Page 7 of Puck Me for Christmas

Dante popped out from behind a partition, rubbing flour off his hands. I couldn’t help but marvel at how a day of chaos hadn’t diminished his passion for cooking. He’d created an elaborate buffet, more in line with a holiday banquet than a casual meal. Appetizers included deviled eggs garnished withtiny slivers of red pepper, stuffed artichokes drizzled with olive oil and garlic, and a crunchy cabbage salad with a tangy vinegar dressing. The main course consisted of sliced turkey, roasted golden-brown, arranged neatly on a large platter; maple-glazed ham, dotted with pineapple rings and cherries; one classic and one rich mushroom gravy—steaming in matching ceramic boats. There were accompaniments of herbed sausage stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes piled high with a swirl of butter melted on top, a sweet potato casserole with a toasted marshmallow crust, and sauteed green beans sprinkled with pomegranate seeds. An assortment of warm artisan breads and rolls peeked from under warming cloths in several baskets.

And to top it all, a special Christmas cocktail Dante had concocted—a potent mix of rum, spiced cranberry juice, and a dash of something that smelled suspiciously strong.

My stomach rumbled at the savory aromas wafting up from the various dishes, and everyone clapped after Dante finished taking us through the various items he’d prepared, originally meant to be featured as the chalet’s special Christmas dinner. However, with the lodge’s itinerary now affected by the storm, he explained that he’d decided to serve the meal early as he thought everyone could use some cheering up.

Heads nodded in response; however, the tension in the room felt tangible, a prickly heaviness that overshadowed even the mouthwatering aromas. We formed a line by the buffet, heaping food onto plates in near silence. I took healthy portions of ham and turkey, a ladleful of mashed potatoes, and spooned some gravy on top. Next to me, Emberleigh lifted the spoon for the sweet potatoes and scooped some onto her plate, followed by a spoonful of green beans. Our eyes almost met, but then she quickly moved on.

At the far end of the table, Sasha scooped stuffing into a precarious mountain, then reached for a cocktail glass. She took a big sip, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s…that’s strong,” she muttered appreciatively.

We shuffled to a large rectangular table set with white linens and topped with garlands and pinecones in the center of the room. Chairs scraped the floor as we sat. Jenna and Tyrese settled side by side but kept a noticeable distance between them, which was odd. Pearl and Norman took seats opposite. Celestia perched at the far end, closing her eyes briefly as if summoning serenity. Holly Joy sat next to Dante, who looked anxious, as if the entire success of the evening hinged on people’s reactions to his dishes. Raul hovered, sipping his cocktail, looking vaguely unimpressed. Emberleigh took a seat near me, though she angled her chair away as if to maintain a buffer of space. Was she afraid of the heat between us whenever we got too close?

I cleared my throat, forcing out some camaraderie. “Dante, this looks incredible,” I said. “Thank you.”

A few half-hearted murmurs of agreement followed—“Yes, lovely,” “Thanks,” and a couple of nods—but the mood didn’t lift. People started eating in subdued silence, broken only by the clink of silverware against plates. The first few bites of turkey were tender, the gravy rich, and I dug into the food with gusto, hungry after the earlier antics.

Before long, complaints and grumbles began brewing around the table. Sasha, swirling her second (or was it third?) cocktail, glanced at her phone. “Ugh, my viewership dropped after that snowball fight ended so abruptly,” she lamented. “People wanted more content, and we just vanished.” She shot me a slightly accusatory look.

Emberleigh, studiously ignoring me, was attempting to engage Jenna in small talk; however, Jenna didn’t seem inclinedto chat, instead sipping her cocktail and glancing over the rim, eyes narrowed, at her husband.

Pearl, carefully arranging a deviled egg on her plate, sighed heavily. “We won’t spend Christmas with our grandchildren now,” she said, voice trembling with disappointment. “I made the sweetest little knitted booties for our newborn granddaughter.” She cast a glare at the windows, as if the storm were personally insulting her handiwork.

Norman heaved a sigh. “I know, dear. And this was my opportunity to talk our son-in-law into going into business with me.” He shook his head. “I know the holiday gathering would have helped him see the wisdom behind the idea. Now that’s all shot.”

People kept eating and drinking. Dante’s elaborate spread was too tempting, and the cocktails too enticing to ignore. By the time a third round was poured, cheeks were flushed and tongues loosened. Jenna dabbed at her eyes, tears threatening to spill. Tyrese, frowning, took a swig of his drink.

Jenna hiccupped. “This will be my first Christmas away from my mother,” she said in a trembling voice. “I haven’t missed a holiday with her since…since…” She trailed off, tears welling.

Tyrese muttered, “It’s about time.”

Jenna’s head jerked up, eyes blazing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tyrese set his fork down with a clatter. “It means,” he said slowly, “that you need to cut the umbilical cord. You married me.I’myour husband, not your mother.”

She gasped, color draining from her cheeks. “You take that back! My mother is just worried about me. She cares. Unlikeyour mother, who controls you and calls you every morning, like you’re a baby who can’t tie his shoes!” Her voice rose shrilly.

The rest of us exchanged wary looks. The newlyweds bickering was new territory. Pearl whispered something to Norman, who shrugged helplessly. Sasha took another gulp of her cocktail, seemingly delighted to capture potential drama on her phone. Holly Joy tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace, and Celestia closed her eyes again, fingers forming a meditative pose under the table.

Tyrese slammed his hand on the table, rattling dishes. “We’re not talking about my mother,” he growled. “We’re talking about you being too attached to yours.”

“Don’t shout at me!” Jenna shot back, tears brimming. She reached for the gravy boat to pass it, but Tyrese made a quick move, causing her to jostle. Hot gravy sloshed out, spilling across her dress.

She let out a shocked cry, bolting upright. “This…this is sabotage! You’re trying to ruin my clothes on purpose!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tyrese snapped, but any hope of calm was gone. Jenna grabbed the nearest object—a dinner roll—and flung it at him. Her throw was off; the bread sailed past Tyrese and whacked Pearl in the shoulder.

Pearl let out an outraged “Oh!” She snatched the roll from the floor, glared at Norman, and chucked the roll at him. Norman dodged, knocking over his cocktail glass in the process. Boozy liquid splattered onto the table, soaking napkins and plates.

The chain reaction continued. Sasha, bleary-eyed from alcohol, started slurring, “Whoa, careful!” She wobbled to her feet, aiming her phone around, snapping photos. “This is gold…GOLD!” She hiccupped, stepping sideways. “Logan, babe, getin this shot.” She tried to cozy up to me, her heavy perfume and unsteady grip making me cringe. I attempted to back away, colliding with Raul, who’d just stood up and was still holding a platter of green beans.

The beans went flying, scattering across the table, the chairs, people’s laps. Shouts broke out. Suddenly, chaos descended like an avalanche: Jenna hurled another roll at Tyrese, missing again and hitting the turkey platter. Tyrese retaliated, scooping up mashed potatoes and flinging them back. Pearl, stung by the bread earlier, grabbed a handful of deviled eggs and lobbed them blindly into the fray. Norman tried to salvage a dish of sweet potato casserole, only slip over a fallen green bean, sending the casserole splattering and himself crashing to the floor.

A chunk of ham slid off the table in the confusion, nearly landing on Sasha’s boot. She shrieked, toggling between horror and excitement because her camera was capturingcontent.

Bending to give Norman a hand up, I ducked a flying spoonful of sausage stuffing that soared overhead like a misguided projectile.

Emberleigh rose, eyes wide with disgust. One second she was out of the line of fire, the next a glop of mushroom gravy arced through the air and caught her shoulder. She gasped, trying to brush it away, and our gazes locked for a brief moment.

Dante, mortified, dove under the table, shouting, “No! Not the food!” which only added to the chaos. Holly Joy ran around, wailing about the mess, her sweater catching bits of stuffing that whirled by. Celestia Moon, initially meditating in the corner, stood up abruptly. She closed her eyes, touched her thumbs and forefingers in a desperate attempt to reclaim calm. At that exact moment, a deviled egg soared across the room and smacked her square on the forehead. Her eyes flung open, rage flaring.

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