My Red, White, & Blue Christmas Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Full Page Image

  Contents

  1. Kasey

  2. Kasey

  3. Beau

  4. Holiday Schedule!

  5. Kasey

  6. Beau

  7. Kasey

  8. Beau

  9. Kasey

  10. Beau

  11. Kasey

  12. Beau

  13. Kasey

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Julie Christianson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  My Red, White, & Blue Christmas

  Contents

  1 | Kasey

  2 | Kasey

  3 | Beau

  4 | Holiday Schedule!

  5 | Kasey

  6 | Beau

  7 | Kasey

  8 | Beau

  9 | Kasey

  10 | Beau

  11 | Kasey

  12 | Beau

  13 | Kasey

  About the Author

  Contents

  1. Kasey

  2. Kasey

  3. Beau

  4. Holiday Schedule!

  5. Kasey

  6. Beau

  7. Kasey

  8. Beau

  9. Kasey

  10. Beau

  11. Kasey

  12. Beau

  13. Kasey

  About the Author

  1

  Kasey

  “Y

  ou’re late for Christmas, Kasey.” My mother blocks the doorway of our two-story farmhouse and a big frown clouds her face. “Don’t the people of Los Angeles own calendars? Or is everyone there on California time?”

  I paste on my brightest smile, which isn’t easy after two connecting flights and an hourlong ride from the Albany airport. “It’s the 1st of July, Mom.”

  “My point exactly.” She spits at a red curl that’s come loose from her bun, and wipes both hands down her Mrs. Claus apron. In case anyone missed the memo, she’s also wearing jingle bell earrings and a necklace made of miniature Christmas lights. “Today’s Sunday. I distinctly remember telling you we’d be decorating the cousins’ tree on Saturday.”

  “I really am sorry, but I distinctly remember telling you about my interview.” She stares at me, blinking. Clueless. “For my absolute dream job, Mom. At The Chronicle? The job where I’d be the youngest person ever to lead a department?” Another couple blinks from my mother. “No big deal if you forgot. It’s only the most important thing to happen to me since being born.”

  She pats at her bun. “Oh yes, that’s right. Your big interview. At The Chronicle. Of course I remember.”

  Nope. Don’t think you do. “Anyway, Ms. Witherspoon said she’s making her decision by the end of this week, which is good because my first student loan payment’s due in August.” I hoist my computer bag higher on my shoulder and readjust the grip on the handle of my suitcase. “Either way, I’m all yours now. Promise.”

  My mother nods at the battered computer bag. “Then why did you bring that thing?” She clucks like a hen. Correction: like a disappointed hen in a Mrs. Claus apron. “You write for a newspaper, Kasey. It’s not like you’re a brain surgeon.”

  “Thanks for the reminder that I didn’t go to med school, Mom. But the laptop’s just my insurance policy. A gentle warning for Brady.”

  I peek past her into the house where I grew up. It’s in the middle of Abieville, a tiny village in the Adirondack mountains. From our back porch you can see the lake. If it weren’t for all the trees, you could see the whole town. I haven’t lived here since college, and my brother Brady’s got his own place down the street now, but I still expect him to jump out and prank me at any moment. Color me prepared. “He’d better be nice this week or he’ll end up in my next article. I can see the headline now: Brady Graham Breaks World Record for Worst Smelling Socks.”

  Cluck. “That’s not funny, Kasey.”

  “Come on, Mom.” I giggle. “It’s a little bit funny.”

  My mother’s frown is back, but this time her mouth twitches. I’ve almost got her. “Brady forgot one pair of socks in his gym bag for a few months back in middle school,” she says. “Is that a crime?”

  “As the one who was in charge of laundry back then, I’m here to report the stink was basically a felony.” I crane my neck trying to see over her shoulder again. “Can I come in yet, or are we going to stand here on the porch sweating in the sun talking about Brady’s feet?”

  My mother throws up her hands. “Well, get on in here, then.” She steps back to make room for me and almost knocks over a Yankee Candle on the console. It’s eggnog scented which is perfect for ninety degrees and eighty percent humidity. I wipe my Doc Martens on the doormat that reads KISS ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE.

  “Seems kind of bossy for a welcome mat, Mom.”

  “Don’t be silly, Kasey.” She shuts the door and follows me into the front room. I’ve got to admit, my heart aches a little. But in a good way. The very best way. It feels so good to be here. The space smells like home. Like Christmas. Probably because of the giant Douglas Fir looming in the corner. There are no ornaments on the tree yet, but somebody’s already loaded it up with twinkle lights. Around the base is the Graham family’s special Christmas tree skirt. It’s made of forest green felt and trimmed with red satin ribbon. Plastic snowflakes run along the edge, except in the spots where our cat Sprinkles chewed them off a few years back. I can still hear my mother’s voice. Good thing your brother’s studying to be a veterinarian. I remember thinking good thing it was never my job to empty the litter box.

  My mother points at the bin labeled SPECIAL COUSIN ORNAMENTS and clucks again. She’s really got the chicken thing down pat. “You know all four McCoy cousins made it to town yesterday, but we couldn’t trim the tree because you weren’t here yet.” She trades in the cluck for a tsk tsk tsk. You might not think there’d be a difference unless you’ve met Elaine Graham. “Darby and Olivia were so disappointed. And Tess flat-out insisted on waiting for you to even open the box.”

  Oof. “I’ll try to make it up to them. I really do miss everyone so much.”

  My mom shakes her head and her jingle bell earrings. “What about me? Are you waiting all day to hug your mother?”

  “Of course I miss you, Mom.” I roll my suitcase next to the coffee table and set my computer bag beside it so she can gather me in her arms. Then she smashes me against her Christmas light necklace and shrieks, “Goodness gracious! Careful with my bulbs, Kasey!”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Mom.” After extricating myself from the crush, I turn around and flop down on our couch. Ah. Home sweet home. Almost sweet enough to forget why I haven’t been back for five straight summers. But internships at The Chronicle don’t grow on trees. Not even the firs our town is named for. Dream jobs don’t either. And I won’t let anyone steal what I’ve been working toward. Not this time.

  “Kasey Elizabeth Graham,” my mother scolds. “Don’t even think about putting those boots up on that couch. There’s a reason our upholstery’s lasted this long. No thanks to you and your brother’s feet.”

  Sheesh Are we really back on Brady’s feet?

  For the record my parents have had the same overstuffed sectional since their wedding day. A matching armchair sits across from it. And an ottoman. All our f
urniture is very plaid. Very Adirondack. Mom hides the few spots where the upholstery has succumbed—rest in peace—with an assortment of colorful blankets. For extra flavor, she sews seasonal throw pillows. Right now the ones on the armchair are red, white, and blue. An homage to the 4th of July. On the sectional she’s scattered nine pillows. One for every reindeer.

  “Uh oh.” I pick up the pillow next to me. “I think you spelled Rudolf wrong.”

  She scoffs. “I most certainly did not.”

  I toss the pillow at her. “I’m not trying to upset your holly jolly Christmas, but his name ends in an PH. Not an F.”

  “Humph.” She examines the stitching. “You might be right.”

  “Gosh. That hurt to admit, didn’t it?” I smile at her but it’s a smug one. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother. She’s blustery and silly and she gives interesting hugs. But she sometimes looks back at me from two steps ahead, then acts like I’ve fallen behind. What she doesn’t understand is I’m not behind her. I just hopped on a different path.

  “In any case,” she warns now, “don’t get too comfortable, Kasey. Uncle Cubby brought over a whole pile of potatoes earlier, and they aren’t going to peel themselves.”

  “No problem, Mom.” I slip the rubber band from my too-tight ponytail and my scalp starts tingling. “But can I take a quick shower first? The connecting flight from Denver to Albany was packed and I don’t feel—”

  Cluck. “I’m sorry but there’s simply no time. And I’m not saying that’s your fault, Kasey, what with your being late and all, but someone needs to prep the potato salad for the 4th of July before we can start baking the snicker doodles for Santa. Oh! And that reminds me. I should pop next door to Big Mama’s. You know Aunt Remy’s living with her now, don’t you? Well, they’re in charge of getting the carrots to put out for Rudolph this year.” Mom pauses and lifts one eyebrow. “Rudolph with a PH.”

  Ha! Told you I love her. “You nailed it, Mom.” I grin. “But not even a quick rinse off?”

  Tsk. “Auntie Mae will be here any minute. She volunteered to cook the ribs and corn for tonight since I’ll be busy hosting. There’s still so much to do. You know there will be at least sixteen of us for dinner. My goodness! I hope we have enough corn.”

  “It’ll be fine, Mom. Take a deep breath. I won’t take any corn for myself until we’re sure.”

  Her nod is serious, like I just offered her a kidney. “Why thank you, dear.” She tilts her head. “Who needs a doctor for a daughter when you can have one who’s so considerate about corn? Oh, and Kasey, we’ll be eating at six o’clock sharp. If you need to, set a timer so you won’t be late.” The phone starts ringing in our kitchen. “My goodness! What’s the emergency now? I can’t ever get a moment’s peace these days, can I? I’ll be right back, Kasey. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I glance around. “Deal.”

  She bustles off, both arms whirling like branches in a hurricane. In the silence that follows, I lean back on the couch and run my hands through my hair, finger combing the tangle of long auburn curls. At least I washed and conditioned last night, so I can still smell the coconut shampoo. Not having time to shower isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened, Kasey. I shake off the thought as quickly as it comes, though. I’m only back in Abieville for the 4th of July because we’re all pretending it’s Christmas. Feeling sorry for ourselves isn’t on the agenda. Only fireworks and mistletoe.

  On that note, I take a moment to survey the living room that Mom’s got decorated exactly the same as every other Christmas. Sure it’s roasting outside, but our stockings are still hung by the chimney with care. In order of age. Phil. Elaine. Brady. Kasey.

  My grandmother, Florence Bradford, AKA Big Mama, knitted one for everybody in the family. The first ones were for her four daughters. Then their husbands. When Mac was born, he’s my oldest cousin, she started adding stockings for each grandchild. Ten in total. I used to wish Big Mama had taught me to knit, but I always worried I’d be terrible at it. Now, even if I tried not to care about being perfect, she probably wouldn’t remember how.

  Around the rest of the room, Mom’s put up all the Christmas decorations Brady and I made when we were kids. Cotton ball angels. Snowmen formed from ballet tights. Candy canes of clay painted white with thick red stripes. All my stuff is neater than Brady’s, but he probably had more fun making his. Even with coloring books and crayons, I always tried to stay in the lines.

  My stomach growls so I dig a handful of green and red M&Ms from an angel-shaped dish on the coffee table. I start picking out all the red ones to munch first when Sprinkles moseys around the corner. He looks at me, his tail swishing like he’s the Queen of England waving to a crowd. I make kissy noises to tempt him over, but he ignores me and climbs on top of the big box of cousin ornaments. Someone must’ve hauled it up from Big Mama’s and Big Papa’s basement. Probably Uncle Irv. He’s the only one still willing to go down there on account of all the spiders.

  Every year when we were kids, Big Mama and Big Papa would chop down a special tree just for their grandchildren. In the days leading up to Christmas, we would trim the tree, then have an Ugly Sweater Dinner at their house. There’d be eggnog and caroling around town. Each Christmas Eve, they would give us matching pajamas and new ornaments to open. We’d leave out snickerdoodles for Santa. Carrots for the reindeer.

  Then we grew up.

  This spring, both Big Papa and Aunt Remy’s husband—my Uncle Ted—passed within a month of each other. My mom wanted to do something nice for Big Mama and Aunt Remy. Something to heal their broken hearts. So she and her other two sisters—my Auntie Mae and Auntie Ann—decided to revive the tradition of the cousins’ tree. This of course required cousins. Most of the grandkids, including Brady, were still in Abieville. But I moved to LA. Olivia’s in Denver. Darby lives in Seattle. Mac, his daughter Daisy, and Tess are in Apple Valley Oregon.

  A gazillion and one emails later, everyone agreed that those of us traveling home would have an easier time in the summer. That’s how Christmas in July was born. Mom had the original idea. Mom’s in charge of the cousins’ tree.

  She hustles back into the front room now, both arms still flapping. How she hasn’t flown away by now is anybody’s guess. “Kasey!” She gasps, but at least she remains on the ground. “You’re just sitting there?”

  “I thought I was supposed to wait for you.”

  “Well you weren’t.” Cluck. “That was Aunt Remy on the phone. She does in fact have the carrots.”

  “Thank goodness!”

  Mom ignores my sarcasm. “That’s the good news.” Tsk. “The bad news is Big Mama’s got a stomach bug. She can’t come for dinner.”

  “Oh no!” My stomach drops. Seeing my grandmother was one of the things I wanted most to do this week. As bruising as my mother’s hugs can be is exactly how gentle Big Mama’s are. “Should I go over there?”

  Mom waves me off. “Better wait ‘til she’s feeling up to it. In the meantime, Auntie Mae and I still need your help with the potato salad. Plus, you’ll have to change before dinner. That outfit of yours won’t qualify.”

  I check out my cut-off jeans, white t-shirt, and the plaid flannel tied around my waist. Doc Martens aren’t exactly formal, but my people aren’t exactly fancy. “Qualify for what?”

  My mother takes a deep breath like she’s gathering all her patience along with all the air in the room. “For our Ugly Sweater Dinner, of course.”

  I snort. “But it’s ninety degrees out.”

  “It’s also tradition, Kasey.”

  “Yeah. In December. For actual Christmas.”

  She shakes her head. “You don’t have to remind anyone here that it’s not really Christmas.” She lowers herself onto the couch. A slump of mother next to me. “Everyone needs traditions, you know. This year more than ever.” When she starts to sniffle, my heart sinks. Laughter’s always been my safety net, but not at the expense of hurting others.

  “You’re right, Mom. I
’m sorry.” Ugh. Now my own eyes begin to sting. She slips a crumpled tissue from the sleeve of her Christmas cardigan and dabs at her eyes. “Please don’t cry, Mom. I promise to be the best sport ever for the whole week. I really am excited to see everyone. And I’ll definitely wear an ugly Christmas sweater tonight no matter how hot it is.”

  My mother shoves the tissue into her sleeve. “Thank you, Kasey.”

  “There’s just one problem,” I say. “I didn’t pack an ugly sweater. I didn’t even pack a cute one. All I brought are shorts, sundresses and sandals.”

  “Oh dear. This won’t do.” She starts to pull the tissue back out and I scramble for a solution.

  “It’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Liv, Darb, and Tess are staying next door with Aunt Remy and Big Mama, aren’t they? One of them probably packed an extra sweater.”

  My mother nods and stuffs the tissue back up. “You’re right. They probably did.” We’re both quiet for a beat, then I meet her gaze. “How is Aunt Remy doing, anyway? And Mac and the girls? I miss them all so much. Are they hanging in there?”

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Mom sniffles again. “Most of the time Big Mama talks like Big Papa’s just in the other room, and we don’t correct her. But Aunt Remy’s a whole different ball of wax. Not that she’s actual wax. That would be strange.” My mother pauses. “She misses Uncle Ted like a fish would miss water.” She gulps. “I swear if I lost your father like that...”

  “You won’t.” I gently lay a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort her and to stop this grim line of thinking. “Not for a long time.”

  My mother blinks then nods briskly. “Anyway, Aunt Remy sent me a picture of the sweater Mac’s wearing to dinner. He’ll be stiff competition, because it really is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen. There’s an entire snowman man made of Styrofoam and felt and buttons glued to the front of it. And the backside’s got the snowman’s...umm...”

  “Backside?”

  “Exactly! It’s a real hoot. Remy said Little Daisy’s been dressed like an elf since this morning. She’s such a darling girl, and my goodness, has she ever grown since the last time they visited. What was she, two years old then? That horrible wife of his was here too, so it had to be before she took off with her pilates instructor.” My mother clucks and tsks. “Such a shame.” She lowers her voice. “And now Daisy’s starting to look just like her mother.”