside him chimes in.
“Just be glad you don’t have towearthe ugly sweaters and the elf shoes.” This from the young woman behind the counter, who’s refilling a display of donuts. She grins at me when our eyes meet.
“All right, all right,” Mae says with a laugh. “You all know you love this time of year just as much as I do, so don’t go pretending otherwise.” She detours toward me and ushers me further into the café, introducing me to people as we pass. I’ll never remember everyone’s names, so it’s a good thing I don’t plan on making a habit of socializing while I’m in town.
Mae leads me to a table near the back and sets down the box she’s carrying. ‘Nutcrackers #3’ is written on the top in black marker. With a little eyebrow wiggle in my direction, she pries open the flaps to reveal a box full of nutcrackers in various sizes and colors. “I collect them,” she tells me. “It started years ago when Seamus and I were traveling. I saw one I loved in a shop window in London, and Seamus went back and bought it for me as a surprise. We collected them on our travels and now Fiona sends ones she finds onhertravels, plus people in town give them to me as gifts. A select group of my favorites is on display year round at home, and the overflow decorate the café during the holiday season.”
I help her pull nutcrackers from the box when she indicates for me to dig in. I’ve never collected anything. My mom was a minimalist; while I had plenty of toys growing up, she never started a collection of any sort for me. Once I started acting, I wasn’t home much and I was often away for stretches of time, so my bedroom didn’t have many personal touches or ornamentation.
“You a big Christmas fan?” Mae asks. She’s regarding me again with that X-ray vision of hers. I consider telling her yes—it’s what people want to hear from the Queen of Christmas, after all—but somehow I think she’d see through me.
“Not really.” My voice is quiet, despite the fact no one is within earshot. It’s obvious Honeywell is big on Christmas, and I fear what they’d do if they found out they have a semi-Grinch in their midst. Mae doesn’t say anything, and I realize she’s waiting for me to elaborate.
“Holidays weren’t a big deal growing up. Or, well, I guess they were until my dad left, but I don’t remember those Christmases. My mom was a nurse, and she often took Christmas shifts for coworkers who had big families or little kids.” I pause in my inspection of a particularly grim-looking nutcracker to meet Mae’s eyes. Her lips are pressed together and her eyes are…sad? This is why I hate talking about this stuff.
“I didn’t mind.” My voice sounds defensive, so I attempt to soften it with a smile. “My mom was what I guess you’d call agnostic, so it’s not like we celebrated Christmas for religious reasons. She said it became more overblown and commercial by the year, but she figured the people who loved it or observed it as a religious holiday should get to spend it with their families.”
Mae smiles warmly, her eyes soft and understanding. From what she told me earlier, it’s obvious she was a hands-on mother. Her daughter Fiona was clearly her world, and she cared for Liam and Nathan like they were her sons. I’m sure she doted on them. I bet they had elaborate holidays and regular family dinners and more love and affection than they knew what to do with.
My mom was an amazing woman and she did the best she could as a parent, but I don’t think she really wanted tobea parent. She never particularly liked children, so I think she didn’t know what to do with me or how to relate to me until I was older. I never doubted that she loved me, but there were times when I felt like she loved her job more.
Since I became a star at such a young age, it wasn’t until I got older that I realized my mom was different from a lot of other moms. I never dwelled on it, though, especially because by the time I truly realized it, she was sick and all I cared about was making sure she knew how much I loved her. It was during her illness that we got to know each other as people, and developed a closer relationship.
“What about when you were acting?” Mae asks. It’s not the follow-up question I expected. I thought she’d ask more about my mom or maybe comment on how unorthodox our non-Christmases were.
“I spent one or two Christmases with my work family,” I tell her. “Tim Sagger, the guy who played my uncle onOur Thorny Family, flew me and my TV siblings and their families out to his house in Vancouver one Christmas. That was the first year I really understood what Christmascouldbe. What it was like for a lot of families. I—”
I start to say he invited me again the next year, but Mom didn’t want me to go because it was all I had talked about for months afterward. She took that Christmas off for the first time in three years and we spent a week in Niagara Falls checking out all the attractions on Clifton Hill. She even snuck a pathetic-looking Charlie Brown Christmas tree into our hotel room, and we decorated it with pinecones and colorful balled up brochures.
“You…?” Mae prompts.
I shake my head, attempting to scatter my thoughts. My mind is flooding with memories, many of which I’ve carefully avoided the last few years as a form of self-preservation.
Mae touches my arm, drawing my attention to her. The sympathy in her eyes makes me want to cry. Or scream. Or run out of here and go back to my original plan of hiding in my rental house for the next month. “I made those mince pies Fiona sent me the recipe for. I played around with them, as I always do, and came up with a few variations. Would you like to sample them and help me decide which to offer in the café?”
She’s giving me an out. Most people poke and prod, think that as a celebrity I owe them something. I owe them my story, all the good, the bad, and the ugly things that have happened to me since birth. A quick web search will tell you what my mother’s name was and what she did for a living. There are even paparazzi pictures out there from that Christmas I spent with my show family in Vancouver, as well as the next Christmas with my mom in Niagara Falls.
So many people feel entitled to the nitty-gritty details of a celebrity’s life. Not Mae, though. There’s something about her that makes me think I’ll end up confiding in her at some point, but not right now. Right now I want to stuff my feelings back down where they usually live and bury them under some mince tarts.
“That would be great,” I say. “Thank you.”
Mae leaves her nutcrackers scattered on the table where we’ve been unboxing them and directs me to a two-seater table close to the kitchen. She disappears and returns a few minutes later with a tray of steaming mugs of tea and mince tarts. She tells me about some of the town’s many Christmas festivities—“there area lot, and since you’re not a big fan of Christmas, I feel like I should warn you”—as we drink our tea and nibble on pastries.
“So the ones with the orange zest in the crust and filling are your favorite?” she confirms once we’ve tried all the different tarts. “I think those are the ones I’ll go with.” Someone behind me catches her attention and her eyes brighten, face breaking into a smile as she waves. Before I can turn to see who it is, Liam is standing beside me.
“Ladies.” His eyes linger on me for a moment before he turns to Mae, who rises to hug him. I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment as he embraces her in return. Mae places a noisy kiss on his cheek as she releases him and gives him an affectionate pat on the other. The entire exchange is over in seconds, but for some reason it feels like it played out in slow motion. I have a strange, fleeting thought that I wish one or both of them would hug me like that. I’ve enjoyed my time with Mae, but our earlier conversation and the memories it brought up have left me feeling a bit tender.
“I should get going,” I say, pulling my scarf from the sleeve of my jacket and winding it around my neck.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Liam says, dark brows pulling together slightly. If possible, he looks even better than he did yesterday. His cheeks are ruddy from the cold, and either the wind has tousled his hair or he’s been running his hands through it.
“I’m not, I promise. I only intended to pop in for a visit, but I’ve been here for…” I glance at my watch and my eyes go wide. “Wow. Almost two hours.”
