Anna Schmidt - Mistletoe Reunion

“What should I get for Dad?” Izzy asked when they were finally close to ordering.

“Turkey wrap with brown mustard, no mayo, tomato, lettuce, no sprouts,” Norah said as she gathered bottled drinks from the cooler. “Pasta salad if they have it. No chips unless they’re baked.” She glanced up to find Izzy grinning at her, her eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“How do you know that? I mean the details?”

Norah shrugged. “Lucky guess,” she murmured.

“Right,” Isabella said softly and smiled as she repeated the order verbatim and multiplied it by three.

The cashier rang up the sale and Isabella peeled off two twenties from the bills Tom had given her, then waited for change.

Tom was waiting for them at the assigned spot. “Well, here’s the deal,” he reported. “The airport is bringing in buses to take people to hotels. I was able to book us one room—two queen beds,” he assured Norah.

“But what about the party in Normal? The grands?” Isabella protested.

“Honey, be thankful your father was able to get us a room.” One room—with two beds, but still one room.

“We do have another option—staying here,” Tom said as if he’d read her mind. “It might be something we want to consider.”

“All night?” Isabella exclaimed. “Now let’s see—on the one hand we have a reserved hotel room with TV, room service and our own bathroom and on the other we could bunk down here. Gee, tough one, Dad.”

“Staying here means we are here when they get a runway cleared. The hotel room I got is at least twenty-five miles away and in this weather getting here from there—”

“—could take hours,” Norah finished his thought, then focused her attention on Isabella when she caught the look in Tom’s eyes. When they’d been together they had laughed about the way they used to finish each other’s sentences on a regular basis. Is the next step that we start to look alike? Tom had teased. Norah focused on Izzy. “Staying here gives us the best possible chance for getting to the grands,” she explained.

Izzy rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Bella, attitude,” Tom warned. “Hey, it’ll be an adventure—like camping.”

Isabella gave him the wide-eyed grin of a six-year-old. “Oh goody, can we build a campfire and tell ghost stories and make s’mores?”

Tom laughed and wrapped his arm around her. “Come on. Let’s see if we can snag a couple of those cots.” He nodded to the area where people had lined up as skycaps wheeled in carts with folding cots loaded on top.

“Maybe Izzy should wait here with me,” Norah said, eyeing the desperation of the stranded mob.

“You don’t think I’m going into that, do you?” Tom said, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

“Well, how else—”

“Come on, Bella.”

Norah watched as Tom steered Izzy to a corner on the outskirts of the crowd. She saw him approach a man and his wife—each with a cot in tow. A conversation ensued and next thing Norah knew Tom and Izzy were coming her way each hauling a cot.

“But, how—” Norah stuttered.

“We made a trade,” Izzy told her. “Dad gave them the hotel room. They handed over the cots. No problem.” She looked adoringly at Tom as if the man had suddenly sprouted a cape and tights.

As Norah followed them down the concourse, she saw Tom nod pleasantly to gate agents and other passengers as if spending the night at the Denver airport was no big deal. At the airline’s private lounge he punched in a code and opened the door, holding it for Izzy to wrangle her cot inside and then waiting for Norah. “Over here,” he added, spotting a pair of chairs in the corner.

“Do you think they’ll unload the luggage?” Norah asked as Tom and Izzy set up the cots and she distributed the lunch.

“Not likely,” Tom replied, following her glance toward an older woman at the desk who was explaining that her husband’s medications were packed in their checked luggage.

Norah watched the woman leave the desk as she bit into her sandwich.

“Hey,” Tom said softly, “leave the social working to the airport staff, okay?”

You can’t save the world, Norah, he had once shouted at her when they were arguing. But he wasn’t shouting now. His tone was gentle and sympathetic and his eyes told her that he understood that she really wanted to help.

“This looks great,” Tom said, turning his attention to the sandwich. “And you remembered the mustard,” he said.

“Mom remembered,” Isabella replied before Norah could.

“Did you remember your father’s change?” Norah asked.

Isabella dug one hand into the pocket of her jeans. “Oh yeah. Here.” She handed him a wad of crushed bills and some coins. “That’s it,” she said when Tom stared at the money. “Airport food equals inflated prices.”

“I wasn’t counting,” her dad said with a chuckle. “I was just wondering how this fist-sized wad fit into the pocket of those jeans. What did you do? Have Mom sew them on you this morning?”

“Dad! They aren’t that tight.”

“They’re pretty tight,” Norah agreed. “You might wish you’d worn something more comfortable before this journey ends.” She pulled at the leg of her own stretchy trousers to illustrate her point.

“Mom dresses like an old lady these days,” Izzy explained to Tom as if Norah had suddenly disappeared.

Now it was Norah’s turn to protest. “Isabella Wallace!”

“Well, it’s true. I’ve been thinking of nominating you for that show where they make you throw out your entire wardrobe and go shopping for a new one.”

“My clothes are fine—serviceable. Comfortable.”

Izzy took another bite of her sandwich and continued to study her mother. “On that show they completely change your hair and makeup too. They can make the person look ten years younger.”

Norah saw Tom mask a smile by taking a swallow of his bottled water.

“Do something. She’s your daughter too.”

Tom cleared his throat and spoke to Izzy while looking at Norah. “I think your mother looks—fine, Bella. Especially the way she’s wearing her hair now—and the color—”

Norah’s hand flew to her hair. “What about the color? This is my normal color. I do not—”

Tom and Isabella both burst out laughing and Norah smothered a grin. “So this is the way it’s to be,” she said sternly. “The two of you ganging up on poor defenseless me?”

Tom gave a hoot of laughter. “Defenseless? That’ll be the day.” He turned to Isabella. “One time there was this neighborhood bully. Your mother was—what, Norah? Nine—ten?”

“I was Izzy’s age,” Norah replied.

“But smaller than you. The bully must have easily outweighed her by fifty pounds or more. What was that kid’s name, Norah?”

“Oscar,” Norah said.

“So Oscar starts picking on this new kid and your mom had had it. She marched up to him, stood toe to toe between him and the new kid and told Oscar that—you finish it,” Tom said, looking at Norah.

“You’re telling it.”

“Said what?” Isabella demanded.

Her mother sighed. “I simply informed the young man that if his name was a problem for him he should change it.”

“Or words to that effect,” Tom said.

“And what did Oscar do?”

“He asked me how he could change it when it was the one he was born with.”

Tom took up the story. “She asked him what name he would choose for himself.”

“And?” Izzy asked, glancing from one to the other. “What name?”

“Bruno!” Tom and Norah said in unison then chuckled.

Izzy took obvious delight in seeing them sharing a memory, looking at each other with no reservation, then Norah looked down and away. “And that’s when you fell in love with Mom, right?”