Page 111 of Even After This
“I agree,” I say through a stifled yawn.
Harlan pulls my hand up and glances at the top of it. “Nice cheat sheet.”
Smiling at the leftover permanent-markerRon my right hand, I nod. “My new best friend, Scott, helped me out yesterday.”
“The boys have really taken to you.” He opens the bottle of Advil and taps two pills into my palm.
I grin.
“Brunch is ready.” Mama Lee’s voice carries through the house.
Harlan nods at my hand. “Those will loosen up your muscles before I swing you around the dance floor next week.”
“Lord, help me.” With Harlan’s hand on the small of my back,I walk down the hall, muttering to myself, “Do I need to take out more insurance before the thirty-first?”
Entering the food line, I’m sandwiched between Gracie and Scott. As I pick up my plate, I scan the choices. Shoney’s buffet is for amateurs compared to this feast. No wonder Mama Lee stayed home yesterday. Bacon, two kinds of sausage, eggs, three kinds of bread, pancakes, waffles, and an enormous platter of fruit cover every inch of the surface. Syrup, whipped cream, four kinds of jelly, two kinds of buttery spread, orange juice, and coffee with all the fixings fill the end of the counter.
After the feast and the opening of the gifts, there will be an assortment of desserts to consume. I’m now thankful I burned off so many calories skiing down Mount Scary yesterday.
While making selections, I glance at Gracie’s plate. “I’m told I have to pace myself. Are you saving room for the dessert?” I offer her a friendly smile and nod at her lone piece of toast and slices of banana.
Her lips press together in a straight line. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
My eyes follow her as she rounds the smorgasbord to find her seat at the table.
Scott leans into my shoulder. “Don’t mind her. She hasn’t been feeling well.” His preteen voice cracks in the lowered tone.
“Oh, sure.” My eyes grow wide when I see what he’s holding. “Good news is you’re consuming enough to cover her.”
His plate is adorned with an obscene amount of meat covered in a pile of bread products. I gape as he adds a whipped cream smiley face. “The trick is, you put the fruit on top so Mom thinks you’re eating healthy.” He dumps strawberry pieces over the precarious dome of food.
“Son, did you just say something about a kiss that’s stealthy?” Hank reaches over Scott’s shoulder to grab a roll while the rest of us stifle guffaws and giggles.
“No, sir.” Scott’s recovery to answer the question is impressive.
But more shocking than Hank’s words, Scott eventually sitsdown and devours his entire plate. Then he goes back for seconds.
After brunch, we congregate around the tree and begin the festivities. Inside our stockings are small gifts. Mine holds a beautiful nail kit and some stationery made by a local artist.
With each passing tradition and gift, I manage deep breaths. Memories of precious Christmases past pop up, and I shove them down along with the tears threatening to spill. Staying emotionally and mentally present in this room requires focused energy.
Harlan sits next to me on the couch and offers constant affection and support, reaching to push my hair behind my ear or rubbing his hand on my knee.
Various gifts of sweaters, purses, books, and boots for the adults. Video games, hunting gear, and clothes for the kids.
Before I left Dallas, I shipped Texas-themed care packages for each family. The gift baskets are a hit with their bluebonnet napkins, giant pecans, hot sauce, chocolate oil rigs, and Texas-shaped chunks of soap.
“So much Texas.” Clark’s words are muffled around an armadillo praline.
I wink. “Wait until you see my boots at the square dance.”
Hank leans toward Harlan. “What did she say about her pants?”
My face flushes, and I bug out my eyes at Harlan. Thank goodness the group is too occupied with the Lone Star State paraphernalia to hear Hank’s latest listening faux pas.
After all the gifts are opened, Harlan catches my eye with a mischievous grin.
“What?” I ask.
