“icky thing,” meaning the cheap red scarf that she didn’t know I had bought for our mother the previous winter. The new scarf did look better. My mother wrapped it around her neck and smiled at its softness, rubbing a knotted edge against her cheek.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” A moment later, she looked at me and winked. “I’ll keep the old one, too, I think. You know. For around the house.”
Charlie gave everybody gift cards, and apologies, and promises that he would get started on present-buying a little earlier next year. I, of course, gave my mother a hat, which she also put on right away, negating any sophistication that Elise’s scarf had brought her. My mother gave Miles a teether shaped like a tractor. She gave Elise and Charlie coupons for several nights of babysitting, along with a little calendar for the coming year that showed when she did and didn’t have to be in the dorm. I got the same little calendar, a plate of Christmas cookies, and a hand-sized white box with writing across the top: “THESE ARE COPIES. I AM NOT ACTUALLY GIVING IT TO YOU.”
I opened the box and found a car key attached to a chain with a silver four-leaf clover.
“I wish I could give you the van,” she said, wincing as if embarrassed. “But I still need it from time to time. You can have it whenever I’m on duty. Just check my calendar. You don’t even have to ask.”
I clapped. I stood up and skipped around the table to hug her. I wanted her to understand that she shouldn’t be embarrassed, that it was a wonderful gift. She’d started letting me borrow the van from time to time, and even that had been great. But it would be even better to not have to ask, to just walk over to the parking lot of her dorm, with my own key, and go where I needed to go. My father had talked about getting me a car when I went away to grad school, but I wasn’t sure he would go through with it. He occasionally still grumbled about Jimmy’s car, about his insurance premiums going up.
“Thank you,” I said, my face pressed into her new, soft scarf. “I’ll be careful with it.” I did not say it, but I thought: because I know it is the only thing, besides the couch, that you own.
“Okay, good,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I was worried you would think I was cheap.” I stepped away, and she glanced at her watch. “Oh! It’s almost three!” She cleared her throat and grinned. “I have a surprise,” she said.
“Cherries flambé?” Elise, who was nursing Miles, her coat draped over her chest, pretended to look under the table. “Geez, Mom. I was impressed with the lasagna. Mine never tastes that good, and I don’t need a key to get to our oven.”
“It is as good,” Charlie said, his voice neutral.
Elise waved him off and looked at my mother. “Back to dessert. What is it?”
My mother shook her head. “I didn’t make dessert. But the surprise has to do with dessert.” She looked at each of us, one at a time, as if she hoped that someone would guess. When it became clear that no one could, she relented with a sigh. “Mr. Wansing called me this morning.”
Only Charlie looked blank. He’d come to the neighborhood pie party just once, two Christmases ago, the first he’d spent with our family, and the last before my parents’ divorce.
“He’s still alive?” Elise asked.
My mother frowned. “Honey. You just saw him a couple of years ago.”
“I know. What is he, eighty?”
“Maybe.” She looked annoyed. “But that doesn’t mean he’s about to die, Elise. He’s still having parties, for goodness’ sakes.” Now she smiled again. “And he called to invite us, which was very nice. I think we should go.”
Elise and I looked at each other, unsure of what to say. It was a neighborhood party, after all. We didn’t belong anymore. Also, every year, our father had come with us. He liked pie, and he got a kick out of Mr. Wansing’s stories about playing minor-league baseball in the fifties. It would seem strange, and maybe a little sad, to go without him.
“How did he find you?” Elise asked my mother. “How did he get your new number?”
“He Googled me.” She shrugged. “I have a landline in the dorm. And I never did change my name.”