Page 5 of All in for Christmas

“Sweetheart. Everything’s going to turn out great.

” She pauses then adds emphatically, “Including with you and Dean! Just you wait and see.” I smile despite my tears.

Still the same old Mom. At least that part makes me feel good.

And hey, I should take a page out of her book and Dean’s and start trusting in happy outcomes.

If I believe in my heart that Mom will be okay, then she will be.

I can’t let her down. I need to stay positive for her sake, hold on to that hope.

I pull into my condo building’s parking lot, easing past the raised gate by the guardhouse. Lloyd is the off-duty cop who staffs it. He gives me a wave as I pass by.

I park under the high-rise building in my assigned spot and climb from my SUV, grabbing the package and my compact purse from the glove box.

I brace myself against the cold as I hurry toward the glass enclosure housing the elevator.

Its clear door holds a fake holly wreath, dripping with crimson holly berries and gold-spray-painted pine cones.

A blast of heat envelops me when I step inside and press the elevator button.

A few minutes later, I’m upstairs on the sixth floor entering my condo.

The large plate-glass window in front of me forms an entire wall beyond the adjoining living room and dining area.

Snow slashes sideways against the glass and, below that, in the distance, the twinkling lights of Boone illuminate the foggy darkness.

Boone’s not a huge town, but it’s at least four times the size of Piney Mount, where I am now.

Boone is also where I went to college. My heart pings. Where Dean and I fell in love.

I flip on the recessed lighting in the hall and shut the door behind me.

This place is tiny, but it’s got everything I need.

The galley kitchen to my left is divided from the dining area by a high countertop with two tall stools, and my round dining table’s got two chairs.

I ordered the set online from a Swedish discount shop, like most of my furniture here.

My sofa faces the gas fireplace with a TV screen mounted above it, and I’ve positioned two cozy swivel armchairs to appreciate the view.

Elroy waits expectantly in one of them. I walk over to pet my shaggy white dog.

He’s the size of a large baby doll and sits back on his haunches with his head raised in a frozen position of anticipation. “Hi, Elroy! How was your day?”

When my hand strokes his head he says, “Arf, arf!” and looks up at me with big glass eyes. He’s a robotic dog, but his bark sounds convincingly real.

“Did you take good care of the place?” I pat his head again.

“Arf! Arf!”

“Good boy! Extra treats for you tonight.” I set the package from Dean on the coffee table, giving a voice command to my virtual assistant.

Both lights on either side of the sofa switch on, as does the one by the armchair with its back to the window.

My treadmill’s beside the armchair and angled toward the television.

A single en suite bedroom is accessible from the hall, as is its connected bathroom through a separate door. The master has a similar plate-glass window framing the mountain views, which are gorgeous year-round, but spectacular in autumn. The peaks appear magical now, blanketed in snow.

I survey my tidy space, glad to be home. Winds bluster against the glass with a bone-chilling howl. I’m also glad I don’t have to walk the dog—or pick up after one. Mom gave me Elroy, as somewhat of an apology.

“I’m really sorry I never gave you a real dog when you were a girl, but—considering your busy schedule—maybe this one will suffice for now.”

“He’s perfect!” I hug her and kiss her cheek. “The best pet I could wish for! No housebreaking. No vet bills,” I say to make her feel better.

Tears glisten in her eyes but she still smiles. “Oh Paige.” She laughs warmly. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible not to love,” I tease and hug her harder. “Thanks for the pet!”

That was the Christmas I gave her the diamond earrings.

It was my first year of teaching and I felt flush with my newfound “wealth,” meaning I was finally getting a regular monthly paycheck—even though a portion of it was assigned to paying down college loans.

It helped that I shared the rent with Heather.

Mom had just begun managing her own salon and had a bit of extra earnings that year.

Her new salon sadly didn’t last. After her landlord raised the rent, she had to close her shop.

Not all Mom’s mistakes are of her doing.

Some are plain bad luck. Like the torrent of medical bills that consumed the last of her savings.

That’s why I’m planning to help care for her in her sunset years, and thanks to my school system 403(b) retirement account and other money I’m gradually setting aside, I’ll manage.

Mom’s not much of a planner and has never had steady or high enough income to earn sustainable social security.

But she’ll never need to worry. Although she doesn’t.

Mom’s happy-go-lucky that way. I’ll have her back.

I approach the fireplace mantel and stare at my meager collection of Christmas tree ornaments.

One looks like a snowman, another one is Santa with a sack of toys across his back.

The third’s a prancing reindeer with a bulbous red nose.

I suspect that, this year, Mom will give me another.

I hope she likes the pretty tin earrings I bought her at the holiday market.

They’re long and dangly in deep blues and greens and seem like her style.

I decide not to dwell on her procedure on Wednesday, thinking of the positives instead.

She has a top-notch surgeon and is in very good hands.

Plus, she’s not alone on this journey. I’m right here with her, and this is where I’m going to stay.

If she has another battle ahead of her, we’ll fight it together. We won before and we will again.

My stomach rumbles and I realize how hungry I am. I’ll microwave one of my frozen dinners to have with a glass of wine. The treadmill by the window summons me to be disciplined. But no. Not tonight. I’m worn out . I’ll exercise doubly hard in the morning before meeting Mom for lunch.

A short time later, I’m settled on the sofa in my comfy pajama pants and sweatshirt.

I hold my plate of hot lasagna and take a whopping bite.

Mmm. Cheesy oregano flavors burst onto my tongue along with the taste of tangy tomato sauce and hearty pasta.

I lift my wineglass off the side table and chase my food with a sip of cabernet sauvignon. Delicious.

The package on the coffee table captures my attention.

It was sweet of Dean to insist I bring it home, and his hinting at its specialness does intrigue me.

I set my plate and wineglass down and lean forward, picking up the present.

Part of me feels like I should wait until Christmas, but no.

I’m sure none of the other teachers are waiting, so why be the only one?

I turn over the gift in my lap and unseal the carefully taped flaps, before running my finger beneath the wrapping paper’s seam.

There. It pops loose and I remove the rest of the wrapping, flipping the box back over.

I laugh at its oblong shape. It does look like a shirt box for real.

A memory surfaces of me wearing Dean’s large T-shirt, its fabric swamping me.

I used to sleep in his T-shirts sometimes.

They felt so cozy, like I was being wrapped in him.

Silly to remember that now. Stupid to keep looking back, when what I need to do is look forward to my newly approved Paws and Read program and the very many people it will help.

My volunteers claim they benefit, too; training the dogs allows them to establish a sense of purpose in helping their communities, and most of the pups involved are working dogs, accustomed to needing a job to feel content.

I fit my fingers under the box lid and lift it off, setting it aside. Unfold the white tissue paper. What?

Oh my gosh, this is the cutest! A darling advent calendar nestles in the remaining tissue paper in the box.

I carefully grasp its sides, holding it up.

The roughly sixteen by twenty-two inch length of cloth unfurls before me.

Its quilted, cream-colored material displays a fake wallpaper design and contains a green felt Christmas tree in its center.

Below that, bright red pockets with gold braid trim line up in three rows of eight, numbered one through twenty-four in white stitching.

My heart does a happy dance at the fun surprise.

I never had one of these as a kid, but I always wanted one badly.

I have a vague memory of telling Dean something about that when we dated in college and discussed our childhood Christmases.

Is it possible he remembered once he saw me at the school?

If so, how thoughtful. But then, that’s just like Dean.

Each numbered pocket contains a cloth Christmas tree ornament meant to be attached to the tree.

The pocket labeled with the number twenty-four has two ornaments, though.

One’s of a chubby Santa Claus face with a snowy white beard, a cherry-like nose, and a cute Santa hat, and the other one’s a star.

I assume the star’s supposed to go on last on Christmas Day, since there’s no actual pocket labeled number twenty-five.

The star’s the finishing touch for the top of the tree after Santa comes on the twenty-fourth and the final sign that Christmas is here.