A Carol Christmas by Sheila Roberts

own kind.
Cluck, cluck, cluck
.
    “It’s way too quiet in here,” Aunt Chloe decided. “We need some Christmas music.” She flipped on the stereo in the living room to the local station and the voice of Burl Ives started to wish us a holly jolly Christmas. She turned around and held out both hands. I half expected her to take a bow. “There. How’s that?”
    “It beats The Little Drummer Boy,’ ” Mom said as she slathered green frosting on a tree. “Barely.”
    We had just finished frosting the cookies when Keira returned. I was sure her nose had led her. The kitchen smelled like a bakery early in the morning.
    “Well, we’re all here,” said Aunt Chloe around a mouthful of chicken. “I guess we can eat.” As if we hadn’t been for the last ten minutes.
    We settled down at the kitchen table with Aunt Chloe’s take out offering. I tried to enjoy the food, but dread that Keira would announce my early departure did bad things for my appetite.
    “How did the house-hunting go?” Mom asked her.
    A distraction. Thank God.
    My sister set down her chicken. “I found the most amazing house.” She bobbed her open hands up and down in a stop-and-listen-to-this-incredible-news motion. “It’s in Fairhaven, and it is fabulous.” She grabbed her purse from the counter, took out her cell phone, and brought up the pictures she’d taken.
    “Wow,” said Aunt Chloe. “Is that the new housing development?”
    Keira nodded.
    “You’ll have to mortgage your firstborn to get into it,” Mom predicted. “Oh, my. Look at that living room.”
    “It is a little pricey,” Keira admitted, “but Gabe thinks we can swing it.”
    “Gabe isn’t the one who has to live with the house payments,” Mom said.
    Keira frowned. “Whose side are you on?”
    “Yours, of course. I just don’t want to see you get in over your head. Nothing strains a marriage more than financial problems.”
    “Don’t worry,” Keira assured her. “Anyway, I’ll do without something else if I have to. Food, clothes, furniture … I don’t care. I must have this house.”
    I flashed on an image of a starved and naked Keira, sitting on the floor of her unfurnished new house, and moved my plate away. In the background, some woman sang “Santa, Baby.”
    “We’ll bring you care packages of Christmas cookies,” Aunt Chloe promised. She pushed away from the table and headed for the counter where the newly-frosted batch sat, defenseless.
    The doorbell rang. “That’s probably Spencer,” Keira said, and hurried out of the room.
    “I hope they know what they’re doing,” Mom said.
    “Don’t worry,” said Aunt Chloe. “As long as women need pelvic exams your daughter will have a roof over her head.”
    Keira returned, towing Spencer behind her. “Spencer, this is Andie.”
    Spencer was a hunk. If you crossed a young Johnny Depp with Brad Pitt in his prime you would have Spencer.
Johnny Pitt
. With money.
Johnny Pitt Trump
.
    “I’m glad to finally meet you,” he said. He took my hand and I let him shake it around a little bit.
    “Same here,” I said.
    Spencer was giving me a brotherly smile now. “I feel like I already know you. Keira talks about you all the time.”
    Keira frowned. “Oh, I do not.”
    I could just imagine what she’d have to say to him about me tonight.
    “So, you’re in advertising,” he said.
    I nodded.
    Keira had had enough of sharing the spotlight. “Gabe said he’d show us the house before the concert, which means we should go right now.” She tried to turn Spencer around to leave, but with his gaze fastened on the table, he was hard to turn.
    “Have you eaten yet, Spencer?” Mom asked.
    “Actually, no.”
    “We can fix that,” Keira said. She grabbed the bag with the leftover chicken. “Come on. You can eat in the car.”
    He looked horrified.
    “I’ll feed you,” she said, and started pushing him. “See you guys there,” she called over her shoulder.
    Mom shook her head as they exited.