Chapter Nine
Blake
Saturday morning I woke up early, made breakfast, and read the newspaper before I got ready to go pick up Nina. She didn’t know it, but I’d arranged for us to spend the day with my parents. They lived just outside of Waltham, but we didn’t get to see them as often as I’d have liked.
Since they’d retired from teaching at the university, my parents had made it a point to spend several months per year traveling to the far reaches of the globe, exploring countries and cultures that they’d read about. They were active and engaged members of the global community, and as a result, were often not around for quick visits. This year, they’d decided to spend Christmas at home, so at the beginning of December they’d phoned all of the relatives living close by and told them that the party was at the Gaston home this year. I hadn’t seen what they’d done to prepare, so today I planned to bring Nina over and view the preparations.
I tuned the radio to a station playing Christmas carols as I drove over to get Nina. When I pulled into Remy’s driveway, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Ever conscious of the appropriate way to decorate, Remy had covered the outside trees in white lights and red bows. The front fence was draped with a green garland that had a red bow tied to it every two and a half feet. I knew from being married to her that she’d probably spent hours measuring out the exact distance between bows. I sighed as I put the truck in park and walked up to ring the doorbell.
“Hello, Blake,” Remy said, as she opened the door. She was wearing a fuzzy white sweater covering white leggings and had a bright red apron tied around her waist.
“Hey, Remy; you look festive,” I said, as I stepped in out of the cold and stood just inside the door. “Nina ready?”
“She’s upstairs putting her laundry away. I told her she wasn’t setting foot outside of this house until her room was spotless,” Remy said, as she turned toward the kitchen. “Come in and shut the door, will you?”
“Why don’t you just tell her to shut the door to her room and leave it alone, Rem?” I asked. I knew better than to poke the bear, but sometimes I couldn’t help but side with my daughter. Especially when it came to Remy’s obsessive need for absolute order.
“Because I won’t have my daughter living in a room that resembles a pigsty,” she sniffed, as she returned to the task of rolling out cookie dough and carefully cutting perfect shapes from it. “If you want to let her be slovenly at your house, well, that’s your choice, but I want our daughter to develop good habits that will last a lifetime.”
“Jesus Christ, Remy,” I said, shaking my head as I looked at her. “Who the hell shoved the manners stick so far up your ass?”
“Blake! I won’t have you talking to me that way in my home!” she scolded.
“Remy, I’ve known you longer than anyone but your family,” I said, watching her avoid my eyes. “You have always had goals, but you were never such a stuck-up bitch. What happened to you?”
“That’s so rude, Blake!” she shot back. “I’m just saying it like it is! What’s wrong with wanting something better for our daughter? Why is that such a bad thing?”
“It’s not bad; it’s the way you talk about her,” I said. Realizing I wasn’t helping Nina by antagonizing Remy, I changed my approach. “I don’t understand why you have to be so rigid about things. She’s a 16-year-old girl, not a Navy SEAL. Lives don’t depend on her maintaining a sterile bedroom.”
“Blake, our daughter is failing History and close to failing Math,” she said, as she stopped working and stared at me. “She lacks basic discipline and you certainly aren’t encouraging her to develop any!”
“That’s a low blow, lady,” I said angrily. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who showed up at the parent-teacher conference and talked with Ms. Fowler!”
“A hell of a lot of good that did! She’s still failing!”
“Remy, it’s been less than one week! For God’s sake, ease the hell up on the kid!” I shouted, as Nina entered the kitchen holding her overnight bag.
“You think the whole neighborhood can hear you two yet?” she asked in a sarcastic tone as she threw her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. She called over her shoulder, “My room has been cleaned enough that you can eat off the floor if you want to, Mom.”
“You really need to say something to your daughter,” Remy fumed, as I followed Nina out the front door.
“Gonna congratulate her on her well-developed sense of humor,” I said, before slamming the front door. I knew I shouldn’t behave this way in front of Nina, but Remy had a way of bringing out all of my latent adolescent stubbornness.
“So, how’s it going, Punkin?” I asked, as I slid into the truck and gunned the engine.
“Dad, seriously,” she sighed, as she stared out the passenger side window.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t fight with your mom that way, but she annoys me,” I said.
“She annoys everybody,” Nina replied in a flat tone. “I hate living there.”
“I know, kiddo, but despite the fact that she annoys you, your mom really does love you,” I said through gritted teeth. I remembered how suffocated I’d felt the last few months before Remy and I separated, and while I sympathized with Nina, I was also very well aware of the custody agreement we’d worked out during the divorce and the fact that if I tried to buck it, Remy would have cause for filing for sole custody of Nina.
“You could have fooled me,” Nina said tersely.
“All right, well, I can’t change the fact that you have to live with your mom, but I can offer you a respite from her rule,” I said, trying to change the subject and get Nina to lighten up.
“Oh yeah?” she said in a tone that let me know she was totally uninterested in my plan.
“Well, if you don’t want to go visit Gram and Gramps, I can call them and tell them you’ve got other plans,” I said casually.
“Gram and Gramps are back?” Nina said excitedly. “When did they come home? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Yep, they’re back for the holiday, and we’re heading over to help put up the tree,” I said, smiling as Nina reached over and turned up the radio as the Boss belted out “Santa Claus is coming to town! Santa Claus is coming to town!”
We sang every Christmas song that came on the radio as we drove to my parents’ house. Nina rolled her eyes and scolded me when I got the lyrics to “All I Want for Christmas” wrong. I laughed and kept singing as she danced in the passenger seat, full of holiday cheer.
My parents were in the driveway looking up at the roof when we pulled up in front of the house. I followed their gaze and saw my brother, knee-deep in snow, on the roof of the house installing a large sleigh behind 12 reindeer outlined in white lights.
“Have you all lost your mind?” I asked, as I walked up the drive.
“Gram! Gramps!” Nina exclaimed, as she took off in a dead run and threw her arms around my dad, hugging him tightly.
“Punkin Pie! How the heck ya been?” my dad laughed, as he hugged his only granddaughter. “We missed you, kiddo!”
“I missed you, too, Gramps,” Nina said, as he set her down and she turned to hug my mother, declaring, “Gram! You look amazing! So modern!”
“You’re looking pretty good yourself, Punkin!” my mother smiled. Nina was right; she did look amazing. She’d cut her silver hair shorter than I’d ever seen it before, and she was wearing a purple tunic over black leggings and ankle boots. She looked young and hip next to my father, who was wearing his usual button-down oxford with a cardigan and tan khakis.
“Hiya, Dad,” I said, hugging my dad then turning to my mom and kissing her cheek. “What on earth is Brian doing?”
“Your father wanted to put Santa’s sleigh on the roof one more time before we got rid of it, and Brian was the lucky volunteer,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This is the epitome of holiday insanity, so I’m taking my granddaughter inside and making hot chocolate. When you boys are ready to be sane, please come join us.”
“Ellie, it’s not that bad,” my father said.
“All I’m saying is that if my son falls off that roof, he’d better come crying to you, not me,” my mother said firmly, as she put an arm around Nina and led her back into the house.
“She’s right, you know,” I said to my father. “This is totally insane.”
“Yeah, I know, but she wanted it up there just as much as I did,” my father grinned. “She just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Hurry up, slowpoke!” I shouted at my brother. “Mom’s making hot chocolate, and I want to drink it before the marshmallows melt!”
“Then get your lazy ass up here and help me, big brother!” Brian yelled back, as he hammered on the roof.
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” I muttered to my father as I slapped his back. “How was the trip, Dad?”
“It was interesting and exhilarating, but I’m glad to be home with you guys for the holidays,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “How are things down at the fire station?”
“Same old, same old,” I said, as we watched Brian nimbly walk across the roof and descend the ladder. He crossed the drive and wrapped me in a bear hug as he slapped my back.
“Good to see you, bro!”
“You too,” I said, pounding his back and then tousling his hair. “I miss being able to pick on my little brother.”
“You’ll get plenty of opportunities,” he grinned, as he folded up the ladder and stored it back in the garage. “I’m gonna stick around for a month or two before I go back to Brazil.”
“Hot chocolate is ready, boys!” my mother called, as she cracked the garage door and then quickly closed it again.
Inside, Nina and my mother had laid out a spread of cookies, fruitcake, and hot chocolate on the kitchen counter. I helped myself to some sweets and then joined the rest in the family room, where my mother had turned on carols and told us it was now our job to decorate the bare tree that stood towering over the room. I looked over at Nina and noticed that her mood had shifted toward happy and relaxed as she pulled ornaments out of a box, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She worried me.
We spent the afternoon decorating the Christmas tree while singing carols and reminiscing about holidays past until the sun sank below the horizon, leaving only a trace of pink and purple smudged in the night sky. When it came time to place the angel at the top of the tree, Brian hoisted his niece on his shoulders, despite my mother’s protest that someone was going to get hurt. Nina carefully placed the angel on the very top of the tree before Brian walked over to the couch and dumped her off into the soft, fluffy cushions.
My father dimmed the lights and then flipped the switch, and the tree blazed in all its Christmas glory. We clapped and cheered our hard work as my mother called us for supper. Sitting around the table eating soup and fresh, homemade bread my mother had made as we talked about the past year and planned the one to come, I felt more at home than I had in a long time. I loved the fact that my parents were so active, but I missed them when they were gone.
“So, what do you say, Blake?” my father asked.
“Huh?” I replied.
“Dad! You’re not listening!” Nina scolded. “You always tell me I need to pay attention, but you’re not!”
“I was just thinking about something,” I said, trying to cover for myself.
“I said, are you and Nina coming to Christmas Eve dinner?” my father repeated.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m working. But if Remy okays it, we’ll be here Christmas Day.”
“Mom’s going to go to Nana and Papa’s,” Nina said. “She asked if I want to go, but I told her I wanted to stay here, so she’ll be fine with it.”
“Are you sure about that, Punkin?” I asked warily. Nina had a bad habit of saying what she wanted when it wasn’t quite true.
“Check with her when you drop me off,” she shrugged.
“Well, good!” my mother declared. “I’m happy that I’ll have my whole family here at the same time!”
After supper, my mother packed up bags of cookies and food for Nina and I before we headed home. Brian carried the bags out to my truck before I could protest that there was more food than we could eat in a month, let alone the week between now and Christmas. I watched Nina hug my parents tightly before we headed out to the truck.
“See you next week!” Nina shouted through her open window as I backed out of the driveway. She rolled up the window and cranked the radio up saying, “Now, don’t screw up the lyrics this time, Dad!”
“I’ll try not to,” I promised, as I smiled and pointed the truck towards home.