Duck the Halls(100)

Michael had brought a lot of candles—the LED faux candles we’d taken to using since the boys began walking and grabbing things—and when we finished scattering them all around the room their flickering and the dancing flames of the fire made our makeshift dining table look pretty nice after all.

“Who wants to say grace?” Michael asked.

“God bless us, every one!” Jamie shouted.

“I think that covers the situation,” Grandfather said. “I’ll take some turkey.”

“Gwandbewwy sauce,” Jamie said, holding out his plate.

Everyone was so busy passing dishes and waving plates that I was the only one who noticed that someone else had knocked on the door. Rather softly. I was closest, so I went over and opened the door.

Mother. Carrying a small dish.

“Hello, dear,” she said.

“Mother,” I said. “What a surprise.”

Behind me all conversation came to a stop.

“Gamma!” Jamie exclaimed.

“Gamma want turkey?” Josh asked.

“Such a nice idea,” Mother said. “Tomorrow’s dinners will be so big and formal. A nice little intimate gathering tonight is just the thing.”

“A lot less intimate than they were planning,” Grandfather said. “With all of us barging in.”

“Monty!” Caroline said, swatting him for real.

“I assume Meg and Michael were keeping their plans close to the vest to avoid having too big a crowd,” Mother said. “And no doubt would have invited all of us had the unfortunate events of the last day or two not distracted them from getting everything ready as they planned.”

Did she really believe that, or was she just giving us a graceful out?

“We should have realized that if we’d reached out, all of you would have been happy to pitch in,” I said loud. “As you have without even being asked. Just one question, Mother: How did you find out where and when we were having this?”

“I have my methods, dear.” She smiled very sweetly, and I knew it was no use. She’d never tell.

“Rob, fetch another chair,” I said.

“Roger,” he said, and raced out.

“I was planning to surprise you with a small, plain turkey at my dinner,” she said. “Will you still want to eat turkey tomorrow?”

“I can always eat turkey,” I said.

“I could eat a whole turkey, Gamma,” Josh said.

“Me, too,” Jamie added.

“I brought tomato aspic,” Mother said handing me the bowl. “I know it’s always been one of your favorites.”

As I nudged dishes aside to find a place for the aspic, Mother stood for a few moments, surveying the apartment. Back when Michael and I had been living there, she had disapproved of it so strongly that she’d showered us with paint and fabric samples and so many decorating books that we’d taken to using stacks of them for our end table and coffee table. I never had managed to convince her that no amount of decorating would make the place any bigger. She reached out toward one of the boys’ posters—one that was particularly crooked—and I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her to leave it alone; I liked it that way.

But she only smoothed down the tape to make sure it was securely fastened and nodded with approval before sitting down at what had been Rob’s place. Rob raced back in with another folding chair and found a place to put it where he could set his plate atop the duck cage.

“My, this is nice.” Mother surveyed the table with an equally approving eye. “Perhaps I should go retro next year. A very traditional holiday dinner.”

I saw Michael’s mother frown slightly, and her face took on a familiar competitive look. Dare I hope that next year would see a duel over who could serve not only the most elaborate but the most traditional dinner?

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Mother said.

She lifted her wineglass—well, it had been Rob’s wineglass, but it was hers now. We all followed suit, even the boys, who were drinking cranberry juice in their stemmed glasses.

“Merry Christmas to all,” Josh exclaimed.

“And to all a good night,” Jamie finished.