“It’s a treat to have you girls home again,” Mom said as they settled at the kitchen table. “I hate that you’re both so far away. You especially.”
“Me?” Funny how when you came back home you picked up the same old habits. Like eye-rolling.
“Yes, you. You feel so out of reach all the way out on the East Coast. And texting isn’t the same as being together in person,” Mom added before Darby could point out that she texted regularly. Dutifully. “You’re so talented. I’m sure you could get a job here in Washington.”
“Frosting that particular cookie a little thick, aren’t you, Mom?”
Her mother looked puzzled. “Why would you say that?”
Darby gazed at the dark liquid in her mug, looking for the right words. She couldn’t find them, so she settled for, “Erika’s the one you think is talented.”
Mom looked both surprised and disgusted. “You’re both talented, and I’m proud of each of you.”
Darby nodded, took a sip of her coffee. There wasn’t much she could say to that.
Mom did some gazing of her own, giving her mug a thoughtful turn. “Some people have favorites when it comes to their children. I’ve never understood that.”
“You could have fooled me,” Darby blurted, making her mother’s brows come together in an angryV. Okay, finding the right words was overrated. “Erika never got in trouble like I did,” she added.
Mom actually laughed. “You are twenty-eight years old, and we’re just now having this conversation? Erika never drove me nuts like you did. I swear, I think every time she saw you getting in trouble, she said to herself, ‘Okay, I’m not going to do that.’” Mom shook her head, took another sip from her mug. “You definitely gave me the most gray hairs, especially in high school. You were such a stinker. But I loved you like crazy. I always have and I always will.”
“Yeah?” Darby challenged. “If we were all drowning, who would you save?”
“All three of you. Your father would have to fend for himself.” Mom smiled at her and reached across the table to lay a hand on her arm. “Never doubt my love for you, because that would be a waste of time.”
Other than consoling each other after Grandma’s death, it was the most intimate conversation they’d had in a long time, and Darby felt tears coming to her eyes. She saw the same teary sparkle in her mother’s.
This time she did find the right words. “Thanks, Mom.”
Lunch consisted of BLTs, which both Dad and Cole gobbled up before going outside to tackle hanging Christmaslights. Mom had cleaning to do before the big open house the next day, and Darby offered to help her.
“Great. How about dusting?” Mom suggested.
One of the most boring jobs ever. “Okay,” Darby said, and sighed inwardly.
Her mother loved her knickknacks, and when it came to holiday decorations, she went crazy. She had a nativity set composed of a cast of thousands—Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus, of course, and the wise men, but also shepherds, sheep, cows, oxen. And camels. You couldn’t forget the camels. Then there were the little ceramic angels and Santas and elves and gnomes perched on every available surface—from the mantel to the buffet. Add to all that the furniture, including all the dining table chairs, and dusting would keep her busy for the afternoon.
It did. Then, after dinner, and after Erika returned home, it was time to haul out the many boxes of ornaments and decorate the tree—a giant monster Dad and Cole had brought home from the local tree lot.
Getting the thing into the living room required a team effort. It took a swing at Erika with one of its branches coming through the door—You’ll never take me alive—and tried to KO the mechanical Santa standing in the hallway, tipping it over and starting it ho-ho-ho-ing. Darby was able to duck just before Killer Tree could whack her in the face.
“Careful!” Mom scolded the men.
It was her favorite word when it came to tree trimming.She seasoned every other sentence with it as they worked, Jackal supervising. “Careful with those gold glass beads. They’re antiques.” As if they didn’t know this. She told them every year. “Be careful with those pine cone lights. Grandma got those in Germany when she was living there . . . And be careful with that ornament. It’s from the fifties.”
“I know, Mom,” Darby said after about the fifth careful.
“I know you know. Just... be careful.”
And Darby was. Then she picked up the one ornament she should have never even gone near. The fragile blown glass ballerina was an early present to Erika from their grandmother, back when Erika had been taking ballet lessons. It was beautiful and exquisite, full of sentimental value.
Darby watched in horror as it slipped from her fingers and landed on the hardwood floor. The ballerina’s head went one way, and her legs went dancing off the other. A delicately extended arm waved good-bye to the rest of her.
Erika turned at the sound, saw the dead ballerina, and gasped. “You broke her!”
Darby had just added the cherry to the hate cupcake. “I’m sorry,” she said.Sorrycould be such a flimsy word.
“Whoa, she’s toast,” said Cole. “Jack, get away from that.” He shooed Jackal away as the dog came up to inspect the damage.
