Page 169 of How My Neighbour Stole Christmas
Cole
And now it was time for what Storee dreaded most of all,
to perform on the stage in front of the small and the tall.
With eyes staring at her, the Christmas bells will ring,
and she will have to sing and sing and sing, sing, sing.
The more she thought about it, the more she grew sick.
“I must stop this at once, and I must do it quick.”
“Should we practice one moretime?” Max asks, staring up at me from the couch.
“No,” I answer. “I think we’re ready. Plus, I don’t want to wear out my voice.”
“Smart.” Max taps the side of his head and packs up his guitar. “Before we head to the Caroling Café, I want to run something by you.”
“What?”
When he finishes packing up his guitar, he sets it to the side, scoops up his duffel bag and looks at me. “I got us outfits.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Dude, I’m not going up there in fucking lederhosen again.”
“It’s not lederhosen.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out two buffalo plaid shirts. One is red and green. The other is red, green, and white.
“What’s the catch?” I ask, staring at the normal shirts.
“No catch. I think it would be nice if we matched up there. But there’s one more thing.”
“What is it?”
He lets out a deep sigh, reaches into his bag, and pulls out a picture frame. He doesn’t show me what’s inside. Instead, he says, “Before you say no, I don’t want you to think this is for anything or anyone but you.”
He turns the frame around. It’s displaying a picture of my parents and me in front of Evergreen Farm when I was maybe ten. We’re all wearing matching flannel shirts like the ones Max purchased.
“Shit,” I mutter as I grab the picture and take it all in. Mom’s holding my hand, and Dad has one hand on my shoulder while his other arm is around Mom. Mom’s wearing a Santa hat while Dad sports a silly white beard. I have a jingle bell around my neck and am wearing a huge smile.
“I think it would be a nice tribute,” he says, pulling out a Santa hat, white beard…and jingle bell necklace. “I’ll wear the beard, man. You can wear the hat and the necklace.”
My eyes never leave the photo. “Mom was so sick the night before we took this picture. She had food poisoning, and Dad was trying to convince her that we could push getting a tree to another day, but she wouldn’t allow it. She knew how excited I was, so she put on a smile and made it through the day. I didn’t know until years later that she wasn’t feeling good.”
“She was a really good mom.” Max places his hand on my shoulder. “She wore that Santa hat almost year-round.”
I chuckle. “The only reason she could was because we lived here. I think people would have thought she was crazy anywhere else.”
“Probably.” He squeezes my shoulder. “So, what do you say? You up for it? If not, then we can stick to what we’re wearing right now—”
“No, I want to do it.” I want to do this for them. I’ve pushed away these memories, my Christmas traditions, for so long that this…this feels right. This feels like something Ineedto do in order to preserve their memory, to have them with me on this new chapter in my life. I turn to my friend. “Thank you for this. I didn’t even consider a tribute, but…but I think I’m ready for this.”
“I think you are too. Look how far you’ve come.” He gestures to the living room. “I never thought you’d get to this point, but here you are celebrating Christmas, involved in the town, and opening yourself up to another person. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, man,” I say as we both stand, and I take the red, green, and white plaid from him and strip out of my current shirt.
“Holy shit,” he says, his eyes falling to my chest. “Dude, what the hell happened—” He pauses, and his expression changes from shocked to knowing in a matter of seconds. “Are those hickeys and scratches from Storee?”
I push my arms through the sleeves and start buttoning up the shirt. “Yeah.”
