Page 198 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

After we finish, we carry our dishes to the kitchen. Mary starts to fill up the sink with hot water and suggests that Aidan and I decorate while she cleans the dishes, but I insist that we help her.

“It’s your tree too, Mary,” I say. “Plus, you strike me as the kind of woman who wants her tree decorated just so. We want to make sure we get it right the first time.” I grin. “No moving ornaments around after I leave and Aidan goes to bed.” When she flushes, I laugh. “Busted.”

“Jace is right,” Aidan says. “You have to help.”

“Many hands make light work,” I tease. “At least that’s what my mother used to say.”

“Does your mom have a Christmas tree?” Aidan asks.

“No,” I say, a lump unexpectedly filling my throat. “My mom died a few years ago.”

“What about your dad?”

“No. He died too.”

He gives me a confused look. “So you’re an orphan. Like Mom. And Harry Potter.”

I laugh. “Only I’m a muggle, so I never got my invite to Hogwarts.”

Mary turns to me with a worried look that suggests she understands just how difficult it is for me to speak about them. She knows because it’s hard for her to speak about her parents too. Even after all these years.

“If I had gone to Hogwarts,” I say, “I’d just use my magic wand to clean up the kitchen.”

“You don’t have a magic wand,” he says matter-of-factly.

Mary’s cheeks flush bright red, and I know we’re both thinking of the vibrator she stuffed in the kitchen drawer. Is it still there?

She catches me looking at the drawer, and her face turns so red it looks like she has a sunburn.

Apparently, we’re not the only ones who make the connection. “Mom has a magic wand,” he says, looking hopeful. “You said it was for grown-up stuff, Jace. Cleaning up is grown-up stuff. Mom can just use her magic wand to do the dishes.” He squints at Mary. “Mom, why is your face so red?”

“The water in the faucet is hot,” she says, keeping her gaze on the sink. “And it’s not that kind of magic wand.”

“Then what kind is it?”

“Uh…” she stammers, looking like she’s about to crawl out of her skin. Her eyes plead with me.

“Itisa grown-up magic wand,” I say, “but it’s for things like talking to utility companies and making appointments with podiatrists.”

His nose scrunches. “What’s a podiatrist?”

“Someone who takes care of ingrown toenails and bunions.”

“A foot doctor,” Mary says, looking on the verge of giggling.

He looks even more confused. “What are bunions?”

“Exactly,” I say, holding out my hands. “What are bunions? Are they a vegetable? Are they unsightly foot bumps?” I shrug. “Thanks to the magic wand, we may never have to know.”

Aidan gives me a look that suggests I have lost my mind. “Magic’s fake.”

Still, he’s obviously not ready to let this topic go.

“Not necessarily,” I say, looking at Mary. “You just have to know where to look for it.”

“Magic’s real?” he asks as though his entire worldview has been turned on its axis.

“Not magic like Harry’s,” I say, giving him my full attention. “More like in the things around us. Like when it snows late at night, and everything is so quiet you can hear the snowflakes land. Or like when your cousin Mabel was born—childbirth is magic. Or when it’s summer, and you’re sitting in the backyard and fireflies come out. That’s magic too.”

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