Snowplace Like Home Read online

  Snowplace

  Like Home

  A Christmas Short Story

  This book is dedicated to the love and spirit the holiday season brings

  to the world. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday and may the joy

  of the season warm you like a blanket.

  Tonya

  Christmas is not as much about opening our presents as opening our hearts.

  ~Janice Maeditere

  Pine swags. Glittering wreaths. Smiling snowmen. Twinkling lights.

  “Bah humbug,” I muttered like Ebenezer Scrooge as I passed Nordstrom’s Christmas window display on Michigan Avenue.

  I pushed my way down the crowded sidewalk that was littered with holiday shoppers. You can make it, I gave myself a little pep talk when I spotted the maroon awning that was flapping in the bitter cold wind that was coming off of Lake Michigan. Addicted to the Bean, I happily sighed. I could almost feel the Christmas stress melt away thinking about one of their famous pumpkin spiced lattes.

  “I’ve got just what you need,” Andrea, the barista, shouted from behind the counter when I ducked through the door.

  I smiled knowing she was making my favorite tasty treat, the coffee shop’s best-kept secret. The door closed behind me, shutting out the rest of the world, the shoppers, bumper-to-bumper traffic, and the snowy streets. Standing in the doorway, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Inside the warm smells of scones and coffee perked my mood.

  “Is it worse today, Hallie?” Andrea asked, stirring the hot liquid with the long metal spoon.

  I put my purse on the counter, blocking the nutcracker display. Funny looking soldier, I thought looking at the wooden figure. They were not as endearing as people thought; I took a look at the nutcracker’s wide-open gapping mouth, half expecting to see a full set of teeth.

  I tugged on the scarf around my neck, uncurling it. I rubbed my hands down my long black hair to tame the static cling. “Yes,” I said, plopping down at the only stool that butted up to the counter. “It’s absolutely the worst.”

  Andrea smiled and continued to work her latte magic. “Is it to-go?”

  “No, I think I’ll sit here and let the crowd die down,” I said, pointing to the crowded streets. It amazed me how many people shop on Christmas Eve.

  Have a Holly Jolly Christmas blared over the sound system, standing my nerves on end. I groaned, sticking my fingers in my ears to drown out the holiday cheer.

  Life was sucked out of me every year between October and January. I guess being the manager of Gucci in one of the busiest shopping district in America didn’t help my dislike for the holiday.

  Outside, steam rolled out of people’s mouths as they cheerfully talked to their friends and pointed out the beautiful decorations. I never said Chicago wasn’t pretty this time of year; it absolutely was, but the spirit—why did everyone have to be so damn happy?

  “All the girls gone for the holidays?” Andrea sat the mug down in front of me. I stuck my nose in the steam. It rolled up in beautiful swirls.

  “Yes,” I said, referring to Lucy, Prudence and Georgia, my three best friends. They’d up and abandoned me for a week during Christmas to visit their family and friends.

  I guess it was a bonus if you had family. Sadness crept up in my heart. My fondest and worst memory was when my parents took me to see the train display in my hometown of Cincinnati, Ohio. On Christmas Eve, my dad carried on about each train and what they were used for.

  At thirteen, it wasn’t all that exciting for me. But I wish I would’ve listened harder. Wished I would’ve hung on every word from my dad’s mouth—

  Because that was the day my parents died in a car wreck. Obviously, I’ve never liked Christmas since, even though my Great Aunt Grace tried to make it special.

  “My offer still stands.” Andrea had extended a Christmas dinner invitation with her family, but I had graciously declined.

  “Thank you. I really do appreciate it. I need to be well rested for the after Christmas door buster sale. It seems retail never closes.” I reminded myself of the commitment I made to my career a couple years ago.

  I’ve always loved Gucci and becoming the manager of one of the busiest stores was a dream come true. I really didn’t mind working the day after Christmas since I didn’t celebrate. But still, it felt bittersweet.

  The door swung open and a freezing breeze swept into the coffee house along with a group of shoppers. Happy shoppers. My sweet quiet moment with my latte had now passed.

  I grabbed Andrea’s attention before she took their orders. “I think I’ll get this to go after all,” I said, holding up my mug.

  She handed me the Styrofoam cup. “If you change your mind, the invitation still stands.”

  It was nice of her, but I was still holding out hope that Bo would offer an invitation.

  Bo…just thinking about him was Christmas present enough. I had been training for the Chicago marathon behind Bo, my training coach, for the past couple years…or at least drooling after him.

  He owned a local up-and-coming blues bar where he hosted an annual Christmas get-together, invitation only. I’m guessing my invitation had been lost a in the mail.

  “Thanks, but I think I’m going to make this holiday low key.” I put back on my winter gear, curling the scarf back around my neck. “Excuse me.” I apologized to the lady next to me for hitting her with my coat sleeve.

  “No big deal.” She grinned dipping her hat down, and reminded me, “Merry Christmas.”

  With a stiff lip and tight smile, I nodded my head.

  I stepped out into the street and glanced back at the lady who took my stool inside the coffee shop.

  “Aha! I’ve got you! The second you melt, you’re hat will be mine!” An evil laugh came out of my five foot nine frame like Professor Hinkle from Frosty the Snowman.

  May the spirit of Christmas bring you peace,

  The gladness of Christmas give you hope,

  The warmth of Christmas grant you love.

  ~Author Unknown

  “Don’t say it.” I held my hand up to Sam, the doorman in my apartment, when I twirled out of the rotating door and into the lobby.

  He was more than just a doorman; he had become a friend—sort of a confidant. He knew everything about everyone in the building. All the visitors —even late night ones—your mail. Everything. He could tell what kind of day I was having by the look on my face.

  Sam shook his head and whined, “Now come on, Hallie. You know I’m required to say it this time of the year.” His smile revealed the pleasure he got from my lack of holiday cheer.

  I stood and wait for his requested greeting with my arms crossed.

  “Merry Christmas.” He proudly held the door leading to the elevator like a soldier in the Nutcracker. “You need to put the past behind you and start living,” he added.

  I couldn’t let Sam bother me. He knew something happened years ago, but didn’t know the real reason why Christmas wasn’t high on my holiday list. Give me Easter, Halloween, or Valentine’s Day anytime and I was the cheeriest person you’d meet.

  “Roooar!” I gnashed my teeth and did my yeti The Bumble impersonation from Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, before running to the elevator. I turned around with a little hope and asked, “Did I happen to get any invitations today?”

  Sam’s brows dipped. “No, just the usual junk. I put it in your mail slot.”

  I didn’t bother going back to the mailroom. If there were an invitation or special envelope, Sam would’ve noticed it.

  Sweetly, I smiled at the other tenants in the elevator. Their top hats and fancy clothes screamed holiday party outfits. When the elevator stopped at my floor, I eagerly left the partygoers behind.

&n
bsp; I jiggled my key in the door with one hand, while I dug in my purse with the other trying to get my phone before the voicemail picked up. My ringtone was normal, not like all the Christmas jingles everyone and their brother seemed to have programmed on their phones.

  Before Halloween I was in Home Depot, I heard an all too familiar ho, ho, ho as a ring tone. I put my light bulbs that were in my hand back on the shelf and left. I’d rather sit in the dark than think about Christmas.

  My spirit dropped when I look at the caller ID. I had held out a little bit of hope that Bo might be calling to invite me to the party.

  “Hello, Aunt Grace.” My monotone voice reflected how my bah humbug attitude.

  “You are psychic just like your mother was.” Aunt Grace always insisted my mother was psychic, but she wasn’t. Just very intuitive.

  “Caller ID,” I said like I always did. “How are you, Aunt Grace?”

  “You know. Cold, tired, and lonely.” Of course she had to throw in the lonely. It was her passive-aggressive way of asking me to come visit. “You haven’t been home for Christmas in three years.”

  She was right, I hadn’t. I visited throughout the year, but going back to Cincinnati during the holidays wouldn’t be merry for any of us. Aunt Grace would want to spend money that she didn’t have on me. And that’s something she couldn’t do. I never wanted to put her in that position.

  “I have to work the day after Christmas, Aunt Grace.” Being in retail had become a very good excuse for me. Or was it really my armor, the thing that kept me safe from thinking too much about the past or putting Aunt Grace in a situation she couldn’t afford. “How would you feel if your favorite store wasn’t open after Christmas for those good bargains?”

  “I’d give up those good bargains to spend a little time with you.”

  The last time she said that, I had given in. I drove five hours in the snow. She’d made all sorts of promises. “We are going to Jeff Ruby’s downtown for Christmas dinner.” Everyone in Cincinnati knows that Jeff Ruby’s was one of the hardest restaurants to get into, but I held out hope.

  I had arrived to find Aunt Grace standing with Uncle Jimmy, her fourth husband, as he scrubbed the graffiti off the side of their building. “Damn gang,” Uncle Jimmy grumbled under his breath. Aunt Grace looked on; smiling with her red wig cock-eyed, and barely-there fox stole around her shoulders, ready to go to the restaurant.

  We made it down to Jeff Ruby’s only to be turned away. She hadn’t bothered making a call for reservations because she “knew someone.” Only that someone wasn’t anyone the Jeff Ruby staff had ever heard of. No matter how hard I tried to bargain, there wasn’t a table to be had. Back to Aunt Grace’s we went with tucked tails and turkey TV dinners from the freezer. Needless to say, I stopped at the gas station for a Christmas hot dog on my way back to Chicago, and I swore I wasn’t going to do that again.

  Besides, I felt like I had ruined Aunt Grace and Uncle Jimmy’s Christmas. They’ve always tried so hard and with me gone, they didn’t have to worry about it.

  “I mailed your presents.” I tried to change the subject. Snow globes were her beloved treasures. “Did you get them?”

  Once Aunt Grace stored her snow globes in the attic of her building during one of Cincinnati’s hottest summers, and when she got them down for Christmas, the water had evaporated out of all of them. Needless to say, she was devastated—but she still displayed those snow globes with the dried up glitter pasted to the side of the glass.

  “Unless it’s you, then I don’t want anything.” She paused and continued, “Would you come if your parents were here?”

  Aunt Grace got me where it hurts. She was the one who stepped up and raised me, but I swore if I ever got out of Cincinnati, I’d stay away. The memories of the Queen City haunted me with memories on every corner.

  “No. Aunt Grace, this has nothing to do with you. I love you. Plus, I’m the boss. You know I can’t take time off.” I knew if I told her I didn’t want her to go through all the trouble of having me, she insist I was no trouble.

  “Well if you change your mind, I picked up a couple extra frozen dinners. Kroger had them on sale.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I said.

  Aunt Grace was the first call I made on Christmas morning, and then I would go down the line from there and reassure Lucy, Prudence, and Georgia they’re not going to find one of my Gucci bags hanging from the ceiling with me attached to it.

  After I hung up with her, I anxiously awaited by the phone for Bo to call. Eventually I fell asleep with the phone in my hand.

  The ringing phone startled me, waking me from my peaceful slumber.

  Clap. Clap. I smacked my hands together.

  The clapper was the best invention, hands down, for anyone who was scared of the dark. I looked over at my clock—midnight.

  “Hello, Aunt Grace,” I mumbled, half-asleep.

  “I swear you are psychic, just like your mother.” She sounded even more chipper than the drunks I heard stumbling around outside my building.

  “Caller ID,” I reminded her once again, so she could dismiss any silly notions about a talent I so clearly didn’t have. “Is something wrong?”

  I didn’t know why I asked her this. I should be use to her middle of the night phone calls. She’d been doing it ever since I went away to college.

  “I wanted to be the first to wish you a Merry Christmas.” She sang, “We wish you a merry Christmas”—off tune—and I couldn’t help but join in.

  Not much had changed. I grinned, remembering how she’d wake me up at midnight to sing We Wish You A Merry Christmas with Uncle Jimmy grumbling behind her in his long footed red pajamas when I was a teen.

  “Goodnight, Aunt Grace,” I said when the song was over. “I’ll call you in the morning.” I pressed the off button and tried to drown out the festive cheering going on outside.

  I heard the bells on Christmas Day

  Their old, familiar carols play,

  And wild and sweet

  The words repeat

  Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

  ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  A trickle of morning light seeped through the blinds, much brighter today than normal. Seven a.m.

  Lazily, I pulled myself out of bed and peeked out to see the freshly fallen snow. In the silence of this Christmas morning, I made my way down the hall to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee.

  The smell of freshly brewed java put a smile on my face. My favorite part of the day. I opened my front door to find no paper. Sam usually delivered them every morning, but it was Christmas, and he didn’t work today. Damn! Now what was I going to do?

  I turned on the TV to get my daily dose of news. But of course all the channels were hosting their annual holiday movie marathons. I settled on watching the ending of A Christmas Carol staring Alastair Sims, the old one that Aunt Grace always made me watch as a child, or at least I pretended to watch. It had been hard to pay attention to black and white TV, but that was all we had.

  I picked up the phone just as Tiny Tim proclaim, “God bless us, everyone,” and dialed Aunt Grace.

  “Merry Christmas. Who is it?” She answered the phone in her most spirited cheer.

  “Merry Christmas, Aunt Grace.” Sadness swept over me thinking about her two-foot Christmas tree standing on top of the old console television.

  All the way up until I went to college, Aunt Grace and Uncle Jimmy got a real tree. Granted, it was a tree from the side of I-75, the interstate that runs through Cincinnati, but it was a tree. He’d say, “It’ll look better in our house. Now holler if you see a cop.” I made sure I stood lookout. There was no way I wanted to go to foster care like some of my friends.

  Aunt Grace loved decorating for Christmas. We couldn’t afford a lot, but she always tried to make it special. Every year we’d gather leaves from around the neighborhood and we’d string them up with popcorn. It made the prettiest garland.

  Evidently the fo
llowing year was when she got the Dollar Store tree. “Comes with lights and ornaments,” she said, holding up the box and pointing to the content section printed on the front. What I really think happened—Uncle Jimmy got caught cutting down the tree and spent the night in the poky.

  “Merry Christmas, Hallie.” She wasn’t as cheery as she’d been a moment ago. “I guess you really aren’t coming?”

  My heart sank. “No, Aunt Grace. I’ll see what I can do next year.”

  Deep down I knew the same conversation would take place a year from now.

  “Yes. Next year,” she repeated, sounding deflated.

  I pulled the phone from my ear to see who was calling in. “Aunt Grace, I’ve got to call you back. I might be going to a party tonight.” I pushed the button to click over. “Hello?”

  My heart pounded. Could this be it?

  “Merry Christmas, Hallie.” Bo’s voice was smooth like a fine red wine. “I wanted to make sure you were stopping by tonight.”

  “I didn’t know I was invited.” The call waiting beeped and Aunt Grace’s name popped on the screen.

  “I told the entire running group this morning. Oh—you didn’t show up.” He paused. “Can you make it?”

  I had completely forgotten we were going to run at six a.m. Whose bright idea was that? No one wanted to run at six in the morning, much less on Christmas morning. Although it would’ve been a great start to the day—running behind Bo.

  “Can you hold on for one second?” I didn’t want to ignore her on Christmas.

  “I. . .” Bo was about to say something when I clicked over.

  “Hello, Aunt Grace.”

  “You are psychic just like your mother.”

  “No, caller ID.” I slapped my palm on my forehead.

  “What did you say before you hung up? I don’t hear so well now a days, and I thought you mentioned something about coming here?”

  “No, I was talking about a party here in Chicago.”

  “Oh.” I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Well it is seven, but if you left now you can be here by noon. Or according to Jimmy, eleven the way you drive.”