Sophie Love - Christmas Forever

“Did she now?” Emily asked, pleased to see how well the two were bonding.

Even Patricia looked quietly pleased.

“In that case,” Daniel said, “Nana Patty ought to have the first go.”

“Oh goodness, no,” Patricia said, shaking her hands at the saw Daniel was offering her.

“Yes!” Chantelle cried, jumping up and down, clapping her hands. “Please Nana Patty! It’s really fun. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Patricia hesitated, then finally relented. “Oh, all right then. If you insist.”

She took the saw from Daniel and glared at the tree like it was an enemy. Daniel bent down and moved the large branches out of her way, exposing the truck where she was to cut. Patricia squatted, clearly in an attempt to not let her knee touch the muddy ground. Emily couldn’t help but laugh to herself. Her mom looked like a frog!

Patricia reached in and sawed across the trunk of the tree. She squealed, elated, and looked back at the family watching on.

“You’re right,” she said to Chantelle. “That is fun!”

Emily chuckled aloud. Just a few days in Maine with her family and Patricia had eaten smores and chopped wood!

Terry arrived then with his tractor and put the tree in the back.

“All aboard,” he said.

They all got into the back with the tree, but Patricia didn’t move. She looked stunned.

“You want me to ride in that?”

Chantelle bounced up and down on the wooden bench. “It’s fun! You have to trust me!”

“Do I have a choice?” Patricia asked.

Chantelle shook her head, still grinning wickedly.

Patricia sighed and climbed into the tractor trailer.

Once everyone was settled, Terry drove them back to their car and helped Daniel secure the very large tree onto the roof of his truck. Then they paid him and left the farm, all feeling exhilarated.

“I can’t wait to decorate it,” Chantelle said. “Will you help Nana Patty?”

Patricia nodded. “Yes, but then I must leave after that. Okay?”

Chantelle pouted, looking a little sad. “If you have too. But I’ve loved you being here. Will you come back for Christmas?”

Emily watched her mom in the rear-view mirror. She couldn’t even recall the last time they’d spent Christmas together. Even when she was living in New York with Ben, they’d tended to spend Christmas with his family rather than Patricia. It wasn’t like the woman ever particularly got into the Christmas spirit and it seemed like a dumb idea as far as Emily was concerned to put themselves through the misery. She wondered whether the softer side of Patricia she’d seen over the last few days could extend that far.

“Maybe,” she said, evasively. “I think your mother and father might have a lot on at that point in time. The baby will be born by then, won’t she?”

“Even better!” Chantelle pressed. “She needs to meet her Nana Patty.”

Clearly realizing that she’d come up against Patricia’s stubborn side, Chantelle offered another suggestion. “Or if not Christmas, maybe New Years? We have a party at the inn. You can come to that, right?”

Patricia remained evasive in her answers. “We will have to see,” was all she’d commit to.

Chantelle looked over at Emily next. “Do you think Papa Roy might want to come for Christmas?” she asked.

Emily felt tense. It was even less likely her father would be able to come with his health deteriorating.

“We can ask,” Emily told her, and the conversation died down to silence.

They reached the inn and Daniel parked up. Stu, Clyde and Evan were home, so they came out to help carry the tree inside. Then, together, the four men heaved it up into its position in the foyer.

“That’s one big tree,” Clyde said, whistling. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and looked down at Chantelle. “How are you going to get the angel on the top? Even on my shoulders I don’t think you’ll make it.”

To iterate his point, he swept a giggling Chantelle up into his strong arms and plonked her on his shoulders. He began parading her around. Emily noticed Patricia wincing. Probably worrying about the hard wooden floor beneath them, a mother’s instinct that even Patricia possessed!

“I’ll go get the ladder,” Stu said, heading off in the direction of the garage.

Evan and Clyde helped, too, by carrying all the boxes of decorations out of the garage. Then the three men headed off into town to watch the game and have a drink after their long day working on the island, leaving just the family to decorate.

“We need to put on Christmas music,” Emily said, heading over to the reception desk where the sound system was set up. She found an old Christmas Crooners CD and put it on. Frank Sinatra’s voice filled the hall.

“And,” Daniel added. “We need to have hot chocolates!”

Chantelle nodded enthusiastically, and they all hurried into the kitchen. Daniel boiled milk on the stove, while Chantelle searched the pantry for leftover marshmallows. She returned with not only marshmallows, but also rainbow sprinkles and whipped cream.

“Excellent,” Daniel said, as he poured them each a mug of hot chocolate, then topped them with cream, marshmallows and sprinkles.

Emily had never seen Patricia consume anything like that in her life! The smores had been a sight enough to behold, but this was a whole other thing. It was like Patricia had been transformed by the spirit of Christmas, at last, after sixty-odd years of resistance!

They headed back into the hall, where the giant Christmas tree stood waiting to be decorated, and got to work. Of course, Chantelle took the lead.

“We need lights over here, Daddy,” she said to Daniel, pointing at a bare patch. “And Nana Patty, those reindeer need to be on this branch.”

Emily leaned in to her mom and said, “Chantelle has a very specific vision.”

Patricia laughed. “Yes, I can tell. She has an eye for detail. She’ll make a wonderful interior designer one day.”

Emily could certainly picture it. Either that, or some kind of events organizer. She touched her bump, wondering what kind of personality Baby Charlotte would have, whether she’d be similar to her sister – a leader, organizer, socializer, performer – or whether she’d have a different way about her. Perhaps she’d take after Emily herself, and be less inclined towards the limelight, more content to read a book and take the dogs on quiet, countryside walks. Or perhaps she’d be like her father, practical and hardworking, prone to moments of broodiness. Or, as Emily tended to think, she might take after the aunt for which she was named; sweet, imaginative, inquisitive, calm. She couldn’t wait to find out.

“Nana Patty,” Chantelle said then, breaking through Emily’s reverie. “What was mommy like when she was my age?”

Patricia was busy stretching a large piece of sparkly tinsel across the branches, weaving it through them so it wouldn’t fall.

“At eight-years-old? Well let me think. Her hair was very curly then, much more than it is now. She used to wear these beautiful plaid dresses. Do you remember darling?”

Emily cast her mind back in time. The plaid dress and itchy tights combo her mom always dressed her up in had been a source of numerous fights. Emily had hated the way she wasn’t allowed to run or climb trees because Patricia didn’t want her to mess up her clothes.

“I remember,” she replied.

Patricia continued. “Her father was teaching her piano then as well. She was quite good at it but lost interest.”

Emily wished now that she hadn’t. That she’d continued to sit beside her dad on that battered piano stool, learning songs from musicals and old classics. Those were precious times and she hadn’t made the most of them. She hadn’t known that she needed to.