Page 61 of Maybe Some Other Time

“ That’s what you don’t understand?” Gretchen pulled the pie plate closer to her and stole Thelma’s fork out of her hand. “Come on, we’re getting ahead of ourselves on the baby thing.”

“Don’t you want kids? You’re getting so old. ”

That was a powerful pout on Thelma’s face. My only saving grace against what’s going on with her face. Thelma had struck a nerve. Intentionally.

“Thirty’s the new twenty,” Gretchen told her with a sniff. “You’ll find out in about a year when you’re also thirty.”

“Or will I be ninety?”

“Stop.”

When the cookies were removed from the oven and left to cool, Thelma found Gretchen in her living room, where she connected her phone to a pair of speakers by the television. Her cat was nowhere in sight as she loaded a playlist on her phone and extended a hand to Thelma.

“What’s this?” she asked, as familiar notes began to play.

“A little something that made me think of you.”

“ Elvis? ”

Gretchen took her by the hand and brought her into the middle of the living room, where they had just enough room to dance like they had in Vegas. “Oh, good,” Gretchen said as they swayed together, “you know Elvis.”

“Do you think I was comatose in the ‘50s?”

“No, I just don’t…. know what year was what…”

“‘Blue Christmas’ was the number one Christmas song last Christmas.” Thelma giggled, her arms slung around Gretchen’s shoulders. “I just said Christmas three times.”

“You sure did.”

They spun in a tight circle, Thelma yelping in surprise when Gretchen attempted to dip her toward the couch. Luckily, the furniture was there to catch their mutual fall.

“You know this is a sad song, right?” Thelma said while they sat side by side on the floor. The King was still crooning, but the song was already fading away into “Mistletoe and Holly” by Frank Sinatra. “It’s about being apart on Christmas!”

“Must be why it was the top song last Christmas.”

“To me it was!”

“I heard both of these songs my whole life. My grandma loved them.”

“Stop! You’re making me feel ancient!”

“This is what I’ve got to go by,” Gretchen said. “Granny’s pies and whispering Merry Christmas.”

Thelma let that wash over her. Hearing the “old” songs took her back to the last Christmas she lived through, with Robbie tearing apart his presents and Debbie looking slightly confused about what she was supposed to do.

Bill had to help her while I wore a fluffy house robe and brought drinks out to everyone.

Then they drove to her mother’s house for Christmas dinner, all while Sandy rang them sometime before they left.

Bill had answered and bellowed that one of Santa’s elves wanted to talk to me.

Megan texted her when they were ready to head out for dinner. At the last second, Thelma asked if Gretchen could come, despite her girlfriend’s protestations. That summoned Megan to Gretchen’s door, her hand waving through the window.

“Eeek! You guys finally got back together?” she shrieked the moment Thelma answered. “Sweet! Of course you should come, Gretch!”

“I don’t want to intrude,” she said. “It’s your guys’ family dinner.”

“You’re basically family. Come on!”

“What would your dad say?”

Thelma stepped in for that one. “I’m sure the reservation can accommodate one more person. It’s a total of four, not seven!”

When Robbie caught wind of what was going on, he merely let out one of his grunts that basically meant whatever you guys want, you get.

“Thanks, Rob.” Gretchen slapped her hand on his arm, much to his chagrin. “Son.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Watch your mouth,” Thelma said.

“Yeah, watch your mouth, sport. I could be your stepmom someday.”

Gretchen ducked out of Robbie’s way as he attempted to smack her hand off him.

Megan swept in and begged Gretchen to come check something out down by the mailboxes.

That was Thelma’s cue to approach her son and say, “Guess your little blowup at Gretchen the other day worked. We’ve been talking things out. ”

“Yeah, well, just keep the kissing to a minimum. It’s gross.”

Thelma raised her eyebrows.

“Not because you’re two girls! Because you’re my mom!”

She rolled her eyes as he apologized. “Come on,” she said, motioning him inside Gretchen’s house. “I’m going to get some cookies to take with us. For the restaurant staff.”

“Is that something they did in the ‘50s?” Megan asked, following them in.

“Not necessarily,” Thelma said over her shoulder. “It’s just the polite thing to do! These people are serving us food on Christmas! Christmas! ”

“I don’t think they see it that way,” Gretchen informed her as Thelma dug around for a Ziploc bag. “If anything, they’re stoked to cook for people celebrating a holiday that they don’t.”

“You don’t know that for sure!”

“Man…” Megan folded over one of Gretchen’s kitchen chairs. “I’m soooo hungry. I’m going to eat a whole thing of shrimp fried rice by myself.”

“That sounds lovely!”

“Okay, Thel, you can have some too.”

Megan and Gretchen went out ahead of them, the latter tossing Thelma the housekeys as Megan went to start the SUV.

As Thelma finished piling up the cookies on a red platter, thinking how much nicer they would look on her Scarlet Fiesta chop plate that she had treated herself to that Christmas season, Robbie helped himself to one.

“How is it?” Thelma asked her son. “It’s the same recipe I’ve had in my head since 1942. Before the rationing really took hold on Christmas dinner.”

He broke it in half and handed some to her. “Just like old times,” he said.

It was one of the warmest things he had ever said to her. The finest present he could give me. As they both took bites out of their cookie halves, Robbie escorted his mother out of the house, where she turned off most of the lights and locked Gretchen’s front door.

Soon, she was the only one not in the car.

She glanced up at the cloudy sky and took in the Los Angeles ambiance on a cool Christmas day. “Happy holidays,” she said to the angels looking down at her. “Here’s to many more.”

As Megan honked the horn at her, Thelma jogged to the backseat of the SUV and joined Gretchen. In unison, they all reminded her to buckle her seatbelt as Megan attempted to back out into the street.

Indeed, some things never changed. And the oldest habits? Always the hardest to break.