The rest of the family opens their gifts, oohing and awing their delight. The kids tucked away upstairs, Natalie made sure they opened their Christmas pajamas and books to excite them for bed. I did my part with whispered threats that Santa wouldn’t come unless they went to sleep and stayed that way till morning. You know, Aunt things.
We clear away the torn wrapping paper and bows and settle around the coffee table. I flip through the Christmas Spotify playlists before finding the perfect mix of classic meets modern. Taylor Swift’s sweet peppy voice singsChristmas Tree Farm, a perfect playful backdrop.
Natalie places a bottle of whiskey and the fruitcake alongside a deck of cards. Damion sets out eight plates and a stack of red solo shot glasses. Preston looks at the setup nervously. “What is this? No offense, I’m not eating that.”
“Hope you’re good at cards then.” Jax grins.
ChapterTwelve
Scanning my opponents for clues then back at my cards, the pieces of fruitcake around the table a worrisome contender if the next card from the pile doesn’t pull up as an ace. Biting my lip, I zone in on Jax’s hand as he slowly flips the last card. “Yes!” I yell and throw my hand to the table in triumph.
Natalie shushes me, and I tone it down but do a little happy dance. Our family concocted the game a couple of Christmases ago after a regular at the shop brought Damion a homemade fruitcake and an employee gifted him a nice bottle of whiskey. That unlikely combination paired with a deck of cards and a knowledge of poker laid the foundation. Instead of chips, everyone starts with a big piece of fruitcake and a shot of whiskey (well, apple cider for me until recently). Your cake is sliced into five smaller bits, and you can take up to four more refills of whiskey.
Cake and whiskey shots become the chips in a way. A winning hand allows you to switch “chips” with anyone at the table. The goal: get rid of all your cake while keeping hold of your precious shots.
“All right Clara, your turn to make a switch.” I scope out what everyone has in front of them. Jax is up to a couple of shots and no cake. Nat’s dad unfortunately is the opposite, only fruitcake in front of him. The rest of us are somewhere in between.
“Hmm,” I draw out, tapping my chin with the edge of my cards. “Sorry babe, I think you need this more than me.” Transferring the bigger slice of fruitcake from my plate to Preston’s. He bristles as it lands with a thud.
“All right everyone, last hand of the night,” Jax announces.
Natalie wins the last round, narrowly breaking Jax’s lead with a single piece of cake. The final rule of the game is that you can’t get up from the table until you finish your fruitcake. Those of us who’ve played before are pros at getting it down without issue. Poor rookie Preston isn’t so lucky. He inspects the piece at the end of his fork with so much disdain you’d think it was toxic. Finally taking the plunge, he shoves it in and chews, immediately gagging. Wonder if I should have told him we also douse the fruitcake in liquor for days before the big game.
He sputters, downing his two shots trying to ease the coughing fit. Not exactly what I would have chosen to wash down the boozy fruitcake but to each their own. “You good?” He’s obviously not fooled by my sarcastic concern. I try to wipe the smile off my face, but the tears in his eyes make it difficult.
“You could have warned me when we picked this up from the store,” he chokes out.
“I could have, but what would have been the fun in that?” The table falls into a fit of laughter.
“Okay kids, I think it’s time we get some sleep.” Natalie’s mom interrupts, pulling Marcus to his feet. They say their goodnights and head up the stairs.
“Oh!” Natalie starts to rise, catching herself on the table as she sways. Damion’s right there to steady her. “Always a lightweight,” he says affectionately, kissing her temple.
“Stop. I’m fine.” She says, shooing him away. “But I just realized the beds are all full,” she explains, looking over to Jax and Maggie. With their unexpected arrival, no one thought to plan out sleeping arrangements before we started the game.
“Natalie, don’t trouble yourself, we can take the pull out in the living room,” Maggie offers.
“Don’t be silly, that thing isn’t fit for the kids let alone two adults. No, you guys should take the futon in Damion’s office. Clara and Preston can sleep in the living room.”
“Yeah, that’s totally fine. We’ll get our stuff and the office is all yours.”
* * *
“The sofa bed pull out really is horrible, but I have an idea. Help me move the coffee table?” Preston picks it up on his own, moving it to the side of the couch. I yank off the seat and the back cushions, lining them up on the floor to form a makeshift mattress. “I’ll be right back.”
I return with a giant armload of sheets, blankets, and pillows I can barely see over. Dropping the bedding in our makeshift sleeping area, I look to Preston for his help, but he’s distracted by an ornament hanging on the tree. I wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze. His arm comes around pulling me to his side, his other hand still holding the homemade ornament. “I made that one in elementary school.”
An old glass jar filled with water holds a laminated photo of my family. Tiny flecks of white glitter dance as he shakes the DIY snow globe. “That must be your mom.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You look like her.”
“Really? Everyone says Damion looks like her, that I’m like my dad.”
“It’s the smile. He might have her coloring, but you have her smile.”
“Well at least she left something behind, I guess.” I shrug in his hold. He hangs the ornament back on the tree.