Read Online The 13th Gift by Joanne Huist Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Joanne Huist Smith
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this single-parent thing, Megan knocks on the bathroom door. I expect to see her joyful face when I open the door; instead, I see worry lines wrinkling her brow.
“I can’t find the cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?”
“For the holiday party at school. You signed up to bring them at the open house. Remember, I asked you about them yesterday?”
The open house was in September.
“When’s the party?”
“Today.”
I’ve volunteered to supply a snack for Megan’s holiday party every year. She and I usually cuddle over cookbooks and seasonal magazines to find an unusual treat we can bake together. We’ve made Christmas wreath cookies of cornflakes and melted marshmallows, and candy-cane reindeers. I have been stumbling through December trying to forget about Christmas and failing miserably. The one thing I had promised to remember, I forgot.
“The school was supposed to send a reminder.”
“It’s on the refrigerator. I gave it to you last week.”
Megan leans against the bathroom door and gives me a frustrated look.
“Did you forget?”
The scene replays somewhere in my frontal lobe, beginning with Megan handing me the note. I had indeed promised to make the cupcakes and had just as quickly forgotten all about them.
“I remembered the gift for your teacher,” I say, trying to soften my daughter’s disappointment. She puts her hands over her eyes and shakes her head.
“What are we going to do?” she asks.
It’s not the first time since Rick’s death that I have screwed up like this; the ingredients I bought to make popcorn balls forher harvest party are still in the pantry. But it’s another Christmas moment I’m denying my child, and I can’t handle disappointing her again.
“We could make something quick. Popcorn?”
“You signed up on the sweet list,” Meg says, looking encouraged that I am thinking of possible solutions to the snack crisis. “That means sugar.”
I don’t have time to bake, so I improvise.
“Finish getting ready. We’re going to the store.”
The trip to the grocery requires us to leave the house before the boys get on the school bus, and I’m worried Ben may use the opportunity to skip class. It also delays any chance I might have had to look around his bedroom this morning. I wrestled with the idea a good part of the night. Our relationship, though shaky right now, is built on trust. Searching his room will destroy that if he finds out, but it’s got to work both ways. I saw him sneaking something into the house last night. I need to know what’s going on with him.
Before Meg and I leave, I take Ben aside.
“Promise you’ll get on the school bus.”
Ben takes a deep breath, and I recognize the look on his face. It’s the same one I give him when he pushes my patience to the limit.
“Do you really need to ask that?”
Megan steps in, “Please Ben.”
“Whatever,” he says. “I promise.”
I am backing the car out of the driveway when Nick runs out of the house wearing his coat, pajama pants, and snow boots.
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Can it wait until after school?”
Nick’s expression tells me it shouldn’t, but when he says yes, I take him at his word.
“I don’t work today. I’ll be waiting when you get off the school bus.”
As he walks back into the house, I notice a manila envelope in his hands, and I wonder what’s inside.
Please, no more trouble. No more problems.
During our drive to the store, Megan rattles off a list of alternative treats in case the cupcakes are a no-show in the bakery aisle.
“Doughnuts with sprinkles, cookies, a giant Christmas cake, umm … pumpkin pie with whipped cream.”
I expect the store to be deserted because it’s so early, but it seems that I’m not the only parent seeking school party supplies. I’m about to call out a greeting to a pair of moms who have kids in Megan’s class, when I overhear their conversation.
“She blew off the harvest party. I’m buying
“I can’t find the cupcakes.”
“Cupcakes?”
“For the holiday party at school. You signed up to bring them at the open house. Remember, I asked you about them yesterday?”
The open house was in September.
“When’s the party?”
“Today.”
I’ve volunteered to supply a snack for Megan’s holiday party every year. She and I usually cuddle over cookbooks and seasonal magazines to find an unusual treat we can bake together. We’ve made Christmas wreath cookies of cornflakes and melted marshmallows, and candy-cane reindeers. I have been stumbling through December trying to forget about Christmas and failing miserably. The one thing I had promised to remember, I forgot.
“The school was supposed to send a reminder.”
“It’s on the refrigerator. I gave it to you last week.”
Megan leans against the bathroom door and gives me a frustrated look.
“Did you forget?”
The scene replays somewhere in my frontal lobe, beginning with Megan handing me the note. I had indeed promised to make the cupcakes and had just as quickly forgotten all about them.
“I remembered the gift for your teacher,” I say, trying to soften my daughter’s disappointment. She puts her hands over her eyes and shakes her head.
“What are we going to do?” she asks.
It’s not the first time since Rick’s death that I have screwed up like this; the ingredients I bought to make popcorn balls forher harvest party are still in the pantry. But it’s another Christmas moment I’m denying my child, and I can’t handle disappointing her again.
“We could make something quick. Popcorn?”
“You signed up on the sweet list,” Meg says, looking encouraged that I am thinking of possible solutions to the snack crisis. “That means sugar.”
I don’t have time to bake, so I improvise.
“Finish getting ready. We’re going to the store.”
The trip to the grocery requires us to leave the house before the boys get on the school bus, and I’m worried Ben may use the opportunity to skip class. It also delays any chance I might have had to look around his bedroom this morning. I wrestled with the idea a good part of the night. Our relationship, though shaky right now, is built on trust. Searching his room will destroy that if he finds out, but it’s got to work both ways. I saw him sneaking something into the house last night. I need to know what’s going on with him.
Before Meg and I leave, I take Ben aside.
“Promise you’ll get on the school bus.”
Ben takes a deep breath, and I recognize the look on his face. It’s the same one I give him when he pushes my patience to the limit.
“Do you really need to ask that?”
Megan steps in, “Please Ben.”
“Whatever,” he says. “I promise.”
I am backing the car out of the driveway when Nick runs out of the house wearing his coat, pajama pants, and snow boots.
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Can it wait until after school?”
Nick’s expression tells me it shouldn’t, but when he says yes, I take him at his word.
“I don’t work today. I’ll be waiting when you get off the school bus.”
As he walks back into the house, I notice a manila envelope in his hands, and I wonder what’s inside.
Please, no more trouble. No more problems.
During our drive to the store, Megan rattles off a list of alternative treats in case the cupcakes are a no-show in the bakery aisle.
“Doughnuts with sprinkles, cookies, a giant Christmas cake, umm … pumpkin pie with whipped cream.”
I expect the store to be deserted because it’s so early, but it seems that I’m not the only parent seeking school party supplies. I’m about to call out a greeting to a pair of moms who have kids in Megan’s class, when I overhear their conversation.
“She blew off the harvest party. I’m buying
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