“I’m so sorry,” my mother said, as she wrapped an arm around Emily’s waist and pulled her toward the kitchen saying, “Why don’t you come help me prepare dinner and let the boys set the table.”
“Awww, Mom,” Brian and I whined in unison.
“Don’t aww, Mom me,” my mother scolded. “You know where everything is. Get the table set and get your father out of the basement before you watch your games!”
Brian and I headed into the dining room and began pulling out the silverware and dishes that my mother saved for holiday meals and celebrations. We knew that setting the table would be infinitely easier than getting Dad out of his basement hideaway, and we also knew, from experience, that our mother wouldn’t let us get away with shirking our duties.
“So, you’re hot for teacher,” Brian said, as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh, shut up,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I felt bad for her. She didn’t have anywhere to go, and it’s Christmas, for God’s sake.”
“It doesn’t hurt that she’s incredibly attractive,” Brian shot back. “I’m sure that had absolutely nothing to do with your invitation.”
“Okay, fine, she’s attractive, and I’m attracted to her,” I grumbled, as we spread the tablecloth my mother had left out and began setting the table. “I’ve been attracted to her for a while, if you must know.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” I said, as I used the edge of the tablecloth to polish a fork that looked dull.
“Don’t you boys use the tablecloth to polish the silverware! If you need a cloth, I’ve got one in the kitchen!” my mother shouted, from out of nowhere.
“How the hell does she do that?” Brian said, whipping his head around in time to see my mother walking into the dining room holding out a polishing cloth.
“I’m not kidding,” she warned.
Brian and I finished the task without saying another word, and then went downstairs to find our father. He was sitting on a stool behind his workbench carving a piece of wood with a small penknife. A cerebral man by training, he’d taken up woodcarving during the year that my parents had spent traveling in South America, and had made a habit of sequestering himself in the basement when he was working on a project.
“What are you working on these days, Dad?” I asked, as I snuck a peek at the small figures lined up on his workbench.
“I’m making a Nativity scene for your mother,” he said, carefully blowing the shavings off of what looked like a small cradle. “I’d intended to have it done well before today, but, well…”
He trailed off as he bent his head and applied the knife to the wood in silence. Brian and I watched him for a few minutes before we both grew restless.
“Blake brought a date to Christmas dinner,” Brian blurted out.
“Hmm, that’s nice,” my father said, without looking up. “Who is she?”
“He rescued her from a fire this morning,” Brian said, before I punched him in the shoulder. “Ouch! It’s true! Why are you punching me?”
“Because you’re a jerk,” I said, shooting him a warning look. “She’s Nina’s History teacher, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Hmmm, well, that’s nice of you,” my father said. “I’m sure your mother will be happy for a bit of female company this year.”
My father lapsed into silence again as he worked on his belated gift, and after awhile, Brian nudged me and tilted his head toward the stairs. I nodded and followed him up to the den, where we turned on the football game. I went into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers and saw t
hat Emily and my mother were silently working on putting together a salad.
“We’re watching the game, if you’re interested,” I said casually.
“The Patriots and the Jets or the Falcons and the Packers?” Emily asked.
“Patriots and Jets,” I said.
“There’s no way the Jets are going to beat them,” she replied. “They’ve got a weak defense, and their quarterback has a bad arm. The Patriots are going to take it all the way this year.”
“You like football?” I asked, surprised.
“Actually, the Celtics are my favorite team, but they never play on holidays,” she smiled, as she added several sliced tomatoes to the bowl of lettuce.