A Small Town Christmas Part 36

Well, she reminded herself, he got excited about the things that mattered. The birth of their children, her first catering job. She still had the chef's ap.r.o.n he bought her for the occasion. And he always got excited when it was time to plan a vacation, throwing himself into the details of the planning. All she had to do was show up and have fun.

If only he would show up when she planned things for the holidays.

"Okay, that's the last of it," Dave announced, setting Joy's box of serving trays on the counter. "What else can I do?"

"Make us both a drink," his wife suggested. "How about a peppermint fizz?" she asked Joy.

"It's my own invention," Dave bragged.

"It's sounds lovely," Joy said, "but I never drink when I'm on duty."

"I'll have one," said Julie, and he brightened and hurried off to where he'd set up a bar in the living room.

"This is going to be wonderful," Julie predicted as Joy began pulling out trays of goodies.

Joy smiled. Even if her Christmas wasn't going to be much, she could at least make someone else's special.

Soon the house was full of guests, all talking and laughing, and raving over Joy's food. As she set out a tray of chocolate-dipped fruit she couldn't help noticing how Julie and her husband shot smiles back and forth across the room. Like Mr. Fezziwig and his wife, she thought.

There was a Mr. Fezziwig inside Bob somewhere, Joy just knew it. But he had no desire to get in touch with his inner Fezziwig. What would Charles d.i.c.kens do?

She had no idea. Bob was the writer.

Joy ran errands on Monday. Her first stop was the drugstore to take advantage of the in-store special and get some therapeutic chocolate. She was strongly tempted to buy one of the really cute rolls of wrapping paper she saw at the end of the Christmas aisle. But she resisted. She had some left from last year stored in the garage, and if Bob decided he wanted Christmas presents he could wrap them in that...if he could find it.

She went to the grocery store next, then stopped at Skeedaddles, her favorite gift shop, and bought a present for her knitting group's December gift exchange.

When she returned home Bob met her at the door, all smiles. "Did you change your mind and do some Christmas shopping?" he asked, pointing to her bags.

"No, I just picked up something for my knitting group's gift exchange. I'm not shopping this year. Remember? I'm not doing Christmas."

Bob frowned. "That again." He plopped on a chair and watched her hang up her coat. "So, what else did you do today?"

She shrugged. "Oh, just this and that. I must say it's rather nice not to have to worry about making the holidays merry."

"Joy, you can't ignore the season," Bob chided sweetly.

"Why not? If you can't share the Christmas spirit with me, there's no sense in doing any of it."

"I share it," he insisted.

You and Ebenezer Scrooge. "I really meant what I said, Bob. I'm not doing anything."

"Well, I don't have time," he said, the sugar coating slipping from his voice.

"Then I guess Christmas will be canceled for lack of interest this year," Joy said with a shrug.

Bob was looking very pouty now. "I have to get back to work," he said, and retreated to his office.

Joy just smiled and put away her groceries. She found a station playing Christmas music on the radio and turned the volume low-no sense letting Bob think she was getting in the mood to do something. Then she started a chicken stir-fry, humming as she worked.

At six she tapped on his office door. "Dinner."

"I need to keep writing," he called. "Go ahead without me. I'll eat later."

He was still pouting. She could hear it in his voice. Very mature, Bob.

"Suit yourself."

She dished up a plate for herself, then settled in front of the TV. Bob stayed away through the entire six o'clock news, and was still holding out when she left for her knitting group. She opened his office door and found him slumped at his desk, staring at the computer monitor. She noticed he had very few words on the screen. Poor Bob. Maybe his muse had left town for the holidays.

"You can come out and eat now. I'm leaving," she told him.

"Very funny," he replied, and started typing. Probably "the quick brown fox jumped over the fence."

She shut the door on him. It wasn't quite so easy to shut the door on the vision of herself all dressed up in an Elvis suit, singing, "Blue Christmas."

The St.i.tch In Time was a small shop in downtown Holly that sold yarn and fancy teas. Debbie, the shop's owner, taught several knitting cla.s.ses, and she hung around after closing on Monday nights to help anyone who came in with a knitting crisis. Some of her students had gone on to form a knitting club, affectionately known as the St.i.tch 'N b.i.t.c.h, and they'd been meeting at the shop every Monday night since August. It hadn't taken long for them to become good friends.

Debbie was still closing out the cash register when Joy walked in, but four other women were already seated around an old, oak table, cups of tea or coffee steaming in front of them. Someone had brought in the first Christmas cookies of the season and the plate sat in the middle of the table-easy access temptation. Well, calories only counted half as much when you ate them with friends.

"Hi, Joy," Debbie greeted her. "How was your Thanksgiving?"

"It was interesting," Joy replied as she set her project bag on the table.

"Sugar, from what I've heard of your family, I'm not surprised," drawled Sharon Benedict, a pretty, transplanted Texan in her late thirties.

Sharon never went anywhere without looking like she was interviewing for a job with Martha Stewart. Tonight she wore a beige turtleneck sweater over caramel-colored slacks. Her brown hair fell in one long, Texas-size wave and was tucked behind her ears to show off small, golden hoops. She was currently working on matching sweaters for her boys and using some of Debbie's most expensive yarn. "Nothing but the best for my boys," she always quipped. It hadn't taken the other women long to figure out that Sharon liked nothing but the best. Period.

"This Thanksgiving was more interesting than usual," Joy said. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on a side table, then sat down and plucked a cookie off the plate.

Kay Carter, another knitter, had inherited children along with her husband and was a stepmother to a twelve-year-old and a fourteen-year-old. Her stepkids loved her and she still had a perfect figure, the best of both worlds, she claimed. Knitting was her second-favorite hobby. Spending money was her first, and she was famous for her after-work bargain hunting. Tonight she wore what looked like a new cashmere sweater-which she probably got for 50 percent off somewhere-dark green to show off her auburn hair and green eyes.

She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at Joy. "So, what made this year so different?"

"I made an important decision Thanksgiving night," Joy informed her. "I'm not doing Christmas."

Every needle stopped, and four faces stared at Joy.

"Would y'all mind repeating that? I have to have misheard you," Sharon said.

"You heard right," Joy said and reached for another cookie to fortify herself. "I love these cookies with the Andes Mint frosting. Who made them?"

"Martha Stewart the Second," Kay said, pointing to Sharon, who smiled and tried to look modest.

"Joy, you can't do nothing," protested Jerri Rodriguez, putting the conversation back on track. She had reached the scarf stage in her battle against cancer, and tonight she was wearing a bright red one. With her round face and her big, brown eyes, she looked to Joy like Betty Boop dressed up as a Gypsy. "What would Dr. Phil say?" she chided.

"He'd say, 'How's that workin' for ya?'" Sharon answered. "I wish I could make it work for me. But I can just imagine what a disaster we'd have if I let Pete and the boys take over." She gave an elaborate shudder.

Carol White, the oldest in the group and a widow, looked shocked. "Joy, you love Christmas. You've been talking about your son coming home for the last two weeks and all the new recipes you want to try. How can you not do Christmas?"

"Um. I've delegated it."

"Delegated!" echoed Sharon. "To who?"

"To Bob."

"Bob!" Sharon made a face. "Honey, have you got elves in your attic? What can he do?"

"Probably nothing," Joy said. She took out the scarf she was knitting for Melia and began a row, trying to act as if it was no big deal that she had just sabotaged her Christmas.

Debbie had finished ringing up her last sale of the evening and came over to join them. "What's going on over here? It sounds like someone had a big announcement." She pulled out a half-finished cable-knit sweater and started on it, needles flying.

"Joy's not doing Christmas," explained Sharon.

"Oh." Debbie looked puzzled. "I never pegged you as one of those people who doesn't want to see a Christmas tree in town square."

"I'm not," Joy said. "I love the holiday, and I think everyone can find something to celebrate in it."

"Everyone but you?" Debbie was still trying to follow.

"She's going on strike," Sharon cracked.

"On strike?" From the expression on Debbie's face, Sharon might just as well have announced that Joy was going to a.s.sa.s.sinate Santa Claus.

"I don't know what else to do," Joy explained. "Over the years my husband has evolved into a Grinch. He whines about my family traditions, balks at the Christmas parties, and basically complains his way through the holidays. I think it's time he saw what his life would be like without all the celebrating he claims to hate."

"Wow," breathed Debbie. "You're my hero."

"But what will your Christmas be like?" protested Jerri.

Jerri's question put Joy back in that holiday desert, surrounded by buzzards picking at empty gift boxes. She shook away the grim vision. "Probably pretty ugly, since I do it all."

"How does that make you any different from any other woman in America?" Sharon quipped.

"It probably doesn't, and that wouldn't matter if only I could get Bob to partic.i.p.ate." Again Joy caught a vision of a Christmas Future where she moved through the holidays increasingly more alone. Joy Robertson, Christmas widow.

"It is an unfair division of labor," Kay pointed out.

"I didn't know that doing loving things for your family was a division of labor," Carol murmured.

"At least if I do everything it gets done right," Sharon said. "But I've got to admit I'm a little tired of having all my work go unappreciated. That man of mine has no idea how I work my fingers to the bone every holiday season," she added with a flick of a well-manicured hand.

"I don't think Bob realizes how much he really enjoys Christmas with all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs," Joy said. Oh, how she hoped she was right! "Anyway, if he sees what it would be like without them then maybe it will cure him of his bad att.i.tude."

Carol said nothing, just shrugged and went on knitting.

"Well, you go, girlfriend," said Sharon. "I think you're absolutely brilliant."

At that moment Joy's neighbor, Laura Fredericks, blew in. She was a tiny blonde who always managed to look great in spite of her perpetual harried state. Tonight she wore her favorite consignment-store leather jacket over jeans and a turtleneck.

"Hi, guys," she said, throwing her bag on the table. A tangle of yarn fell out.

"You look frazzled," Jerri observed.

Laura grimaced. "My usual condition." To Joy she said, "Sorry I couldn't car-pool with you tonight, but I had to work late. Then coming home and making dinner really put me behind. I left Glen a mountain of dishes."

"I think it would be fun to work at the Chamber of Commerce," said Jerri.

"Yeah, right. Today was a bundle of fun. We got back the brochures for the Hollydays Fair and the printer messed up on the dates. They all have to go back." Laura got her cup of tea and fell into her chair with a sigh. "I hate this time of year. Anybody want a used husband? I'll sell mine cheap."

"Not me. I've got enough trouble with the one I've got," said Kay.

"Sounds like you need chocolate therapy," Joy said, and pa.s.sed the plate of cookies to Laura. "Save me and eat that last Andes Mint cookie before I do."

"No, thanks," said Laura.

"I guess I'll have to take it then," Joy decided. "It's the last of its kind. No sense letting it sit lonely on the plate." And this, said her diet conscience, is why Laura is a size Twiggy and you're a size...Never mind, she told it and turned her attention back to Laura. "What happened to you on Thanksgiving?"

"Just the usual invasion of the hungry hordes." Laura shook her head. "I love Glen, but sometimes I really hate him. You know?"

Joy nodded and Sharon said, "You're talkin' my language, darlin'."

Laura held up her tangled mess of yarn. "I need help."

Debbie took the tangle from her hands. "Well, you survived the invasion, and that's the main thing."

"The big turkey's going to do it all again to me on Christmas, I know it," Laura said. She dug in her purse and pulled out a package of gum, popped a piece in her mouth, and started chewing. "And G.o.d knows what he'll dump on me between now and then. Sometimes I wish my husband wasn't so social. He comes up with all these ideas for things to do, invites the whole world over, and then I'm the one who has to make it all happen."

"Y'all could do like Joy and go on strike," suggested Sharon, and Kay giggled.

Laura looked across the table at Joy. "You're going on strike?"

"I never thought of it that way, but I guess I am. I'm not doing anything."

"She's on strike for more appreciation," Sharon explained.

Laura stared at Joy. "I don't get it. How can you not do anything?"

"She can pretend she's a husband," Sharon said. "Do nothing all month, then just show up on Christmas Day. Of course, she'll show up to nothing."

"I hope not," Joy said. The mere thought was enough to drive her to the cookie plate for comfort. Except she'd just eaten the last one.

"Can you live with showing up to nothing?" asked Jerri, channeling Dr. Phil.

"Yes, I can," Joy said boldly. Even as she spoke, she was revisited by the image of a boring, Spartan holiday existence. A barren living room, no tree, no decorations, no goodies, no laughter. What had she done?

She tamped down her rising panic by a.s.suring herself it was going to take that kind of radical bleakness to get through to Bob. And something had to get through to him. It was now or never.