Elin Hilderbrand - Winter Street

“My first Christmas in Manhattan,” Kelley says, “I was so poor .”

“Oh boy,” Ava says. She slugs back some wine, then feeds him the next line. “How poor were you, Daddy?”

“Well, I was putting myself through business school at Columbia and living in a university-owned apartment with four roommates.”

“And one disgusting bathroom,” Margaret says. “It was, what, forty years ago? And I can still picture it.”

“You’re getting ahead of me,” Kelley says. “I haven’t met you yet.”

“But you’re about to.”

“But I’m about to, yes,” Kelley says. He sips his wine and cuts into his perfectly cooked roast beef. It’s rosy pink, and the Yorkshire pudding is high and light and flecked with chives. He squints at Margaret. “I still don’t understand that thing about Martha Stewart.”

“What about Martha Stewart?” Jen asks.

“Just tell the story, please,” Margaret says.

“So, anyway, I was too poor to go home to Perrysburg for Christmas, and my brother, Avery, decided at the last minute to go to Key West with Marcus. Which left me alone in the city. All my roommates went home. We had a sad little wreath on our door, but nobody felt like spending money on a tree. So basically I was looking at a Christmasless Christmas. I was looking at Chinese takeout and bad TV.”

“Sad,” Isabelle says.

“It was sad. But-never one to feel sorry for myself-I became determined to feel the holiday spirit, and so I took the crosstown bus to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the Angel Tree.”

Ava nudges Scott. “Ask him what that Angel Tree is.”

“What’s the Angel Tree, Mr. Quinn?” Scott asks.

Kelley says, “It was a twenty-foot tree on display in one of the galleries that was decorated with angel ornaments. The angels were all different sizes and colors, and they were made from different materials-felt, velvet, metal, straw, wood, cloth, stones, feathers, beads, gold, jewels, you name it-hundreds of different angels on this tree. I got to the museum an hour before it closed on Christmas Eve. Back then, the museum was free with a ‘suggested donation’ of five dollars. I had five dollars, but I needed to take the crosstown bus home, so I gave the staff member two dollars, but she said since it was late and it was Christmas Eve, I could go in for free.”

“Lucky you,” Ava says.

“Lucky me,” Kelley says. “But not because of the two dollars. I was lucky because the gallery with the tree was empty, and it was dark except for the lights on the tree, and a song was playing. ‘Silent Night,’ my favorite carol.”

“But the gallery wasn’t really empty, Daddy, was it?” Ava asks.

“No,” Kelley says. “It wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t?” George says. He’s leaning forward over his own loaded dinner plate (he has no problem eating beef, Kelley notices). He’s engrossed in the story; next to him, Mitzi sits with her hands in her lap, her sad little dinner untouched. She has heard this story before, right? He must have told her at some point how he and Margaret met, but probably not in this much detail.

“It wasn’t empty,” Kelley says, “because Margaret was there.”

“I was sitting on a bench, staring at the tree,” Margaret says. “And Kelley asked if it was okay to sit next to me.”

“We didn’t speak,” Kelley says. “Didn’t say a word. We sat and watched the tree and listened to the carols, and then the guard came up and told us the museum was closing. We stood up and walked out together.”

“And your father asked me if I wanted to go get hot chocolate,” Margaret says. “And I said yes.”

“And because I still had five dollars, I had money to pay for it!” Kelley says.

Margaret says, “And that’s why, when Ava brought home her paper angel ornament from Sunday school in second grade, it was so special. In fact, I brought it with me last night.” She pulls the paper angel out of her pocket like a magician.

“Look at that!” Kelley says. “I remember when Ava made this. I can’t believe you still have it!”

“I’ve had it a long, long time,” Margaret says.

“That is a good story,” Isabelle says.

There’s a clatter at the other end of the table. Mitzi has dropped her knife and fork onto her plate.

“Well,” she says, “that was a lovely stroll down memory lane. I’m sure you and Margaret have been scheming about all the possible ways to humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you? ” Kelley says. “That’s rich.”

“Why is she even here? ” Mitzi asks. “She hasn’t come to Nantucket for Christmas in years. She’s too busy and too important to spend the holidays with her own children.”

“Watch it,” Kelley says.

“I can’t believe you’re defending her,” Mitzi says. “I can’t believe you’re letting her sit at this table, in my chair. I can’t believe you let her cook beef, in my kitchen! ”

“Well,” Kelley says, “there are a lot of things I can’t believe either. But at least I am adult enough to play through. I am man enough to have invited you and George here for dinner because you had nowhere else to go.”

“My suspicions all these years were right,” Mitzi says. “You still loved Margaret all the years we were married. You never loved me, and you never cared for Bart.”

“Hey, now,” Patrick says.

George puts a hand on Mitzi’s arm. “Calm down,” he says. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I’m DRINKING! ” Mitzi screams. “Kelley called up Margaret Quinn, the most famous woman in America, so the two of them could make me feel like a common whore, when the fact of the matter is, I’ve been lonely in this marriage for years and years!”

“Mitzi,” Kelley says, “please stop. There are children present.”

The three kids don’t seem interested in Mitzi’s soliloquy, however. Pierce is playing with his new iPad under the table.

Jennifer says, “They’re finished. Boys, you may be excused.”

“Yes,” Mitzi says. “I’d like to be excused as well.” She stands up and sets the fedora back on her head. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

“Powder room,” Kelley says.

Mitzi vanishes.

“Well,” Ava says, “I like the story of the Angel Tree.”

“So do I,” George says. “And, you know, you have a beautiful family. I’ve always thought that.”

“Thank you,” Kelley and Margaret say together.

“Does anyone want seconds?” Margaret asks. “Look at all the beef!”

“Sandwiches tomorrow,” Kevin says.

Kelley eats dinner, trying to savor it. Maybe it was insensitive to tell the Angel Tree story? Okay, yes, it was, but he didn’t tell it to ruin Mitzi’s night. Okay, maybe he did tell it to ruin Mitzi’s night, but doesn’t she deserve it? A little bit?

The food is so delicious, he can’t believe it. He wonders if Margaret made dessert. He noticed that Mrs. Gabler brought a plum pudding. Would Margaret be able to whip up some of her hard sauce to go with it?

His vision of sugar plums is interrupted by Mitzi, who storms back into the dining room. Her face is as red as her hat. She is holding something up in her hand, something shiny. She is shaking it.

“Look what I found next to your bed!” she shouts.

Kelley opens his mouth to protest. Did he or did he not tell her to use the powder room? But did she listen? No. No, she marched right into the master suite. Possibly she was after the remaining inch of her organic hairspray. She doesn’t like to waste anything, and she might have worried that Kelley wouldn’t recycle the bottle properly.

Margaret gasps. Under the table, her hand grabs Kelley’s knee.