Page 24 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

So when I broke up with my long-term boyfriend during the holidays last year and couldn’t afford the rent on our apartment just outside town by myself, I needed somewhere to live. And coming to stay with Aunt Lou was the natural thing to do.

It was supposed to be temporary.

But she’s fun to be around, as are a lot of the residents. And when I got the new job in New Orleans a couple months ago, there was no point in moving out because I’ll be gone in January anyway.

Cecil toddles off, his wide-legged slacks flapping just above his ankles.

“Anyway,” Aunt Lou says as she joins me to pick up the next table, “Mrs. Bentley told me something interesting earlier about who might get your job as the Warm Springs and District Drama and Theater Education Program coordinator.”

The size of my job’s title is inversely proportional to its budget. Thank God I don’t often have to wear a name tag or there’d be no room for my name.

Mrs. Bentley is one of Senior Central’s newest residents. She’s lived alone for a long time, but recently decided that even though she doesn’t need to be taken care of—because of course, a 70-something-year-old woman who’s been using a walker for a few years couldn’t possibly need any help with anything—she does want the social life.

Not that Mrs. B. has ever had any trouble socializing. Ifanything’s going on in Warm Springs, you can guarantee she knows about it first. It helps that her nephew is a longtime councilmember and feeds her all the latest town gossip.

“Let me guess.” My aunt and I lift the table, carry it across the room, and lay it upside down near the piano. That makes it Cecil’s table. “They’re replacing me with someone straight out of college who they can pay less than me.”

“Exact opposite, actually.” Aunt Lou pulls up the legs on her side of the table. “Some old Broadway actor who’s spent years in musicals and is retiring and moving up here.”

“Oh.” I mean that to sound like a happy surprise, because of course it would be great for the kids to get to learn from someone with all that experience.

But I’m fairly sure my tone didn’t hide my sinking feeling of inadequacy at knowing I’m being replaced by someone so much better than me.

Someone with more significant roles on their résumé than regional theater, a bit-part as a diner waitress in a Hallmark Christmas movie that was filmed in Warm Springs five years ago, and as one of an unfeasibly happy group of roller-skaters, skating our way through a tampon commercial in tight white pants.

Aunt Lou and I turn the table the right way up and yank on the legs to make sure it’s solid enough for anyone unsteady on their feet to hang onto.

“That’s an amazing appointment.” Do I sound more genuinely pleased about it now? “Better for the kids to be around someone who can teach them more than I ever could, and inspire them to bigger and betterthings. And I bet they’ll take the Christmas play to more exciting heights than I’ve managed these last six years too.”

My aunt fixes me with one of her firm stares as she slaps her hands flat on the brown plastic table and leans toward me. “Natalie Bourne, don’t you start with all that everyone-is-better-than-me bullshit.”

I turn away to grab more folding chairs from the pile on the other side of the room.

“And don’t you walk away from me when I’m giving you one of my special glares,” she calls after me.

“At least I’ll be going out with a bang.” I grab a chair in each hand and turn back to face her, pulling my last remaining card from my sleeve. “This year’s play will be the best yet. Because guess who’s going to be helping with it.”

The smile on my face is probably a little more self-satisfied and gloating than I would ever intend. It definitely feels a bit gloaty.

“Have you managed to rustle up some volunteers who’ve decided not to spend the next two weeks shopping, cooking, cleaning and generally preparing to be descended upon by various members of their family, only some of whom they like?” Aunt Lou asks.

“Well, funny you should say that.” I hand her a chair and we set them up on either side of Cecil’s table. “Because there is one new person in town who is not at all busy this Christmas, and he suggested?—”

Aunt Lou’s loud gasp flings her bolt upright. “Gabe Woods? Has that amazing young man volunteered to help with the play? Does his community spirit run as deep as his talent with that big stick of his? Does he love kids? And one day want to settle down with an amazing woman and have beautiful and incredibly talented babies?”

I pause and look at her, wondering if either of us is going to acknowledge that “big stick” comment. But I think she was so excited she doesn’t realize what she said.

“Calm down, Aunt Lou. He’s actually a total Scrooge with no interest in the play or the kids or the town, but who I emotionally blackmailed into helping out, because that’s the kind of resourceful Warm Springs and District Drama and Theater Education Program coordinator I am. I might not have a Broadway pedigree, but I can manipulate an international sports star into lending a hand when the situation calls for it.”

Aunt Lou drops into the chair like the news of my impending ongoing proximity to such a gorgeous hunk of sporting prowess has made her legs go so weak they can no longer support her.

“The kids will adore him,” she says with a sigh.

“Uh, they do kind of likeme, you know.”

“Oh, yes, yes, of course. I didn’t mean…” She waves her hand to finish off her sentence.

“I know. Anyway, since the theater is out of action, I’m shifting the venue to Turtle Pond and we’re going to do it on ice, so it only makes sense that he helps.”

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