Page 3 of Anchored Love
Everly
Remember, As Far As Anyone Knows, We’re A Nice Normal Family…
“Everyone,squeeze together in front of the fireplace,” Herbert, my stepfather directed, motioning us where he wanted us to stand. “Jess and Everly, you move to the front and kneel in front of your mother.” He adjusted his camera and turned the dial, glancing through the lens once more. The man loved taking photos of everything and not just snapshots, full out photoshoots.
Rolling my eyes, I did as he asked, landing on my knees and resting my rear on my calves.
Our red velvet stockings hung from the candy cane striped hooks with everyone’s names embroidered at the top in thick black thread. Garland with red bows and glitter dusted pinecones covered the top of the dark cherry stained mantle while the fireplace roared behind us.
“Holly Jolly Christmas” played in the background, supposedly getting us into the holiday spirit. I wasn’t feeling very jolly at the moment, being moved this way and that for the perfect picture. Part of me detested taking pictures. I’d never been photogenic, though my mother insisted on capturing every moment to add to her gazillion scrapbooks she loved to make in her spare time. Some people had bookcases filled with actual books. My mother’s shelves were lined with her photo albums.
Our mother and Herbert were hosting Christmas in their new home. When they had married, Herbert moved into our childhood home. They had lived there for about a year before Mom said there were too many memories of our father there and decided they needed a fresh start, a place of their own to make new memories.
Part of me understood, but part of me would always ache for my father. It was like him being ripped away once again as all the memories of that place disappeared. Sometimes when I had him on my mind, I’d drive by there on my way to the cemetery. A new family lived there now. I saw them out in the driveway once, a family of four.
My mother adored Christmas, so I bit back the thoughts of him and plastered a smile on my face, not wanting to ruin it with my tears.
Ugly Christmas sweater was the theme this year, and we were all quite the sight in our matching ones.
Mine had a snowman outlined in gold tinsel and enough sequins to create two or three others easily. The shop had several different choices, but this one called to me.
Jess grinned at me wearing her homemade Pinterest fail. She attempted the reindeer boob cutout sweater, where one cut a hole on one side of the sweater where your boob hung out. Then on the boob, you glued a red round sparkle to cover the nip and add reindeer antlers to the sweater. Yes, when she told me about it, I had to Google it to figure out what in the hell she was talking about.
My sister loved to push boundaries and try new things. Sometimes I wondered if she weren’t an exhibitionist or a voyeur. Jess loved the attention enough.
The fail came in when she cut the hole way too big and flashed us with the other boob too. Why she chose this, I’d never know; especially with how tightly our mother was wound. Mom being appalled as expected forced her to sew a patch over the hole. Now she looked even more ridiculous. The patch of fabric Mom had given her didn’t match her sweater at all. She had this large floral pattern rectangle I swore came off an old curtain panel.
Her boyfriend Casey donned a puke green sweater, bells dangling between Santa’s legs and underneath it read: Jingle My Balls. Drake jingled the bells, then held his fist up for one of those stupid macho handshake things. Casey and Jess were a perfect match. Both of them had to be the biggest goofs I’d ever met. He pushed his way between Jess and me, putting an arm over both of our shoulders as we knelt. “Don’t worry, Everly, we can pretend I’m your boyfriend too.” If I rolled my eyes any harder, I’d have shit on my eyebrows from seeing my own ass. My single status seemed to be the butt of every joke.
The fire crackled behind the protective screen, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the room. The perfect Christmas backdrop. I still hadn’t managed to find my Christmas spirit. I should’ve dressed as the Grinch. He seemed an appropriate spirit animal to fit my mood.
Drake, my brother, and Herbert had gone to one of the local Christmas tree farms earlier and cut down a gorgeous blue spruce. Clear lights danced on the branches, reflecting in the picture window that took up most of the wall of the family room and stood to attention next to us. It wouldn’t be the best picture without the tree.
Drake and his fiancée, Kelsey, stood left of our mother. My mind drifted to our last Christmas with our father. It had always been a tradition of us kids loading up with Dad to go pick out our tree while Mom stayed home getting all the decorations ready and making cookies for us to decorate with icing. I sucked in a breath remembering it as though it were yesterday.
Mom would wear this red velvet Mrs. Claus inspired dress trimmed in white fur, and our father would don the matching Santa suit, stuffing a pillow under his jacket to give him the appearance of the big belly. He had the white beard, the gloves, the hat, and even wore big black leather boots to complete the look.
We’d all gather in the kitchen to decorate cookies and build gingerbread houses. My siblings and I all competed to see who’d make the best looking one. Though Dad would pretend to judge each one, we’d all get a little something for our efforts. Christmas had always been my favorite holiday.
We lined up much like we were now by the Christmas tree after looking at old photos and reminiscing about how excited we’d be to shake the presents. Dad set the timer on his camera and rushed to the right of Mom, nearly tripping over his feet on the way. Luckily he caught himself before crashing face-first into the beautiful tree.
My father had a tendency to have two left feet most of the time. It was one characteristic that made him adorable. Mom said that was why she fell in love with him.
She was a cheerleader in high school when his basketball team was playing against her school. He had the ball and made a run to shoot a layup, only his shoe had come untied. The goofball went sailing straight into my mother on the sideline. Mom said one second she was cheering “Miss It’, and the next she was flat on her back with Dad grinning down at her all flushed and sweaty, making goo goo eyes at her. After the game he asked her out on an apology date.
They had been inseparable thereafter.
“Everyone say Christmas!” Dad cried out right as the red timer started to flash rapidly.
“Smile,” my mom cooed, and the memory faded back to the recess of my mind.
I returned to the present, hearing Herbert let out his best “Ho, ho, ho.” I appreciated the effort, but it wasn’t the same. Christmas had lost its magic, or maybe I had.
However, this photo would be our mother’s Christmas card for next year, and I put on a cheesy smile for her benefit as the flash blinded all of us.
Blinking, white dots floated in my vision. I needed a drink, a strong one.
I loved my family, but they were a bit much at times. What family wasn’t?
