12 Days of Mistletoe

5. Elliot

FIVE

elliot

I set my cell on the bathroom counter and adjust the red tie my mother is forcing me to wear for family pictures. We’re cutting the yearly Christmas card photo pretty close this year, but she’ll have her assistant print them and have them all mailed out before the weekend.

Quinten: So… now you don’t think there’s a dog?

I drop my tie to my chest—Mom will just readjust it anyway—and pick up my cell.

Me: I don’t know what to think. I was sure. Then I wasn’t. And then I saw something.

Quinten: So there is a dog.

Me: I think so.

Me: Maybe.

Me: I honestly don’t know at this point.

Quinten: It’s the girl. You always lose it around pretty girls.

Me: You’re full of it.

I don’t lose it around pretty girls. If I did, I wouldn’t have anything left. Because Bonnie Miller was more than a pretty face. And I’m pretty sure her sweet raspberry scent is clinging to me. I can still smell it.

Whatever. So Bonnie is pretty, possibly stunning. I absolutely did not lose it. I held my ground. I stated what I was certain at the time were facts. Now… I’m unsure. Still, I am a man who held it together.

Quinten: You’re grumpy over family pictures.

Oof. He’s not wrong there. Why? Every year Mom lines us up. Every year I’m a grown man posing exactly as his mother requires for a Christmas card that will go out to every soul I’ve ever met, along with several I haven’t. So, why get grumpy? Just get through it. Push through and be finished—for at least the next three hundred and sixty-five days.

And yet, I am on edge about the whole thing.

Me: I am. Who could blame me?

Quinten: I happen to love your mother’s tradition. Last year’s masterpiece of the entire family sitting in a sleigh led by live reindeer is still on my refrigerator.

I will forever regret bringing Q to Gran’s yearly Christmas Eve party. My mother took Q’s address right then and there.

Me: I’m shutting off my phone now. We’re no longer friends.

I lock up my apartment and start toward the Cherry Plum community room, the one Mom decorated immaculately this year—at least I don’t have to go far to be humiliated this Christmas.

“Elliot?” a weathered voice says.

I turn to see my five-foot-two-inch Gran standing at the community room doors. “Gran? What are you doing here?”

“Your mother called me down. She said I had to be here for the Christmas card photoshoot.”

I knit my brows. “Is she forcing you to be in the picture this year?”

Gran chuckles and loops her arm through mine. I am more than a foot taller than my grandmother, so it’s a stretch. “Elliot, your mother doesn’t force me to do anything. I will not be posing on Santa’s lap or in some sleigh. You can count on that. No, she said there was news.”

“News?” I lead Gran along, matching her short, shuffling steps. “I haven’t heard about any news.”

“Well, then it will be a surprise for us both.” She pats my hand and peers up at me. “How are things going with B4?”

“Um.” My brows scrunch again. “Good. I think. We had a nice chat today.” Or a not-so-nice chat. Either way, we chatted. I did not lie to my eighty-five-year-old Gran.

“Oh, lovely.” She grins, then sighs, her smile faltering. “Now, let’s go see what Marlene has planned for us.”

“You raised the woman. No ideas?”

“Oh, please. Marlene was so independent, she insisted on raising herself most of the time. That’s why I had so much fun with you as a child. ”

I laugh and lead Gran into the large room that tenants are able to book for parties and events. Mom stands in the middle of the room in a long red skirt, directing a photographer left and right. My sisters, Jocelyn and Evelyn, each in red, stand in the corner, Evelyn next to her husband Jackson and Jocelyn next to Parker, her long-time boyfriend. Since when are boyfriends allowed in Mom’s photos?

Mom’s gaze skirts to me, and her face lights up. “David!” she calls to my father, who I haven’t spotted yet. “He’s here! Elliot’s here. Mom too.” She squeals. “Girls!” Mom waves all of my family over. She is too excited for this photo—I’m afraid.

“I see no sleigh or Santa, Elliot,” Gran whispers to me. “You may get through this photo yet.”

I run a hand through my hair. Oh, please let her be right.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, leaning down and letting her kiss my cheek.

She wipes her lipstick off my face with the pad of her thumb, then turns to my tie. Readjusting the knot, she pats it against my chest. “Are you ready for this, Elliot?”

I clear my throat. No. Never. “You bet.”

Evelyn, my older sister, winks at me. Jocelyn, my younger sister, gives me a wry smile—one that assures me it’ll all be over soon.

“Hi, Gran,” Evelyn says, passing our overzealous mother and hugging Gran.

Jocelyn follows.

My younger sister slips her arm around my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” No need to mention my issues with B4. I have assured Gran I’m taking care of it. “Parker’s here, eh? Mom likes him so much she changed the Christmas card rule? I thought it was family only.”

Jocelyn sighs, her hand reaching for mine, and as I squeeze hers, I feel something round and solid?—

“Is that a ring?”

“No!” Mom spouts. “You will not ruin this for me, Elliot James.” She huffs while I try to catch a glimpse of my sister’s left hand. “I have been waiting to see your expression for—” She grunts, not bothering to finish her sentence. “Just no.”

Jocelyn folds her arms over her red dress, hiding that left hand, and lifts her brows, letting Mom have her way while I stay in the dark.

“But—”

“No buts, Elliot. Now go stand over there.” Mom waves me to the right. “Okay, let’s set this up. Evelyn and Jackson, you’ll be here.” She moves my sister and her husband off to the left. “Jocelyn and Parker, you’re here.” She lines my other sister up next to her boyfriend, a couple feet away from Evelyn. “Elliot, you stay there, and Dad and I will be here.” She points just past me to where my father already stands. We’re all in a line, in couples … everyone but me.

I’m still trying to look at Jocelyn’s hand when Mom picks up a stack of white poster boards. The grin on her face is ridiculously joyful. The back side is blank, and I am still at a loss.

“Mom,” my mother says to Gran, “can you see everyone?”

“Yes, Marlene, I can see them all. You’ve lined up your family like prison inmates. Now what?”

“Not inmates.” Mom groans. “And you’re going to love the finishing touch!” She huffs out a breath and flips through the stack of poster boards. “We’ll do Jocelyn and Parker first since Elliot ruined that surprise.”

“I—” I protest. But no one is listening to me.

My sisters do not look surprised in the least. They are in on this year’s Christmas card scheme. I’m not exactly shocked. Mom often informs my sisters for their opinion and help while I’m told what to wear and where to stand at the last possible second. It’s how I’ve gotten roped into more than one unfortunate event. If I know too soon, I attempt to talk my mother out of her big ideas.

Mom hands Jocelyn and Parker a card to hold—it’s long, covering both their torsos—and they each hold a corner with one hand. It’s decorated with Christmas trees and gifts, and it reads in big, bold letters:

Engaged

“Wait,” I say, my eyes on Jocelyn. “For real?” I wondered with the rock I felt on Jocelyn’s hand, but I couldn’t be sure.

My little sister nods. “Last week. I wanted to call you, but Mom wouldn’t let me. She wanted to surprise you.”

Mom claps, her smile wide.

I take two steps over to my sister, arms out?—

Mom’s cheering stops. “Not yet, Elliot. Back in your spot,” Mom says to me.

Parker gives me an apologetic smile, and to his credit, he doesn’t go running. He knows that Marlene Eaton and her big ideas are going to be a part of his life from this point on, and he’s still in. I knew I liked that guy.

I don’t exactly love being kept out of the loop, but I’m happy for Jocelyn. And it’s well known that Marlene Eaton loves surprises .

“Congrats,” I say, but I stay in my spot as if my feet were glued to the ground.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Gran says, blowing Jocelyn a kiss. “Wonderful news.”

“Thanks, Gran,” Jocelyn says, holding out her hand and showing off that new engagement ring.

I wouldn’t mind being allowed to congratulate my sister, but I can wait for Mom to finish her spiel.

“Now, Evelyn.” Mom’s cheeks are pink and her grin is semi-delirious. She hands Evelyn and Jackson their decked-out poster board, and I read:

Expecting

“What?” I can no longer stay on my imaginary placeholder. Not even for Mom. I stride over to my sister and her husband. “A baby? Really?”

My sister is going to be a mother. Okay—I am shocked this time.

Evelyn’s eyes well with tears. “I’m two months along.” Her eyes skirt to just behind us, and she whispers, “Mom wouldn’t let me say anything. Sorry! The minute I told her and Jocelyn, she got this idea and I was forced into silence.”

Again I am on the outside looking in, but I ignore the fact because my sister is going to have a baby. I hug her tight, pulling in Jackson at the side. “I’m—I’m speechless. An uncle—I’m going to be an uncle. And Evelyn, you’re going to be a mother .”

“So wonderful,” Mom says. “Now, Elliot, back in your place.” Mom waves a demanding hand at me. She isn’t finished. “Go on.”

“Mom,” Evelyn moans.

“I’m happy for you both,” I say before obediently returning to my spot.

Gran holds a hand to her heart, and just like with Jocelyn, she blows Evelyn a kiss. “Wonderful. Just wonderful, darling.”

“Okay,” Mom says. “We’ll be holding these for our Christmas card!”

Holding poster boards. This is nothing. Once, I had to feed live squirrels while wearing a Santa hat and elf shoes.

Red tie and a poster board in my hand? No problem.

“Here’s mine and Dad’s.” Mom’s brows lift as she pulls out yet another decorated board, handing it to my father to hold.

Europe

“Mom!” Evelyn cries. “You booked it? I never thought you would. You’re going?”

Mom nods her head yes and beams. “Yes, Milan!”

“That’s wonderful, Mom,” Jocelyn says.

My mother’s eyes fall to me. I’ve been telling them to go for years. They deserve it.

“Am I allowed to move?” I ask.

A giddy laugh slips through Mom’s lips. “Yes. Yes, move! Come over here!”

I jog the few steps over to give her and Dad a hug. My sisters join in and so do their partners. Yes, my mother drives me a little crazy, but I love her. I appreciate her. And I’m so glad they’re going and doing this. So much good news all at once.

“Do I have a card?” I say after we’ve hugged so much that Mom has to take a palm to each and every one of our outfits, smoothing out the wrinkles we’ve created.

“Of course,” she says. “Here’s yours.” Her smile is curt—nothing like with Evelyn’s, Jocelyn’s, or her own card.

She hands it to me face down, and I have to lift it to read what it says.

Elliot

“Elliot,” I say, reading the thing again and again in my head.

“Yes, see, we’re all E’s. Expecting, engaged, Europe, and Elliot. We match.”

Of course we match. We’ve been matching since the day Marlene Elliot married David Eaton.

“ Awe—some .” I get the word out in only two syllables. I even attempt to smile.

“It matches,” she says again.

Evelyn’s jaw tightens and her gaze darts from me to Mom. “Surely there’s another E word out there for Elliot. Maybe he’s got something in the works that you don’t know about,” Evelyn says. “Maybe you should have asked him.”

I appreciate her help, but the only thing I’ve worked on other than lesson plans is my apartment project. The one Gran hasn’t agreed to yet. I don’t know an E word for that up-in-the-air situation.

For one minute I’d love to make something up. I’d love to tell my mother that she doesn’t know everything about me and that I have surprises happening in my life too.

“Maybe he’s dating someone?—”

“He isn’t,” Mom says. “Not since?— ”

“She wouldn’t be allowed in the Christmas photo anyway,” Dad says, and I’m grateful he interrupted her.

Mom huffs as if we’ve all ruined her big surprise. “If Elliot were dating someone, I’d let her be in the Christmas card. I’d bend the rules—because I love my son and I’m not an awful person pointing out how little he has going for him this minute.”

“Mom!” Jocelyn cries.

“No one said awful , Mother,” Evelyn moans. “And you are sort of insinuating that he doesn’t have anything going for him.”

“Elliot’s a great teacher,” Jocelyn tells her.

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that? He’s as handsome as that Ryan So-And-So from the movies you girls are always talking about. But that isn’t news.”

“Neither is just his name,” Jocelyn says.

“It might have been nice to ask him,” Evelyn says, patting Mom on the shoulder and breaking the fact gently.

The unsaid fact, though, is this: What would I have told her, had she actually taken the time to ask?

Mom grunts, breathing out through her nose. “Fine. Well, Elliot. Are you dating anyone?” Mom’s overly annoyed gaze flicks up to me, and like the parting of the Red Sea, my family makes way for that gaze, no more defending Elliot. All eyes follow her flick and land on me.

Who has time to date?

Not me.

So, the easy answer is no. And yet my name—not my news—blinks at me as if in flashing lights on that poster board. Everyone is looking at it. Every human I know will eventually be looking at it. It’s like a headstone for all to mourn rather than a poster with celebratory news. Here lies Elliot, mostly likely to die unaccomplished and alone.

I think for only a second before filling the air with a bunch of bull.

“I am dating,” I say. “She said she might stop by to meet you all. But she’s busy. Very busy. I’m not sure she’ll make it.”

“Wait,” Mom says, making her way through my parting family. “You’re dating again, Elliot?”

“I am.”

Gran grins, and for the first time—you know, in the thirty seconds since I started this ruse—I am punched with guilt.

“When will she get here?” Mom says. “Any chance she’s in red? We’re all in red. She can be on the Christmas card if she’s in red.” She glances around at my sisters. “I’m not unreasonable.”

“I told you, she said she’d try to stop by. I don’t think she’ll make it. Even if she does, I didn’t think she could be in the photo, remember? I’m sure she’s not in red.”

“What’s her name?” Jocelyn asks.

Her name? Right. Most women have them. And most boyfriends know them. “Um—” I am going through the alphabet, attempting to recall any names that might work for the fairer sex when?—

Strawberry-blonde hair, red sweater, and long legs walk into the room—like a miraculous Christmas gift sent down from above.

And I look into the eyes of B4, Bonnie Miller .