Dan would elbow her and whisper “Porn,” the rat, because that would set her to worrying. She’d pause about fifteen times in the making of sloppy joes, or tacos, or tuna-noodle casserole-all favorites of the starving teenager-slash-global dictator upstairs-to look at Dan and say, “Do you think?”
And he’d laugh and say, “Of course I think,” and she’d throw a dishtowel at him and he’d duck, then grab her around the waist and whisper they’d be looking at naked bodies together later too. When the starving teenager-slash-global dictator-slash-possible deviant came downstairs for dinner, the three of them would sit around the table and she’d have to avoid Dan’s eyes so that she wouldn’t laugh or blush or both.
After dinner, Tracy would have to run out to a meeting or type up some meeting minutes, or be making phone calls regarding some upcoming meeting and then it would be late. She would be tired and Harry would still be up, fingers tap-tap-tapping on that keyboard, so that when Dan turned off his computer or CSI: Akron or Tucson or whatever the latest iteration was and turned to her in their bedroom for that naked-body viewing-her naked body and his-she would be too tired and feel too constrained by the idea of their son awake and alert across the hall. “Not tonight,” she would say.
And Dan would turn away and she would turn away and somewhere between then and the teeth whitening her husband was gone.
“Mom!” Downstairs, the front door slammed and Bailey stomped into the house. “Just answer me this,” she yelled out. “Whose nifty idea was it to subsidize the electric company this season?”
Tracy’s knees creaked as she pushed off Harry’s bed and moved to the top of the stairs to look down at her daughter. “What are you talking about?”
Bailey’s annoyed expression was a duplicate of the one she’d worn as a child, when she couldn’t get her little brother or her best friend, Trin, to listen to “reason”-Bailey’s version, that is. “The corner house has a helicopter hovering with an inflatable Santa inside holding an American flag. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”
“We live in a military town? It’s Christmas?”
Bailey shook her head, then her eyes narrowed. “You know what’s wrong?”
“I’ve no doubt you’re going to tell me.”
“We both look pasty,” her daughter declared. “We need roses in our cheeks and highlights in our hair.”
“What?”
“We’re not making the most out of our natural coloring. Brunettes won’t stand a chance against us after a little foil and peroxide.”
“Didn’t you mention ‘natural’?”
Bailey waved an impatient hand. “Don’t get technical on me. Let’s go.”
Tracy didn’t want to go anywhere, but her daughter had been stubborn since babyhood. After making a research phone call to Trin, Bailey dragged Tracy through the front door.
She glanced over her shoulder as she was pulled toward Bailey’s car. “Is that a wreath on the front door?” It was fresh, with a pretty gold ribbon threaded through it and a tiny glass hummingbird sitting right on top.
“Mmm,” Bailey said, pushing her into the passenger seat. Once she was behind the wheel, she handed over a pair of sunglasses, even though it was full dark. “Sorry, but I don’t have earplugs.”
The decorations on the block were outrageous. Bailey shielded her eyes with her hand and muttered in complaint as they crawled behind other cars cruising the scene.
Tracy smiled, not only at her daughter’s typical Christmas-curmudgeon-ness, but because the ostentation lifted her heart a little. There were so many sad times, so many tragedies in a year and in a life, why shouldn’t people feel free to go over the top on occasion? There should be no shame or sin in lighting up their lives with every bright bauble that the season offered, not because there weren’t dark times, but because there were.
It was the spirit with which The Perfect Christmas was built.
A pang of longing took aim at Tracy’s heart. For a moment she wanted to be back in the store-dusting the Victorian villages, adjusting the positions of the Santa figurines in the front window, straightening the pinafores of the angelic Christmas dolls. Then she thought of Dan and the longing dried to dust.
She’d told Bailey she couldn’t go into The Perfect Christmas because she didn’t want to see her husband there. But the fact was, worse than facing him within the confines of the store would be facing the truth that he wasn’t in the store at all.
If Dan wasn’t busy in the back room making coffee, if he wasn’t inspecting the track of the North Pole Express that ran along the ceiling of the bottom floor, if he wasn’t greeting the children who came into the store with wondering eyes as big as lollipops, then the place would only feel lonely and bitter.
Oh no, that was she.
Tracy and Bailey finally made it to the hair salon that Trin had recommended. The windows were painted with a colorful winter theme. A surfing snowman in red and green boardshorts held a sign that proclaimed they stayed open late and welcomed walk-ins. When Tracy demurred as they entered, concerned about submitting to an unknown stylist, Bailey just issued orders.
“Sit.”
“Stay.”
To the first available hairdresser. “Dump my mom’s gray. Brighten the blond.”
Half an hour later, they were in side-by-side chairs, their hair in leaflike layers of tinfoil. It created a sort of silvery, sci-fi Afro effect.
“Do you do this often?” Tracy asked. Frankly, she thought the look more than a little scary. “If men saw women like this, maybe they wouldn’t cause us so much trouble.”
Bailey made a snorting sound that communicated something between “Fat chance” and “Men are dogs.”
Oh no, that was Tracy’s thought.
She tried distancing herself from it. “So, uh, how did it go at the store today?” she asked.
Bailey’s eyes were closed. “Byron was off on another of his searches for endless summer. Finn played Santa.”
“Finn?”
Bailey tensed but didn’t open her eyes. “I told you he was living next door for the holidays. I told you that I’d run into him.”
You didn’t tell me you were letting him get close to you again. Interesting.
Bailey’s eyes popped open. Scowling, she skewered Tracy with her gaze. “You knew what kind of boy he was, Mom. You couldn’t miss that crazy hair, the earrings, those tattoos all over his hands. Why the heck did you let me start dating him?”
Tracy stared at her beautiful daughter. She’d made many mistakes with her, particularly during the ugly divorce. Some of that experience, she supposed, was responsible for creating the determined, you-won’t-knock-me-down attitude of her older child. But there were other parts of Bailey she’d been born with.
Things she’d been born to. From the moment that dangerous, sullen-looking teenage boy had shown up next door, her stubborn perfectionist was determined to bring him to heel. Perhaps, though, all the moves between Bailey and Finn had yet to be played out.
“Mom?” Bailey looked impatient for her answer.
Tracy thought about trying to explain it to her. But then she shrugged. Sometimes it was better to just get out of the way.
Her firstborn, naturally, wasn’t going to let it go. “Mom? Come on. Why did you let me date him?”
“Oh, sweetie.” Tracy sighed. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”
Bailey stayed silent for a moment. Then she closed her eyes again. “Funny, I said something like that to Finn.”
Definitely some moves left between them, Tracy decided. But then another thought congealed like a cold lump in her stomach. Maybe, maybe when it came to her and Dan, the moves were over.