A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,39
the pungent, clean smell of evergreen.
And then there’s the tree. At least eight feet high, shining bright with lights, every branch overloaded with a bunch of ornaments, some new, some so old, they’re from when my parents’ parents were young.
“Wow.” Mila pulls her hat off her head, and the static electricity makes a dark halo offset by the glow of the dim, golden lights from that huge tree.
And she’s like that last puzzle piece that clicks into place and makes Christmas burst to life for me, finally.
It’s like something got misplaced when I was bridging from being a little boy to an adult, and I never found it again till this moment, but now that I have it, things are taking shape again. Life is sharpening back into focus now that I have Mila by my side.
Except, technically, it’s Henry who has Mila by his side, and he doesn’t look like he has any plans to let her go.
The magic of Christmas is blotted out by my sudden, intense urge to deck my brother and throw Mila over my shoulder.
Instead I stomp to the living room with them and watch, seething, as Henry leads Mila to the loveseat and plops down next to her.
“Give her some room, Henry. Mila doesn’t want you sitting on her lap for the entire movie,” I snarl.
Mila looks up at me, her eyes hot and narrowed. She pulls off her boots, tucks her legs up next to her and snuggles a little closer to Henry. “No, it’s fine. I’m very comfortable right where I am.”
I would have jumped the coffee table and knocked some sense into my brother if my mother and Paisley hadn’t come in right then with trays of cookies and bowls of popcorn, ready to string.
“Mila, how nice to see you again.” My mother actually puts her trays down and walks right past me, her own flesh and blood son, so she can wrap her arms around Mila and squeeze her tight.
“Mrs. Murphy, I can’t even tell you how nice it was to talk to you before.” Mila laughs and everyone in the room smiles automatically, like she’s some smile-bearing elf. Well, everyone except for me. I’m in no mood for smiling right now. “I’m so glad you didn’t think I was some crazy lunatic just showing up on your doorstep on Christmas Eve.”
“Lunatic? More like a Christmas gift.” Mom smooshes Mila’s cheeks the way she’s only ever done the three of us. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your aunt. That makes for a hard holiday, love.” Mom pats one of Mila’s hands, and Paisley holds her other.
“Our entire congregation started a prayer chain for her.” Paisley’s face looks all shiny when she shares this news. “You would be shocked what the power of a group of people focusing their prayers can do.”
I don’t know if I’m more irritated by my sister’s Bible babble or the fact that I have no clue what’s going on.
“Why are we praying for your aunt?”
As soon as the question is out all four of them turn their faces, and I feel like a marathon runner crossing the finish line of my own shitty selfishness. Their faces are holding all the usual reactions people have to a Landry Murphy comment: confusion, shock, horror, disappointment.
“Mila’s aunt has been in a coma since October,” Henry says, putting an arm around her shrinking shoulders. “And her condition isn’t improving.”
How the hell did Henry know all about this? Seriously, if I find out my kid brother works for some covert spy agency, I won’t be remotely surprised.
“Oh, yeah. I knew about the aunt in the coma,” I blurt out before I can really analyze what an asshole comment it is.
My family looks at me with all the horrified embarrassment you reserve for elderly relatives in the viciously combative states of late onset dementia.
“It’s sad, I mean,” I blunder. “About the coma, because I know Mila likes her aunt a lot and all and—”
“Dude!” Henry breaks in. “Just stop digging. You’re gonna break that shovel.”
The girls all titter and Henry is just one smartass remark away from a black eye.
As soon as I think that, I feel like an ever bigger jerk. Wasn’t it just one short Christmas ago that my dad and I got into it?
I need to learn to bite down on my damn temper.
One good thing about the entire awkward ordeal is that, amid all the hugging and Landry despising, Paisley absently settled on the loveseat and