Page 121 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
“You’re very welcome.”
I rise to my feet. “I have to go take care of something right now, but?—”
“Before you go!” She stops me with the fierceness of her words. “I need to say one more thing.”
I brace myself. I haven’t felt this connected to my mom since, well, maybe ever, and I’m really afraid whatever she says next will have us slipping into old patterns and this near-perfect conversation we just had will wash away.
“There’s something else I would have done differently,” she says.
“Yeah? What’s that, Mom?”
“I would have gotten help for… whatever it was in me that made me… the way I was.” She smiles up at me, but it’s a sad smile. “I never meant to lie to you. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know that, Mom.”
And on some level, I do. I always did. I’m not sure we can ever truly know our parents, but a part of me always suspected something was happening inside her that she didn’t understand. I wish she’d gotten the help she needed to address it, too.
“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” she asks. “Your childhood?”
I reach out and take her hand. “No, mom. It wasn’t all bad. In fact, some of it was pretty darn good.”
She squeezes my hand.
“Hey,” I say. “Would it be okay with you if I popped over to see you more often in the mornings when I can? I have the next two weeks off from teaching, and it would be great to talk to you some more about all of this. If you’re up for it.”
She smiles, a real smile this time. “I’d like that, Matthias.”
I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “Me too, Mom. Me too.”
As I exit the memory care center, I feel lighter than I have in years.
And I’m full of energy and ideas.
I make a call to Eugene to finally explain that business brainstorm I had after Penny’s parents’ Christmas party. With all the upheaval in his—who am I kidding, in his and my—personal lives, we never got around to having that discussion.
“I’m in,” Gene says easily after I finish explaining. “But do you really think we can pull this off in two weeks?”
“Grit and resourcefulness, right?” I say. “That’s how we got Bossfit off the ground. So that’s how we’ll take it to the next level and help Penny, too.”
“Yeah, but two weeks? This’ll take a Christmas miracle, buddy.”
“Good thing I believe in miracles.”
`
Later that night, I’m up in the cleared-out loft at Bossfit, marveling at all the progress a person can make when they know how to call in some serious favors.
The manager at Mother of Junk gave me the scoop on where I could donate the pillows that filled the space just this morning. One of our members, who works for a flooring company, gave me access to their warehouse, which is full of unused samples. I even reconnected with an old friend from my actor days who now works as an interior designer, and for dirt cheap, she got me a massive mirror that covers practically the whole wall.
Perhaps most importantly, I emailed all the parents of the Holiday Schmoliday kids, and they’re all onboard to kick this thing off if—hopefully when—Penny is ready.
Like I summoned her, my phone dings with a text from Penny herself.
Pennywise: Matt, I’m so sorry about last night. I can explain.
Just as I’m about to text her back, a photo pops up next.
It’s Penny, looking as gorgeous as ever, with a huge smile on her face.
