CHAPTER TWO
You planning on sleeping all day, Georgia?”
The door creaked open, and Nan’s slippers shuffled across the old wooden floorboards. Turning my head slightly in her direction, my eyes squinted at the burst of light in the hallway behind her. Though we’d chatted late into the night, I could never sleep past—
“It’s seven thirty,” Nan said, reading my mind. She had this creepy ESP thing with me. I never got used to it, especially because it only worked one way.
I groaned. “Nan, you realize we didn’t go to bed till after one, right?”
“True, but I know how you like to get an early start.”
I let my head loll to one side and blinked. “Yes, when I’m working.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but I signed you up to help me today.”
I glanced up at the smile that could convince a child to give up her last piece of candy and chuckled. God only knows what Nan had in store for us. Sitting up, I swung my legs over the edge of the twin bed and narrowly avoided knocking a stack of books to the ground. It was hard to believe I’d spent my childhood sleeping in this coffin-like space.
I picked up the cookbook on top of the pile closest to me, Best Foods in Brazil.
“Some great recipes in that one.”
I smiled as I flipped through the old, crusty pages that smelled like damp pepper and cloves. That was my Nan. Always trying something new.
“I have some coffee and oatmeal for you on the counter. The senior center needs help preparing for the big day tomorrow. I volunteered us for the shift at nine. Figured you’d want to shower first.”
I stretched my arms, yawning as I stood. “Yes, a shower would be good.”
She patted my messy hair. “It’s so good to have you home.”
As her eyes sparkled with tears, a familiar warmth wove through my ribs and cinched my heart. Home. “I’ve missed you too, Nan.”
She pulled me close for a hug, one full of the soft, squishy comfort I’d never find in LA.
“Ready to open a few dozen cans of cranberry sauce?”
I clasped my hands together. “It’s like my Thanksgiving dream come true.”
She swatted my backside. “Go eat your breakfast before it gets cold, smarty-pants.”
Nan wasn’t kidding.
By the fifteenth can of green beans, I started worrying about carpal tunnel syndrome. The nauseating aroma of soggy vegetables had started to seep into my pores. I shook the stiffness out of my hand and concentrated on breathing through my mouth. Just then, Eddy, wearing her signature navy-blue trench coat, flew through the front door like a bat bolting out of a dark cave. Some things never change.
“Georgia Cole! Get your behind over here, and give me a smooch!”
I laughed and wiped my hands on the towel in front of me. “Hi, Eddy.”
“You should have heard your grandma talking about you all over town these last few weeks. It was startin’ to get on my nerves, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.” She kissed my cheek, surely leaving behind her bright-coral lip mark as a souvenir. “Of course, I’ve never seen her so happy.”
“Well, I’m glad I could make her happy.” Even though I should be planning our snorkeling excursion in Hawaii right about now.
“Wow,” she said, taking me in. “You sure are a pretty thing. Look just like your mama did at that age.”
I managed a smile, though the compliment fell flat more than it flattered.
“Eddy, give the girl some space to breathe. I don’t need you suffocating her on her first day back.”
Eddy ignored Nan and pulled up a stool near the counter where I was working. Apparently, she was sticking around. She plucked a green bean out of the pan and smacked on it loudly.
“So, what do you think of the place? Nan give you a tour yet?”
I looked around the senior center—at least what I could see of it from the kitchen. It was a great little space. Cozy and cheery. A perfect spot to socialize: eat, play games, celebrate, and laugh. I was grateful that Nan had it, along with good friends to fill it with.
I nodded. “It’s very nice.”
“Except for that hideous puke-colored wall over there. Nan insisted on a shade of baby poop.”
Nan flung a dish towel at Eddy. “It’s mustard! And it looks great, I found it in a décor magazine from France.”
“Well, maybe the French like staring at bug guts, but I don’t.”
I laughed. Being with these two felt like old habit.
Their comfortable banter reminded me of—Don’t go there, Georgia.
“What day do you start working with the kids?” Eddy asked.
Confusion plucked me out of reminiscing time. “What kids?”
“The high school kids. They’re already rehearsing, you know. Betty’s been plunking away on that wretched piano, teaching them Christmas carols down at the church. They’re waiting for you.” She swung her dirty boot across her knee, holding it in place with her hand. “Looks like that old theater will finally have a purpose again now that you’re back. I don’t think those doors have been opened in years.”
I shifted my eyes to Nan, who was suddenly very busy mixing a bowl of Stove Top stuffing—and humming. “Nan?”
The humming grew louder.
“You’re butchering that song, Nan,” Eddy said, plugging her ears. “And I don’t even care for music all that much.”
Nan dropped her spoon into the metal bowl with a clang. “There’s a meeting on Saturday to discuss the Christmas pageant. They expect you to be there, Georgia. Everyone’s excited about having the ‘Holiday Goddess’ in town.” She beamed, proud of herself for remembering the quote from the article in USA Today.
“Nan, please don’t call me that. And, like I’ve told you a thousand times before, writing scripts and directing a production are two very different things. I’ll gladly assist in whatever way I can, but I’m sure there’s someone else who—”
“There is no one else,” the women said in unison.
I rolled my eyes and stuck my spoon into a large vat of vanilla custard.
As I brought it to my lips, Nan said, “Just wait till you meet Savannah. She’s worth whatever effort you put into this. I promise. You’re doing it for her.”
Sugar sweetened my tongue while bitterness soured my gut.
As I was searching through Nan’s overstuffed hall closet for a clean towel, something hard and heavy fell from a shelf. A pink ceramic heart skittered across the old hardwood. I picked it up and cradled it in my hand, clearing away a layer of dust and grime with the tip of my finger. I swallowed the ageless hurt that bubbled up in my throat.
I could easily picture my sixth-grade art class where I’d painted the heart for my mother’s birthday. And yet, here it was. Forgotten. Left behind.
I heard her words again, hovering like a haunted memory. “Don’t be like me, Georgia. Go somewhere. Be somebody. Leave this town and never look back.”
Through all the different retellings of the story about the drunken night I was conceived, or the gory details surrounding my birth just days after her seventeenth birthday, my mother’s message to me remained crystal clear. It never faltered. No matter how old I became. No matter what goals I achieved.
In fact, she liked the mantra so much that she followed her own advice the spring before my sophomore year in high school.
Move to Florida—Check.
Get married—Check.
And never look back—Check.
I slid down the wall and pulled my knees to my chin. The smell of musty sweaters and blankets lingered in the air around me.
Even when her home address had read Lenox, Oregon, there was always something about my mother that was never truly home. Not really. Not with me.
I wasn’t surprised when her new marriage took priority.
I wasn’t surprised when the birth of her twins filled her days.
I wasn’t even surprised when the long silences that spanned three thousand miles and stretched across a dozen states became the rule, not the exception.
But I was surprised by all the happiness this new life had brought her.
It was as if the years we’d spent together crammed into Nan’s tiny cottage were only the dress rehearsal. And finally, my mother was living her real life.
With a real husband and real children.
My unplanned birth had stolen her youth, her dreams, her freedom. And though Nan had always been the one to check up on me, tuck me in at night, and kiss my tears away, Summer Cole—my mother—was still the whisper that echoed in my soul.
“Make my sacrifice worth something, Georgia.”
“Pass the rice, please!” Eddy shouted at Franklin, her husband. Apparently, in addition to losing his memory, his hearing was also on the fritz. It seemed likely it was related to Eddy’s always speaking at a shrill, glass-breaking volume.
It was no surprise that she still held the throne as Lenox’s top bingo caller.
A large bowl of rice was passed around the table by Nan’s friends, all of them three times my age. I carried Nan’s Thanksgiving platter of spicy chicken masala to the table. And no one said a negative word about it. In this crowd, her unconventional ways were accepted—even appreciated. Her friends would eat here before heading over to the center at five for their traditional meal. They had the best of both worlds.
“I saw that Hallmark movie you made,” a woman named Pearl with a beak-like nose and tight poodle curls said. “The one about the couple who met on a skating rink, with the guy who had a prosthetic foot.”
“Leg,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that was a good one. I loved her family—and that Christmas Eve scene—I blubbered like an old fool.”
“Thank you, but I just wrote the screenplay. I didn’t actually make the movie.”
Pearl stared at me blankly. “I just wonder how you write all those things.”
I opened my mouth to answer my most asked interview question, “How do you come up with so many good Christmas stories?” But as it turned out, that was not what Pearl was asking.
“I mean, all that holiday love and romance stuff. Nan tells us you never go out on dates, so how can you write about something you don’t know?”
I choked on an ice cube, and Eddy slammed my back—repeatedly.
Everyone waited for my reply, even Nan. What was this? An intervention for my pathetic love life?
I lifted my chin and met the eyes of each of Nan’s guests. “Ever heard of Jane Austen?”
Eddy leaned toward me, eyebrows drawn so tightly it would take pliers to separate them. “You do realize that things didn’t turn out quite so well for her in that department, right?”
Okay, fine. Bad example.
Pearl piped up, “Well, there’s an eligible bachelor in Lenox that you—”
“More chapati bread, anyone?” Nan asked, standing abruptly.
Thank you, Nan. I owe you one.
Though I smiled at her, her gaze never met mine as she passed the bread basket to her right.
And knowing her like I did, I could tell she was up to something.