Christmas Surprises (13 page)

She'd taken the other half of the pan upstairs to the extra girls' room, where she continued eating it as she sat on the bed, even as Grant came in, still on the phone with the restaurant.

"All those turkeys," he moaned, just as soon as he finally hung up.  "What are we going to do with all those turkeys?!"

The Christmas Day offering at the restaurant was going to be a fixed menu.  Traditional Christmas dinner.  Simple, easy, lucrative enough -- Grant had told her months ago when they were still sharing these details -- that it would bring in the money to finish off the debt.  They'd joked that they were going to burn off the last mortgage statement right there with the turkeys he was going to smoke.

Those turkeys weren't going to be doing anything but celebrating Christmas in the sinks now, where they were busy thawing out for a meal they wouldn't be providing.

Money lost.

But who even cared at this point?  Grant's business venture was going to end up costing him money, but who cared?  Not Maddie.  Because Grant was someone different, completely different, so she wasn't surprised that the prevailing emotion she felt now, looking at him, was apathy.

But still love.  Still somewhere there, because even as she took another bite and relished the thought of him being wrong for once for coming up with this stupid plan to ruin Christmas so he could finish paying off a debt that could wait, she still hurt, watching the look on his face.

Love.  It's annoying like that sometimes.

"Turkey stew, turkey soup, turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole," she droned, looking up at him.  "You're the chef.  Come up with something."

He watched her for a long moment.  "I'd like to stick to the original plan.  Turkey.  Just turkey.  Done like turkey.  Money in our pockets.  Maybe the ice won't stick to the roads..."

Money in our pockets.

"And if it does," she said, done with this, with all of it, "they'll probably have the sanding trucks out and will get it cleared enough that the restaurant can still open.  And you can crawl through the snow to get there if you have to.  Which you will.  Because where else would you rather be on Christmas?"

Wow.  The tiramisu was making her catty.  She crammed another bite into her mouth.

"Supportive much, Maddie?," he asked critically, frowning at her.  "Last time I checked, you had something riding on the success of this restaurant, too."

Yes, she did.  Because she wasn't making enough with the book royalties to support herself anymore.  Any time she could have given to better marketing or to finding ways to supplement her writing career was given to the restaurant, to helping out with the bookkeeping, to helping out with the daily functioning of the kitchen, to being there.

She was Grant's helper and partner, in every sense of the word.  And she hated the restaurant because even when she was there, right there with him, he was still a million miles away.

"I do have a lot at stake here," she noted, taking another bite.

"Good grief," he asked, finally noticing the pan of tiramisu.  "How much of that have you eaten tonight?"

Not enough.  Because it still hurt, everything that he was saying.  She wasn't dull enough.

"A lot," she answered.  "And who cares if tomorrow doesn't bring in as much money as you thought it would?  We'll make it up in the new year.  When we're not taking our cruise and all.  Or when the baby is born, and you miss that, too, because you're back in the kitchen while I'm at the hospital."

She sounded like her mother.  Every fight she'd overheard between her parents came to mind.  Kaci's passive-aggressive picking, Brent's critical words, until the marriage was over and it was done.

Was this where she and Grant were heading?

In that moment, she didn't care if it was because she had to say something.  She finally had to say it.

He heard her.  But he still didn't get it.

"Madison," he said, finally sitting at her feet and looking at her, really looking at her.  "I'm doing all of this so we
can
take a cruise one day, so I
can
be there when the baby needs me.  I just have to make enough so I can have a little more freedom."

When?  When would it be enough?

"I'm doing well for us," he said softly, looking back at his phone.  "For myself."

"Well, yay for you," she mumbled, taking yet another bite. 

He believed her sarcasm enough to continue on with his phone, reading texts as she kept on eating.  "There's got to be some way to open up tomorrow --"

Good.  Grief.

"It's just
one day
," she said, carefully keeping from raising her voice.  Because she could say things like Kaci and be okay, but if she began screeching like Kaci... well, then she was no better than Kaci.

And being no better than Kaci was a fate worse than death, honestly.  Talk about zombies and all...

"No, it's not just
one day
," he insisted.  "The money from this.  It has to be enough.  Not just for this month but to set the standard for the next quarter, all that will need to be earned then."

"What are you talking about, Grant?," she asked.  "The last payment will pay off the mortgage.  We can move on, find a bigger place to live, and --"

"The restaurant is too small," he murmured.  "We need to pay off the building and then look into leasing a bigger place after I've paid off the debts."

What?

Maddie swallowed the tiramisu and felt it lump up in the back of her throat.

The shock of Grant's words.  Not because he was planning this for the restaurant.  Not because it put hopes of a home to rest.  Before all of this she would have said that she'd gladly live anywhere with him, do anything he wanted to for the restaurant, if she could count on him
being there with her
--

But the shock was over another debt.  He would be taking on another debt, and the next five years of their marriage would be like the first five.  Grant gone, all the time.  Her on her own, living like she was single, like she'd never even had him.

And a baby now, too.

Then what?  Once that debt was paid, Grant would want to be even more successful.  Another restaurant, another debt, climbing a ladder the rest of their lives together, until they wouldn't even know who they were.

"What?!," she yelled.  And there it was.  Kaci's voice, coming from her lips.

The horror of it.  But she just kept on.

"What are you even talking about, Grant?!"

"A bigger place," he said, not seeming to notice that his wife was morphing into her worst nightmare.  "More money --"

"You're not taking out another loan!," she yelled at him.

Finally, he seemed affected by the tone she was using, watching her with concern because his sweet, kind, agreeable Maddie was gone, gone, gone.

It didn't change his mind, though.

"But it'll be worth it in the end," he said.  "More business that way --"

"But we're already sacrificing everything as it is!," she pleaded.  Their marriage, their life in church, his walk with Christ, likely, as she couldn't even recall the last time he'd said anything about what God was doing in his life --

"All worth it," he said.  "We can really make this restaurant a success if we just push on, carry more debt for just a little while longer."

The rest of her life was going to be just like this.  She could see it.  Suddenly, she didn't care if she sounded just like her crazy mother.  She just wanted to say what she thought.

"I can't live like this!," she yelled, finally putting down the tiramisu.  "I can't do it!"

"It's not going to be forever," he assured her.

"But it's been our marriage," she said.  "Our whole marriage, Grant, just like this.  And I'm done.   I'm so
done
with it."

"I know," he said, "and this loan will be done before the new year, then --"

"I'm done with
you
," she said.

She said it.  And for just a moment, she meant it.  Truly and honestly meant it.

He regarded her with shock, hurt... disbelief.

"You don't mean that," he said.

"I do," she said, finding it ironic that the same two words she'd used to promise him forever were now a declaration of something quite different.  "Done.  I'm done.  This is not what I signed up for, and you?  You are not the man you were."

Every wrong done to her in the duration of their short marriage came to mind.  Love keeps no record of wrongs, of course, which was maybe further proof that this wasn't what she'd thought it was when she'd been starry eyed and drunk on tiramisu, so long ago in the restaurant back when she'd been someone else and he'd won her heart.

"I don't even like you anymore," she said, thinking that out of all she'd said, this was the most true.  If she had it to do over again, given who Grant was now... well, would she?  She wasn't sure.

I don't even like you anymore.

Only after the words left her mouth did she remember another time when she'd heard them before.

An every other weekend visit.  Brent and Kaci meeting up halfway to hand off Maddie and Kait.  Neither one of the adults saying much of anything, because what was there left to say once the divorce was final, reconciliation wasn't ever going to happen, and there were children to still share for a whole lifetime?

Not much left to say at all, but Kaci had still been determined to have the last word.

"I don't even like you anymore, Brent," she'd said.

No kidding.  But the words had hit home with him.  It wasn't about love.  He wasn't even worth liking as a person.

She'd become that.  She looked at Grant and saw what the words did to him, hitting him in a way that no other words had.

She'd done that to him.  And even though she was still angry, even though she didn't know where they were going, even though she couldn't figure out what she even wanted anymore... well, she felt something at having hurt him like this, at having become who she'd never in a million years have chosen to be.

And suddenly all the tiramisu in her stomach and all the worries in her heart were too much to take.

"Grant, I think I'm going to be sick," she said.

And sure enough, she was.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rachel

It had been an unpleasant night.

Well, pleasant enough for Mia and Zoe, who weren't bothered in the least by the fact that they had to share a bed.  If anything, they were more excited about the arrangements than they would have been had the night been entirely normal, because this way, it would be easier to wake one another up at the crack of dawn to see what Santa had left.

Yay.  Another early morning with the craziest family in the world.

After getting the girls to brush their teeth, change into pajamas, and finally fall asleep, after much giggling and carrying on, Rachel turned from their bed, already tired and worn out, to find Micah watching her from the second twin bed, shirtless and staring at her meaningfully.

Not like that.  Because he was in a princess bed.  And because he was acting like a child.

Rachel would have given anything to have seen Brian haul off and punch Micah right in the face during dinner.  She loved her husband, but she would have rejoiced to see him get what he deserved.  That much was probably obvious from the way she'd regarded him incredulously as he'd scowled at his mother's happiness, given the question that came from his lips the moment she laid down next to him.

"I'm being unreasonable, right?," he'd whispered.

"I'm not going to answer that, Micah," she'd yawned.  "Because there's no right answer."

"It's just," he'd gone on, not looking for an answer anyway, "she kept this from us, right?  I mean, I think I'd be okay with it if she'd given us a little more warning. 
Hey, Micah, I've met a nice guy.  Great, Mom!
  But she skipped that!  And now, here he is!  And they've been dating for
two months
!"

The last two words had been a little loud.  Mia mumbled something as Zoe cuddled her closer.

"She doesn't have to tell you anything," Rachel had whispered back.  "She's a grown adult.  She doesn't need to ask her adult son for permission to live her life."

"What if it was your mom?," he had hissed.

"Then, I would tell her she needs to stop and go back to her husband," she had mumbled.  "Not the same situation, Micah.  Don't ask me to speak to a situation that doesn't exist."

"But if your dad was --"

"Oh, good grief," she'd sighed, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him.  "I'd tell her
good for you
.  I'd tell her
go on and find your happiness.
  I'd tell her
it's time for you to live your life."

He'd watched her for a long moment.  "This is like you," he'd said.  "Like you going back to work."

"What?," she'd asked, her heart doing that funny little apprehensive thing it had done lately, thinking about leaving home, having someone else pick the girls up from school, not getting to be there for all the parties, all the events...

She didn't want to go to work.  It was like she told Grant.  It would be enough to stay at home.  She didn't want what everyone thought she should want.

But Micah hadn't know any of this, of course.  So, he'd kept on.

"You're doing something for you," he'd said.  "You're saying
it's about me now
.  You're going on with your life."

"It's not about me now," she'd corrected.

But he had gone on talking.  "I'm not being negative about it.  Good for you, Rachel.  I can respect that. And I can respect it for my mom.  Moving on and all.  But maybe she should've just gotten a hobby or something, right?  Like most widows?  Don't most widows knit?  Or join a book club or something?  Not meet up with shady gigolos --"

"He's a pastor," she'd sighed, lying back down.

"I'm just saying," Micah had muttered.  "I mean, he's older than she is, too.  And she's got money, you know.  The life insurance my dad had set up, her retirement, their house.  I'm sure Brian knows
all
about it."

Rachel had frowned at him.  "Well, that's a great conspiracy theory and all, but no.  You're wrong, Micah."

"Okay, so I'm wrong," he'd said in that way that said he didn't think he was wrong at all.  "But it's just weird.  My mother, dating someone.  And I don't know if I can handle it."

"Well," she'd told him, taking a deep breath, "it's not like acting like a five year old will make things better."

"I'm not acting like a five year old," he'd said, his pout on, making him look just exactly like his five year old daughters.

Oh, good grief.

"There it is," she had said, frowning at him.  "That look.  Just like your attitude.  Micah, who acts like that?  Who hears that his mother is happy and acts like that?"

"I do," he'd muttered sullenly.  "It would be different if she hadn't kept it from me --"

"But she did," Rachel had said.  "And do you know why she probably did it?"

"Why?," he'd asked.

"Because of the way she knew you would act," she'd said.  "At least this way she got a couple of months of bliss before you tried to rain on her parade."

He'd looked wounded at this.  Maybe she had been speaking too harshly.

Just like he'd been doing all night with his mother's boyfriend.

"Sweetheart," she'd said, putting her hands to his face.  "May I speak some truth into your life?"

"As long as you speak it gently, please," he'd answered.

She could do that.

"It could be that this man is going to be around for a long while," she'd said. 

"Could be," he'd agreed with a sigh.

"And it might be to the benefit of all concerned if you would find a way to be the man I know you are, deep down inside, even with this man in the picture."

"So, be nice, in other words," he had said.

"To honor Christ, yes," she'd said.  "And you trust your mother's judgment, don't you?  She picked your dad, after all."

And for about the thousandth time, Rachel had wished she had gotten to meet Chris.  To better understand Micah, to better understand the family she'd married into, and to better understand the responsibility she carried with her husband now, for everyone around him, likely because his father had done such a wonderful job of taking care of them all while he was alive.

Micah had watched her for a long minute.  "I don't know," he'd said slowly, "how I can love you and hate the things you say all at the same time, Rachel."

"It's your redeemed, holy side that loves me, Micah.  The Jesus in you," she'd sighed.  "And it's your fleshly, evil side that can't stand to hear the great and profound truths that I speak.  Your struggle is just what's common to man, you know."

"Way to spiritualize family drama," he'd grinned.

"Yeah, I know, right?," she'd smiled back at him. "I'm good at that."

"But you don't practice what you preach," he'd said, "given the way you were yelling at your brother in the kitchen over tiramisu."

She'd frowned at this.  "That's not -"

"Screeching and yelling --"

"We've all got drama," she had said pitifully, thinking about Grant and Maddie, about the looks they'd exchanged after Grant had said that, no, he couldn't get away for the cruise, no matter what season they chose.

He deserved someone screeching at him, honestly.

"Everyone has drama," she'd said again.

"We don't have any drama," Micah had assured her.  "We're great.  You and me."

"Yeah," she'd said, agreeing with this, "but I've got the drama of watching my brother's marriage fall apart."

Micah had studied her for a long moment. "Nah," he'd said, shaking his head.  "It's not that bad.  They're just really busy with the restaurant."

"Grant's really busy," she'd corrected him.  "So busy that I don't think he realizes that everything he's doing to keep being who he thinks he needs to be is completely changing him."

"What?," Micah had asked.

"I don't even know what I'm saying," she'd moaned.  "I'm so tired, after just one day of all these people in our house, and... are we crazy for letting Jacob and Gracie move in here, too?!"

"I don't think so," Micah had said, shaking his head.  "It'll be different, but... well, it'll all work out okay.  I think."

"Maybe," she'd murmured, "if I can figure out a way to coordinate everything a little better, maybe change up the way I have everything laid out --"

"Rachel," he'd said.  "May I speak some truth into your life?"

What was good for the goose was good for the gander, but...

"Well, you're going to, no matter what I say," she'd concluded.

"You don't have to have it all together," he'd whispered, very simply.  "Not when it comes to running this house, having your career, micromanaging your brother's marriage --"

"Not micromanaging his marriage," she'd argued.  "I've got enough to manage with our marriage.  Don't need to involve myself in someone else's."

He'd grinned.  "You say that," he'd said.  "But we're happy.  We're good."

So much better than that.  Maybe this was why it made it so hard to watch Grant and Maddie, knowing how it could be.

Maybe it was part of the reason why Micah had trouble watching his mother, knowing that someone you loved could be taken from you and the world wouldn't stop turning, that a lifetime, a good lifetime built with someone else, could be a thing of the past and life could go on.

Poor Micah.  He was a childish jerk, of course, but she could see, even in that, the reality of how he still mourned his father in his own way.

"Hey," she'd said, putting her lips on his.  "I love you.  You're my best friend, Micah.  In all the world.  Just you."

He'd made a face at this.  "You're trying to distract me from what I just said, about how you keep trying to run the whole world --"

"Guilty," she'd said against his lips, because it was the honest truth.  "And you were mean to Brian."

"Yeah," he'd conceded.

"See?," she'd sighed.  "That's why you're my best friend.  Because we can say these things to each other and still be just fine."

"Better than fine," he'd murmured, pulling her closer.

"Yep," she'd murmured.  "So, let's just vow to do better tomorrow.  To let this awful day die and do better tomorrow."

"Okay."

"And let's sleep," she'd yawned.  "Because we've got to get up in a few hours to get all the toys out, and have a merry Christmas and all."

"Okay," he'd agreed. Then, after a lot of moving and readjusting, "Good grief, this is a tiny bed."

"We slept in a bed this small in Italy, remember?," she'd said, a faint smile on her face.  "I don't recall you complaining then."

"I've gained a few pounds since our honeymoon," he'd answered, "as have you."

"I gave birth to twins, Micah," she'd sighed.  "There's no coming back from that gracefully."