Me:LOL. He can’t call off Christmas.
Amber:He can try
Me:Well, keep me updated. I’ve gotta go bake cookies. TTYL
Amber:Bye, girl & Merry Xmas!
Me:U 2!!!
After quickly showering, brushing my teeth, and getting dressed for the day, I raced down the steps and hurried into thekitchen to find my mom, along with Auntie Marabella, elbow deep in flour as they jammed to the sounds of Fleetwood Mac.
Both women didn’t look a damn day over fifty, and they were still as pretty as ever as they laughed and drank mint juleps while rolling out cookie dough.
God, I loved winter in New Orleans. The weather was perfect and though we didn’t get snow like those in the north, we still celebrated the holiday with true Louisianian flare!
The warmth of the kitchen was alive, not just with the heat of the glowing oven but with the laughter and vitality of two women who knew how to make the simplest moments extraordinary. I grabbed an apron hanging near the pantry and tied it around my waist, ready to jump into the fray.
“Morning, sleepyhead!” Auntie Marabella teased, her Southern drawl as sweet as the sugar dusting the counter. “We were beginning to think you’d skipped out on cookie duty.”
“Not a chance,” I replied with a grin, grabbing a rolling pin. “You know I live for this.”
Mom chuckled, brushing a wisp of flour off her cheek. “Well, you better hurry. These cookies won’t roll themselves, and we’ve still got pralines to make.”
The scent of vanilla and cinnamon mingled with the music, creating a symphony of holiday joy. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” swept through the air, and the three of us couldn’t help but hum along as we worked. Outside, the magnolias gleamed under the faint winter sun, and somewhere down the street, the faint melody of carolers added to the festive vibe.
As I rolled out the dough, Auntie Marabella leaned closer. “So, honey, any plans for New Year’s yet?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, but don’t worry—it’ll be something fabulous.”
The room erupted in laughter, the kind that warmed the soul and filled the cracks left by long, hard years. It was moments likethese that reminded me that the true magic of the season lay not in the gifts under the tree but in the love and laughter shared with those who mattered most.
“C.C.,” Jasper said, walking into the kitchen, snagging a sugar cookie as Auntie Marabella tried and failed to smack his hand. “Ansel’s on the house phone in the drawing room. Told him you were busy, but he said it was important.”
Dusting the flour off my hands, I quickly said, “I was hoping he would call. Maybe he’s going to give me my Christmas present early and tell me he ain’t bringing in Calvin Hall.”
I untied my apron, tossing it over the back of the chair before glancing at Auntie Marabella and Mom. “Save me some dough to roll out, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Don’t keep us waiting too long!” Auntie Marabella called out, her voice tinged with mock sternness as Jasper grinned and stole another cookie.
I brushed past Jasper, rolling my eyes as he winked. The house phone was cradled in the drawing room, its vintage rotary dial a relic from another era. Ansel’s voice greeted me as soon as I lifted the receiver, a familiar mix of calm and urgency that always made me listen closely.
“C.C.,” he started, his tone clipped yet warm. “Sorry to bother you, but we need to talk.”
My breath hardened as I snapped, “You better be calling to tell me you’re not bringing in Calvin Hall because if you are, then I have nothing to say to you, Ansel.”
Ansel sighed deeply on the other end of the line, a sound that carried the weight of something I knew I wasn’t prepared to hear.
I leaned against the antique desk, my fingers gripping the edge. My pulse quickened, but I willed my voice to remain steady. “Spit it out, Ansel. What’s going on?”
There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched so long it made the air around me feel heavier. “C.C., Mitch is out. He just resigned.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “What do you mean, resigned? Who’s gonna be my new crew chief?”
Ansel hesitated before responding, his voice dropping an octave as if to shield the gravity of his words. “Calvin Hall.”
I swallowed hard, the air in the room suddenly too thick to breathe. “Ansel, if this is some kind of sick joke—”
“It’s not, C.C.,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You know Mitch wasn’t happy with how things were running. I guess he thought walking away was the best move. But that leaves me in a tight spot, especially with the accidents lately. I need someone who knows the car inside and out and, honey, there isn’t anyone better than Calvin.”
