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“Of course she does,” I deadpan. “My mom’s motto is ‘go big or go home.’”
Beth looks amused. “I thought it was ‘why put off for tomorrow what you can do today?’”
“She’s a woman of many mottos. She pulls them out like Santa pulls out candy canes.”
“That’s why I love her.” There’s a smile in Beth’s voice. “Is her surgery scheduled?”
“Yeah, for tomorrow. She wanted to do it sooner rather than later to be further on her way to recovery by Christmas.”
“Smart. If I know Elena, she’ll be up and at ’em in no time.”
“That’s her plan.”
Beth slides her mammoth planner out of her purse. “In the meantime, I’ll put together a meal train for her.”
“A what train?”
“Meal train.” Beth glances up from where she’s jotting herself a note. “You know, it’s like a sign-up for people to take a day and then drop off food for your mom so she doesn’t have to worry about cooking when she’s recovering.”
I sit back in my chair. “That’s really thoughtful.”
Beth shrugs. “Elena would do the same thing for anyone around town. It’s no big deal.”
“Thanks for thinking of it, anyway. I’ll be around and can cook, but I have to go back to Nashburg a couple of times, like I said.”
“No prob.” Beth jots down a note, not looking at me, and then she flips to a new page at the back of her planner. “Now, I was thinking we should come up with the locations we want to send people to. From there, we can draft the clues and figure out what we need to have prepared for them to do at each stop.”
“We’re in charge of activities too?”
Beth nods. “Sure are.”
I massage my neck. “This is a huge undertaking.”
Beth scoots her chair back around the table. “It is, but we can do it. It’ll be fun, don’t you think?”
“I guess.”
“Where’s your Christmas spirit, Gabe?”
“I left it in Tennessee.”
Beth frowns. “Sorry. I kinda keep forgetting that this is probably the last place you want to be and the last thing you want to be doing.”
I shake my head. Sure, it’s not ideal that I’m not in Nashburg, prepping for my concerts and the Christmas special I’m starring in that’ll be broadcast on network TV. But I don’t mind being here with Beth. I like Dasher Valley. I like her.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say.
Beth tips her chin up and studies me. “Is this about your dad?”
She says it kindly, but I still feel a deep-level pain in my chest at the mention of my father. I almost forgot that Beth knows about him, about how he left my mom and me on December fifteenth—right in the hubbub of the holiday festivities—when I was seven.
About how for the next three years I asked Santa to bring him back, and I truly thought he would.
“Still haven’t come around to the holiday, huh?” Beth asks gently.
“Guess not.”
My mom doubled down on Christmas after my dad left. She did everything in her power to make it magical and happy for me. Even when money was tight, she did it up big. We cut down our own tree and drank cocoa while we decorated it. We went ice skating and sledding. We decked out every room in the small townhouse Mom rented. We did all the Christmas things. And I appreciated it. I did. But I found myself having to put on a good face to show my mom I valued her effort when all I really wanted to do was survive through another season. I used to have warring feelings on Christmas Eve. I wanted Santa to bring my dad home, and I was excited that it might finally be the year for my Christmas wish to be granted. But at the same time, I dreaded being let down. Again.
