Page 89 of The Wish List
“If I didn’t know better,” Declan said with a laugh as he released her, “I would say your mother was cock blocking me.”
Beth felt her shoulders shake with laughter. “May has never had healthy boundaries.”
“I’ll let you get to your cookies,” he told her. “Text me later.”
She grimaced. “I’m spending the night here. We thought it would be nice for Mom to have us all wake up together on Christmas morning.” She expected Declan to seem put out by her being unavailable. Greg certainly would have been when they were together.
But Dec nodded, taking it in stride as he did everything. “I know Shauna wants to stop by tomorrow with a gift for your mother. So let’s leave it at I’ll see you later.”
“Merry Christmas.” She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. She didn’t know if Declan realized how much his soothing presence did for her, but she walked up the steps to her mother’s house with far less trepidation than she would have imagined thanks to those minutes with him.
May wrapped her in a tight hug as she entered. Even Mr. Jingles meandered over to rub against her ankles. “I love you, Bethy,” she said. Her mother had continued to be effusively affectionate even after the astonishing strides she’d made in her recovery.
Beth had wondered if her mother’s demonstrative nature resulted from the stroke and would disappear with a return to health. But May continued to offer hugs and words of love—a strange amalgamation of her bullish pre-stroke personality and the caring mom she’d become since the incident.
“That boy likes you,” May said. She wore an embroidered skirt that fell nearly to her ankles and a peasant blouse with a chunky necklace. “He has good taste.”
Color rose to Beth’s cheeks that could not be blamed on the cold air. She’d never had the kind of relationship with her mother where they could discuss her boyfriends, not that there had been many before Greg. “He’ll be leaving town soon,” she said, trying to sound as though it didn’t matter. “Once Shauna is weight-bearing again, he’s getting on with his life.”
May didn’t look convinced but led Beth into the house. “He likes you. You like him, too.”
Beth was saved from answering when Freya gestured to them from the kitchen. “We can’t figure out how to get the stupid spritzer to dispense cookies. We need a spritz expert on the job.”
Beth smiled, and her heart warmed when May took her hand. “Beth the expert,” May confirmed as they walked forward.
It was true, if mildly embarrassing. Beth’s eighth-grade teacher had encouraged students to bake cookies for the class holiday party. May had been out of town speaking at a women’s empowerment retreat that week, which meant Beth had been on her own with baking.
The domestic arts didn’t come naturally to any Carlyle woman, and she’d forgotten to add baking soda to her dough. The cookies she’d baked had ended up flat as pancakes but bringing them in got her extra credit, so she’d slathered them with frosting, ignored the sloppy mess and plated them for school.
The other girls, none of whom were her friends to begin with, had made fun of her sad attempt. The girl who had won the contest did so with neat rows of adorable spritz cookies in the shapes of trees and stars and perfectly symmetrical angels. It was the kind of order that Beth craved in her life but had never come close to achieving in their chaotic household.
By some strange coincidence, her mother had called that night to check in on the girls. May often didn’t bother to communicate while she was away for work, needing to focus on her audience and assuming Beth had things under control. In a move that was just as out of character, Beth burst into tears at the sound of her mother’s voice and cried about her awful cookies and insisted that the only thing on her wish list for Christmas was a cookie spritzer.
May had laughed off her request, but on Christmas morning, a colorfully wrapped box had appeared under the tree with a cookie spritzer inside. May had even splurged for an expansion pack of various shapes. For the next six months, Beth had made cookies to celebrate every holiday on the calendar. Mostly a celebration that her mother had made an effort to do something thoughtful.
Beth never had an issue directing her sisters, and tonight’s cookie baking activity was no different. However, their mother taking part was a huge change. May willingly pitched in with the tasks Beth assigned her, and then transitioned to holding Thomas when he woke from his nap.
Maybe things really had changed with their mother.
Normally, May engaged with a light that was brighter than the sun, her daughters left to orbit around her. Tonight she seemed content to let each of them take the spotlight in turn.
They baked cookies, then heated up and ate frozen pizza. Grocery-store pizza might not seem like traditional Christmas Eve fare, but it’s what they’d had every year growing up.
Beth wasn’t sure how it started. Even during her marriage, when they’d gone to his parents’ for a big Christmas Eve family get-together, she always made pizza, either before or after. The familiarity of it gave her a curious, comforting feeling of home. Greg had made fun of her, and she’d told herself every year that she was not going to bother. She always did.
Now she understood that traditions didn’t have to be elaborate or formal. They just needed to be cherished. Pizza crust that tasted like cardboard with stringy cheese and bland tomato sauce was good enough for her.
She might even make a Jell-O salad tomorrow as a dinner side dish, the way her grandmother used to when she was very young.
“I have gifts,” May announced as they cleared the dinner plates.
“I thought we were going to open gifts tomorrow,” Freya protested immediately. “On Christmas morning. That’s what we do.”
Beth laughed. “You don’t have yours wrapped yet.”
“Because I thought I’d have time tonight,” her sister countered.
Freya had always waited to the last minute.
