A Christmas Delight

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Maisie

I feel hot with humiliation as I hold the shapewear between my fingers. All my childhood memories rush back to me as I stare at the ridiculous piece of flesh-colored fabric. It’s one of those things that flattens your tummy and shapes your hips, if you don’t mind not breathing and having colic for the day. My heart slams against my chest, matching the rhythm of the Christmas lights on the plastic tree near the window.

Frank, my stepdad, looks the other way, pretending not to see the ridiculous gift. His daughter Liz and her husband Dave side-eye each other, their lips pinched, their secondhand embarrassment etched into their features. I bet they can’t believe I got a worse gift than them. Their three kids, however, point at the shapewear, laughing.

“What’s that, Aunt Maisie?” the oldest asks. “A big sock?”

“It doesn’t look like a sock,” the middle one adds.

The third one returns to playing with her new toys, uninterested in the whole thing.

“It’s to help Maisie fit into her jeans,” my mom says, sending another heat wave through my cheeks. She smiles at me, obviously proud of herself. “Do you like it, sweetie?”

“Well…”

“You said you needed them,” she quickly adds.

She isn’t exactly wrong. Just a few weeks ago when we went shopping together, I was looking at myself in the mirror, displeased with the way my jeans fit around my waist, and mentioned something about needing to have a flatter tummy. “Sure, but—”

“It’s gonna help you hide this.” She reaches over and pinches my love handles. “Do you like it?”

I force a smile, folding the shapewear and putting it back inside the box, hiding it from view. “Yes. Thank you.”

Mom wraps her arm around me and kisses my cheek. “You’re welcome. All right, back to the kitchen for me.”

Frank smiles at her as she stands up and walks away.

I let my gaze hover over the mess of shredded wrapping paper on the floor amidst the toys and the kids playing. Dave and Liz get up from the couch and begin cleaning things up.

I eye the gifts others have received and try to decide if mine truly is the worst. Liz got a self-help book about how to be a good homemaker. Dave got dumbbells, a not-so-subtle message he should start exercising. My stepdad got a wrinkle cream. My mother thinks she’s so smart.

I nod toward Frank. “You got a nice gift.”

He cocks an eyebrow, holding up the cream. “I love your mom, but she gives the worst gifts.”

I grin. “I mean…” I glance down at my gift box. “You wanna trade?”

He laughs. “No. Yours takes the cake. It usually does.”

“I’m a lucky girl.”

“So, how’s your project going?”

“Well, Nina and I may have found a place to open our donut shop.”

“Wow, exciting. Where?”

“It’s about an hour away from here. A cute village named Brindlewood.”

“Never heard of it.”

“We hadn’t, either. But it’s really cute. Surrounded by mountains. Someone’s selling their coffee shop. We’d have to remodel the kitchen, but aside from that, it’s got everything we need.”

Frank smiles wider. “Well, good for you.”

“We don’t know yet if our offer will be accepted.”

“Fingers crossed, then.”

“Yes. Fingers crossed.”

Just thinking about this project with my best friend Nina makes my heart pound. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if our offer was rejected, but I’d be devastated, honestly. It’s perfect. Everything I’ve ever dreamed of. And as a bonus, it’s an hour away. I love my family, but taking a little bit of distance, having a little more independence, would feel amazing.

Another part of me is dreading our offer will be accepted. Because then this thing will become real.

When it’s time to eat, we gather around the table. Everything looks and smells delicious, but I’m careful with what I put on my plate. My mom watches me from the corner of her eye, so I only choose the foods she eats, nothing more. Once I’m back at my apartment, I’ll splurge on dessert, or maybe I’ll stop by McDonalds on the way home. But right now, I want to avoid potential conflict or passive aggressive remarks. There’s no need to ruin this passable Christmas.

I don’t remember loving Christmas as a kid. I must have, at some point, before Mom began giving me the cold stares and slaps on the hand for helping myself with Christmas desserts, cookies, or chocolates. Those were for the guests, not for me. I grew up with the idea that curves were a curse, a devil that needed to be fought against. The notion that sugar was poison, something you could and would be addicted to if you let yourself eat it, had been hammered into my head. Carbs were optional, not a real thing your body needed to thrive. Sweet treats would turn you into a dinosaur—my mother’s words. As a kid, I thought turning into a dino would actually be pretty cool. I’d have been a T-rex for sure. Took me a while to understand what she really meant.

Imagine her shock when I said I wanted to go to culinary school.

Imagine her double shock when I said I really liked making pastries.

Imagine her triple shock when I said I wanted to open a donut shop.

Her biggest argument to prevent me from doing any of this always was, “Boys won’t like you if you’re chubby.”

Well, joke’s on her. Even at my lowest weight, boys were never that interested in me. I suppose the joke is also on me, but oh well. I’m not interested in having a boyfriend. I’m not what you’d call girlfriend material.

“Doris,” Frank says. “Did you know that Maisie may have found a place for her donut shop?”

Mom’s face instantly falls.

“Well, I don’t know yet,” I say. “That might not work.”

Frank smiles. “I’m sure things will work out. I can’t wait to visit that little village. What did you say it was called?”

“Brindlewood,” I say, eyeing Mom, who’s dragging her food around her plate with a fork.

“Where is that exactly?” Mom asks.

“About an hour north of here.”

“Why so far away?”

I shrug. “It’s not that far.”

“That’s a very big risk. I don’t know if you’re mature enough to take on the life of an entrepreneur.”

“I’m not doing it alone. Nina and I make a good team.”

Mom shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “You girls really don’t know what you’re getting into. And if that doesn’t work, what will you do then?”

“Doris,” Frank says, his voice gentle. “Let’s not get upset. She’s ambitious. It’s great.”

“I’m not upset. I just want her to understand that being a business owner takes a lot of work.”

“I know that, Mom.”

And it’d be great if you could believe in me. Of course I don’t say that. I keep it to myself. The kids quickly take over the conversation with something completely unrelated, saving me. Soon the focus isn’t on me anymore, though I can still feel my mom’s steely glances from time to time.

When it’s time for dessert, she doesn’t serve me a piece of cake.