Page 20 of The Jinglebell War
I lift out the delicate chapel with the stained glass windows. When we were little, Mom would put a real votive candle inside it and I’d watch for hours the way the flicker and dance of the flame made the colorful windows light up. I twist and hold it up. “I didn’t know you still had this.”
Mom’s smile is fond and a little sad. “They’ve made every move with me. They were your grandmother’s.”
“This was my favorite.” I turn the chapel to study the fine details. I used to wish for a magic spell that would shrink me small enough to live inside. It seemed so peaceful and safe there. Nothing ever changed in that tiny building.
“You should have it.” Mom’s voice is gentler than I’ve heard it in years. “It’s the closest thing to a family heirloom I’ll ever have to give you.”
I’m so shocked, I just stare at her, probably wide-eyed and with my mouth hanging open.
“Don’t look at me like that, Blueberry. I’m not the monster you make me out to be. You want the chapel, you take it.”
The longing I feel to possess this tiny good memory from my past surprises me almost as much as her offer. “Thanks, Mom.”
She nods and goes back to staring at her nails.
I wrap the small building back up in bubble wrap and set it by my purse so I won’t forget it.
We spend the afternoon singing Christmas carols, laughing, and decorating. Milo leaves after the first half hour and then it’s just us women. Mom annoys me slightly less than usual and my cheeks hurt from laughing by the time Mom’s place is decorated from top to bottom.
Peach puts an arm around our mother’s shoulders as we survey the interior. “Does it feel more like home now?”
“I usually have more space to spread everything out in, but it looks lovely. It certainly feels more like the holidays.”
I move closer and pat Mom’s arm. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Of course, I’ll hardly be here. I’m over at Milo’s every night and he’s invited me to all the family celebrations.” Her smile is brilliant. “I think he might be the one.”
Peach’s eyes light, and she does an excited little shimmy in place. I don’t know how she still expects the best from our mother. “You really love him, don’t you?”
Mom sniffs. “I’m not foolish enough to fall in love, Peach.” She looks around her small, one-bedroom house again. “But his house is gorgeous and I’ve just about convinced him people my age should always winter somewhere warm.”
Somehow, Peach’s smile doesn’t slip. Maybe she’s got Mom figured out in a way I haven’t managed. “That’s great. I know how much you hate the cold.”
Mom shudders. “And the snow.” She recovers quickly, with a glowing smile. “Speaking of which, I promised Milo I’d meet him for dinner at the club.” She grabs her coat and is halfway out the door before she pokes her head back in. “You girls stay as long as you want. Maybe clean up that mess Peach made in the kitchen.”
The door shuts behind her with a snick.
“And the witch has left the building,” I say.
“She’s trying,” Peach says. “Do you have anywhere to be or do you want to help me frost the cookies?”
“Do we get to help you eat them?” Cherry asks. “Or are they for the bakery?”
“Of course you get to help eat them. You two are my taste testers.”
“I’m in.” I’m just happy she’s asking my opinion about something.
She sets everything up at Mom’s dining room table. The cookies are golden brown and shaped like Christmas trees, the icing is red, green and white, and Peach has enough sprinkles to cover the entire town of Yuletide.
We fall into that trance-like state I always get in when I spend time doing anything mindless, like spreading icing on cookies and sprinkling just enough sprinkles on top for it to be perfect for eating.
Maybe that’s why I don’t think as hard as I should before speaking. “I like that venue you sent me the link to. How many guests are you thinking about inviting?”
I don’t even lead with a question about wedding planning or dress shopping. I just get straight to the venue. In my defense, I’ve been using a ton of effort not to mention it sooner.
Peach doesn’t even look up. “We want to keep it small. Maybe a hundred people. We aren’t sure yet.”
She’s really not paying that much attention. I can probably slip my concerns in without her noticing. Like a subliminal message.
