Page 15 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
“Positively radiant,” Martha says.
“And how wonderful that they grew into their noses,” Mae adds.
Brow creased, I touch my nose and look toward Taran, who seems unfazed.
“Good to see you, Aunt Cindy,” Taran says, stepping up and hugging her. “You look so well.”
“We spent the morning watching YouTube videos of some naughty Thunder from Down Under men dressed in Santa costumes, thrusting their way around Santa’s workshop. Had no idea it was a Bawhovier tradition, but it sure did put some color in my cheeks.”
Ew.
Gross.
“Niall was her favorite,” Mae says with a nudging elbow to Aunt Cindy.
Niall?
And look at that, I’m witness to more color in Aunt Cindy’s cheeks. Not how I envisioned starting off the visit.
“Hi, Aunt Cindy,” I say, moving in and giving her a hug. “Glad you, uh, found Niall.”
Not sure why I said that. I say stupid things when I’m uncomfortable.
“Thank you, dear. He was quite charming.”
Charmingis a nice way to describe a thrusting man in a G-string.
“Here, let me help you in,” Taran says. “We have dinner ready on the table.”
“How lovely.” She looks between us, a shaky smile on her lips. “I’m so lucky to have you two in my life, dropping everything to help me out.”
Ugh, when she says things like that, it makes me feel guilty for being annoyed by the horrendously cold weather, grumpy neighbor, and winking doll room.
She then turns to Martha and Mae. “Thank you, ladies, for your hospitality. Once I’m better, I’ll be bringing over brownies.”
“Not if you put those black beans in them,” Martha says with a point of her finger. “I know you’re a health nut, but black beans shouldn’t be in the same sentence as the word brownie.”
Mae nods with a snort. “I second that.”
And then together they take off toward their house, the yellow one diagonally across from Aunt Cindy’s.
The entire cul-de-sac is like a pastel Christmas palette: pink, green, light green, red, and yellow. It somehow all goes together. And with poinsettias adorning each porch and entryway, the houses have a brand of cohesiveness that sayshey, we celebrate Christmas,but it’s like we’ve been designed by a single girl who decorates her house for the holidays in her own magical Barbie way.
I shut the door as Taran helps Aunt Cindy to the table.
For someone who broke her hip, she’s moving around pretty well. I know she’s had time to heal in the hospital, but it makes me wonder if she brought us here for any other reason. I wouldn’t put it past her, as Aunt Cindy has been known to pull some fast ones on people.
Once we’re all settled, she removes her cloth napkin from under her silverware—Aunt Cindy always appreciates a well-dressed table—and places it on her lap. “My, this looks delicious.”
She smiles at us and then digs her spoon into her soup, indicating that we’re allowed to do the same.
Thank God, because my body is starting to fail me from lack of nourishment.
Sure, I might have eaten an entire bag of pretzels on the way up here, along with two clementines, a box of Raisinets, and three applesauce-to-go pouches, but it clearly wasn’t enough.
“How was the drive in? Good thing you were able to make it on a nice day when the sun was out and the roads were clear.”
“It was a great drive,” Taran says.
