The Christmas Pic

28. Jo

CHAPTER 28

JO

Keywords: photography, studio, portraits.

As Ava and I sit in the quiet of my living room the next day, I watch her squint at her laptop screen. She taps away at the keyboard with a list of important phrases to tailor our marketing to. Her focus is admirable, but I notice the tell-tale signs of strain–a slight furrow in her brow and a frequent rub of her temples. We've spent the better part of the day deep-diving into SEO, a topic she handles like second nature. To me, it’s dense as fog.

"We should take a break," I suggest as Ava massages her forehead.

Her eyes glimmer gratefully. "That sounds good, actually."

I think for a moment, aiming to find an activity that can refresh us, somewhere people aren’t immersed in discussing backlinks and keywords. "Wanna go to Sweet Foundations? They’ve got the best hot chocolate in town, and a truly impressive array of gingerbread house-making supplies. It’s like a paint and sip but… way better.” Off her apprehensive face, I add, “It’s good Christmas PR, too, a squeaky clean establishment.”

"That sounds perfect then," she says, closing her laptop with a click .

The air at Sweet Foundations is filled with the scent of holiday spices and icing, packed with confectionary architects working on holiday creations. Leah Betteny, the shop’s gregarious owner and de facto mother figure of every foundling that moves to Harmony Springs, bounds over to welcome us.

“Oh, Jolene! Wonderful to see you! And who might this be?” she beams at Ava.

“Ava. Your place is… incredible.” She gestures around the shop, whose walls are stacked to the ceiling with bins of candy embellishments for the gingerbread houses.

Leah holds her hand over her heart. “You’re too kind. Come in, come in. Make yourselves at home and make yourselves a home!”

She tours us around the space, pointing out root beer flavored shingles and every type of chocolate door imaginable, then hands us each an empty cookie tin.

“Fill these up with your accessories. The slabs of gingerbread are already on the tables! I’ll be working on my gingerbread menorah over there if you have any questions.”

Soon we’ve filled our tins to the brim with candy embellishments and made our way to the table. Ava lays out several large sheets of sugar glass.

“What’s the vision here?” I inquire.

“Minimalist. Modern.”

I snort. “What is it they say about glass houses?”

“I think mine can withstand being pelted with a few gumdrops,” she retorts.

Ava lines up the sugar glass wall panels atop her gingerbread base. "It’s all about the light, you should know that," Ava replies, not looking up from her work. "If I were to build my own house, it'd be something like this. Lots of light, open spaces... not much on the inside to hold me down. "

I watch her steadily pipe frosting to connect the walls. “Don’t you own, like, a million properties?”

“I’ve got a real estate portfolio, yes,” she laughs. “But honestly, I travel so much for work that there’s not anywhere I truly feel at home. When I’m not on the road, I sleep at the Gramsta offices more than my own place.”

“That sounds dramatic, except I suspect your Gramsta office is nicer than most people’s apartments.”

Ava gets a dreamy twinkle in her eye. “I do have a steam shower. That’s the base of my hierarchy of needs.”

“As long as your needs are being met,” I tell her dryly. I begin to slice up a sheet of gingerbread and lay my makeshift logs atop each other, caulked by chocolate frosting. We spend a few minutes working on our homes in silence.

“A log cabin?” she asks.

“Simple. Quiet. Not much on the inside to hold me down.”

“Hmm,” she muses. “It’s looking like you forgot to cut out windows.”

“I did indeed.”

Her glass house has at least seven walls in place and she’s just finished hand-tiling a jacuzzi bathtub with Red Hots.

“You may have hired a better architect than I did,” I concede.

She smiles. “I think your log cabin that lets no light in will taste better, though.”

“That’s very generous of you to say.”

Ava cuts an arch into the top of double white chocolate doors for her entryway. “Is it nice living in the backhouse, with your mom right there? You seem so close.”

I bite back a laugh because I can tell she’s serious. And then I check myself because my family is close, and even though they drive me insane, we love each other and we show up when it matters. It’s sobering to think that Ava doesn’t have that at all.

“It has its moments,” I say. “It was the right thing for me to do in this season of my life. But do I look forward to having my own home one day, on some actual property, with some kids and dogs and cats and chickens and cows running around? 100%.”

She’s cutting out tiny panes of glass to fit into the arched double doors, but I see her concentration falter when I mention kids.

"I've never been drawn to parenthood,” she says. “I don't want to put the burden of my existence on another person."

I nod, not wanting to say the wrong thing when she’s opening up in a deeper way.

“But sometimes I consider the way I’ve mentored Max, how protective I am of them, and I think maybe I wouldn’t be such a bad mom.”

As she clips out windows, one of the glass panes flies across the table at me. I pick it up and help her press it into the final spot on the chocolate door.

“I think the fact that you’re worried about messing up your kids is actually a good sign. And it’s obvious to anyone who sees you and Max together that they don’t only care for you, they feel safe with you.”

She’s concentrating heavily now on placing the doors upright, but when I sneak a peek at her face, I catch a glimmer of wistful pride.

“I face a lot of people every day, but I live my personal life in relative solitude, aside from Max,” she states, not moving her eyes away from her foyer construction. “It’s hard to trust.”

I get it. After seeing how she’s had to hide, even in Harmony Springs, I sympathize. It’s like having to be in the closet for every aspect of her life, not just her sexuality.

“It’s been… new for me. Witnessing your life in this small town,” she continues. “Everyone knowing each other. Caring too much .”

“Do you think you’d enjoy living here?” I blurt out, immediately regretting the implications. “I don’t mean, like, not about–I’m curious if that newness is a negative or a positive. ”

“It’s not good or bad. Just different. A new way of being that I hadn’t considered.” Ava’s eyes heat up. “Sometimes newness is… really good.”

I flush.

Leah comes out to check on us, complimenting our creations. Ava’s gingerbread estate next to my own is equivalent to comparing the Mona Lisa with the moon emoji. But Leah is equally admiring of both, because that is her nature.

“I’ll grab you two a base so you can drive them home,” Leah says, bustling off to the back.

Ava glances at her delicate sugar mansion, then over at my sturdy, old-fashioned cabin. “Are these gonna keep? What do we do with them?”

“I've got plenty of room in my fridge," I assure her.

"Funny way to ask me back to your place, but sure.” She glances around the room quickly, checking if anyone caught her comment. No one did, but the moment stings.

Leah walks back out. “And what is a gingerbread home without a gingerbread family?!” she says, adding little people to our properties.

We slide our houses onto the base, neighbors until the cookies get stale or we demolish them with our appetites.

When we get to the backhouse, I make space in my fridge for our gingerbread creations. But of course, Ava’s mansion takes up all the room, so I leave my cabin out on the counter.

“Mine can weather the unrefrigerated storm; yours can have a cool spot to spend the night.”

“Can I have a cool spot to spend the night?” She bites her bottom lip, and my mind goes blank. Keywords: taste, lick, devour.