Additional Guests

 

by Ed Peaco

Published by The MacGuffin 

Vol. 37, No. 1, Winter 2021

https://home.schoolcraft.edu/macguffin/the-macguffin

This is a short story about a Christmas gathering of an extended family and additional guests. Things happen that are odd, secretive, angry, absent-minded and yes, reasonable. See what happens in the end.

Here we were, Doralisa and me, making the four-hour drive to Mom’s house for Christmas Eve, and I was trying to think of all the things that could happen and how I would handle each one. Doralisa hadn’t met my family yet; we’d only been seeing each other a few months, and I hadn’t shared a lot of my past with her yet. It was in the early stages for us, and I know I’m not the best communicator. We had only a few miles to go. So I looked over at Doralisa, whose unruly hair stuck out of her tight-fitting knit hat that concealed much of her face. “Would you like to take off your hat?” I asked her. “I could turn up the heat.” I wasn’t wearing a hat because I didn’t want my hair to get plastered down. 

“No, I like it a little chilly,” she said. Normally she talked more. Her job of finding places for homeless people to live made her think out loud for long stretches. Now she was probably nervous about meeting my mom and brother and his family, though probably not as nervous as she should have been.

“One thing I’d like to do this year—I want to be the one to buy the tree,” I said.

“Bit late for a tree, don’t you think?” 

“No, it’s tradition. We put up a tree for Mom on Christmas Eve, with everyone all around. My brother Bobby always goes out and buys it, as if it’s his deal. But I thought I’d show some initiative this year, show up early, go for the tree before they arrive.”  

“The choice of tree can be an intensely personal thing,” she said.

I said, “You know, I’ve always wished my family could enjoy some quiet time once the tree is up. Spike some eggnog, put on some Nat King Cole or Johnny Mathis, and just chat. But the place is always so crazy with my brother’s kids.”

She turned in her seat and showed me her stern face. “You’re lucky. You don’t know what it’s like having to pass a little one back and forth at the holidays. Christmas can be mighty cold when it’s your ex’s turn to hold the hot potato.”

I choked on the thought of Doralisa’s reckless, delinquent son, and once again I felt lucky that my marriage went up in flames a long time ago, without kids. “You’ll really like Mom,” I said, “but she doesn’t have much of a filter when she talks.” Worry was starting to creep up on me. I hadn’t gotten around to telling Mom I was bringing Doralisa, or even that she was a factor in my life. I was feeling the gravity more than I expected.

When we arrived, a car I didn’t recognize was in the drive, so I parked on the street. One of my nephews greeted us, which I didn’t expect at all. He wore a Kansas City Chiefs cap, blazing red, his face buried in the bells and whistles of a hand-held electronic game. 

I couldn’t tell if he was Toby or Greg or Matt, because each time I see them, the younger ones seem to have moved into slots vacated by the older ones, and the oldest looks like a stranger.

“You’re Toby, right?” I asked. 

Doralisa turned to me and said, “He reminds me of my Cliff at that age.” She took off her hat and shook out her hair into exactly the same semi-kempt mop it always was. I took her hat and coat and opened the closet. My little wisp of a mother was chatting in the kitchen with a younger woman whose face I couldn’t see. Mom was wearing her mall-walking shoes, green sweatpants, and a red sweatshirt. Doralisa and I took two strides into the living room. Mom was fussing over the other woman, whispering in her ear. The unknown person kissed Mom on the cheek and said some urgent thing in her ear. 

Then the other woman turned around. I flinched at the sight of my horrible ex-wife, Carly, and by that kiss and those whispers. I quickly turned my back to Carly and, sadly, I bumped into Mom’s curio cabinet filled with glass and delicate porcelain figurines. A few of them shuddered and fell over.  

Doralisa steadied me with a hand on my back. “Stay focused,” she said.

I told her who Carly was and why I recoiled when I did: “She’s someone to avoid.”

“Is there a secret exit nearby?” Doralisa said, smiling.

I hoped Mom or Carly didn’t notice any harm in the curio cabinet. And I hoped that maybe Mom would get rid of Carly, and nothing would happen.  

Doralisa offered to perform a damage check of the delicate pieces. She nodded, summoning me for a quick peek. She found a broken pelican, and several items had fallen over but luckily were still intact. 

Mom hurried to greet us. “Marvin!” she shouted. I rushed to Mom, and Doralisa came along in a minute. 

“Why is Carly here?” I asked Mom.

“You were early,” Mom said. “Carly likes to see what Bobby’s kids are doing.”

“Well, we’re here,” I said.

“We?” Mom asked. I hugged her, and I got a whiff of her old lady’s perfume, like an overripe peach. She pressed her forehead against my chest, then pushed off. 

“I want you to meet someone,” I said.

“Oh really?” Mom asked. “Who?”

“I forgot to tell you about my additional guest.” Mom forced a smile. I introduced Harriet, my mother, to Doralisa.

“You didn’t mention a lady friend,” Mom said.

“I was thinking it could be a surprise,” I said. 

“And it’s a surprise for me, too, in a sense,” Doralisa said. She formed a circle with her mouth but didn’t say anything more. 

“We met a few months ago,” I said.

Mom gave Doralisa a once-over and glanced nervously around the living room. “You’re older than Marvin,” she said.

“No, she’s not,” I told Mom. “I thought we’d just say hello before we went out and got the tree.” I switched to the tree as a way of getting out of the house to avoid any possible run-in with Carly.

“The tree? That’s Bobby’s job,” Mom said. Then she turned to Doralisa and asked, “How old are you?”

“I’m forty-six,” Doralisa said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Really? I’m only forty-two,” I said. “I had no idea.”

“Surprise,” Doralisa said. 

“Welcome to our family,” Mom said. She cupped Doralisa’s face with her hands.

“Have we interrupted anything?” I asked, peering beyond her to the kitchen.  

“No, no,” Mom said, stroking her chin. She turned to Doralisa and said, “I was just thinking—can you bake?” Doralisa shrugged. “I mean now,” Mom said. 

“Maybe we could both bake,” I said. 

Before anything could be decided about the baking request, Bobby barged in and seemed to say something, then he caught a glimpse of Doralisa. “Whoa, who are you?” he asked. 

“I’m with Marvin,” she said.

“Oh, great. Somebody has to be with Marvin!” Bobby said.

“I am here upon my own volition,” Doralisa said with a smirk.

“What are you trying to say?” I asked Bobby.

 “Well, anyway, Marv, help me unpack,” Bobby said, finishing his tumbler of whiskey.

After I told Doralisa I’d be just a few minutes, I wondered what Bobby would have to say as we went out to his hulking SUV. Stepping into the cold, I expected Bobby to start projecting his jerk personality in full force, with manic leer and annoying toe-tapping. I asked, “What bags do you want? My fingers are freezing already.”

He had grown a little balder since the last time I saw him, last spring. He gouged my shoulder with his thumb and said, “Carly is looking good, don’t you agree?”

“You prick. Why haven’t you ever told me about the deal with her and Mom?”

“Sorry, top secret,” Bobby said. “If I had blabbed, you would’ve gone postal.” He erupted in hooting and maniacal whinnying, the maddening sounds I’ve endured all my life.

“Your vehicle looks like a hearse for two,” I said, feeling good for a moment. 

“So how did you find your new angel?” Bobby asked. “What did you do, call an escort service?” He winked, nodded.

“Fuck you,” I said. 

“I would,” he said, “but I fear you might like it.”  

Once they finished toting the massive bags, Marvin joined Doralisa and Mom in the front hall. With the front door wide open, Mom was shivering. She seemed to be giving Doralisa instructions of some sort, who then turned and murmured to me that Mom didn’t mind that she hadn’t done any baking this year or last.

“Anyway, let me put you two to work,” Mom said, tapping my shoulder and ushering us down the hall to the kitchen. She pointed to the cupboard. “See for yourself what you can find. I’ve got sugar, flour, eggs, butter—I hope.”

“I see,” Doralisa said. There was an edge to her voice. “What should I bake? What is it you need me to bake?”

“Oh, most anything. Something yummy for the young bunch. Just clean up the mess,” Mom said. “I have to check on some things, or we might have problems.” She left the kitchen.

“Problems?” Doralisa asked. “We might have problems?” She grabbed her wrist and massaged it like she had carpal tunnel. Then she did the other wrist as she turned to me. “I tried to tell you the holidays are not an easy time for me. So why are you doing this to me?”

I had no good answer to that. Instead, I listened for the sound of the front door closing. I wondered where Carly was. Doralisa curled her fingers into fists, then relaxed. She fidgeted with the toaster, microwave, and cookie jar. She opened the bread box, pulled out a bunch of black bananas, and fondled them. “Banana bread,” she said. 

Walking while staring into his device, Toby collided with Doralisa, who lost some of the flour that she was measuring as it fell to the floor. I swept up the mess. The boy seemed to be angry with his game and with something else. He stomped a foot, then he asked Doralisa to open his bag of M&Ms.

Doralisa asked, “Did your mother say yes?”

“No.”

“Sorry, guy.”

“Oh, crap,” Toby said.

“Like my Cliff at an earlier age, so absorbed, or distracted,” she said. “Me and my ex got him a video game for Christmas long, long ago. He was playing with that when Wendell and I fought our final battle.”

“Must have been terrible,” I said.

“It was just one of those things. I screamed, he screamed, and you know how people with nothing to do for the holidays end up volunteering at a shelter? Well, that was me,” Doralisa said. “Don’t worry, I won’t freak.”

“Sorry. I know this day has been pretty weird so far. But, believe me, you’re in good hands.” I got a little smile out of her with that. It was quite an accomplishment considering I was still listening for the sound of Carly’s exit. I had no idea if she was still in the house. 

“By the way, about the curio cabinet,” Doralisa said. “I think the best way to go is to leave it in a little bit of disarray instead of fussing around trying to put everything back in place. That might cause more commotion. We can tell your mother about it later.”

Most of the folks were migrating toward the living room. Doralisa said she’d be there as soon as the bread was in the oven. I made my way down the hall, and I heard whispering at the front of the house, which set me off. Carly! What a black mark she was, spinning out of the ten-year blind spot in my mind’s eye. I bolted toward the living room, wondering, with what was left of my senses, whether it might be a better idea to tiptoe and spy. But no. I pressed firmly ahead, toward my mother and my ex-wife. 

“Carly,” I said. “Why are you here?” She had what I’d call a weird haircut, with her neck shaved halfway up the back of her head, so what hair she had shot out over her forehead and made her look even more self-important than I remembered. 

Carly glared at me like I was really dangerous. Then she asked Mom, “Is he supposed to be here this early?” 

That kind of little jab made me start to stew, just like I did when I was married to Carly.

When Doralisa appeared, Mom made introductions. “Carly and Marvin were married once. But everything is fine now. It really is, honey.” She tapped Doralisa’s shoulder, and Doralisa cringed at the touch of my mother’s bony little fingers.

The familiarity between Mom and Carly just hacked me off. As I was trying to simmer down, I turned to my mother. “You had a chance to ask her to leave, so why didn’t you?”

“Carly is my guest,” Mom said. “Carly has always been part of the family, whether you knew it or not. Maybe it’s for the best that your paths are crossing just at the holidays.” 

I was thinking never, but I was trying to not say anything.

“Why don’t we all sit down and have a nice glass of plum wine?” Mom said.

“I’d like that,” Doralisa said.

“I had no idea Carly would be here,” I said through clenched jaws. I said that mainly for the benefit of Doralisa, but she didn’t like my little outburst. 

“What was that for?” she told me. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

“Marvin is all about ruining things, such as a pleasant Christmastime afternoon,” Carly said, pointing at the curio cabinet. “Or a nice display of relics and novelties: I saw what you did earlier. Was it on purpose?”

“Of course not. It was just a little mishap,” Doralisa said. “A surprise interruption, that’s all.”

Carly slit her eyes at me. “Marvin has a way of tripping you up from time to time,” she said. At this point, she was addressing the committee of the whole. “He can be a menace, you know. Have you ever made him mad?” she asked Doralisa, who arched an eyebrow in reply. “The slightest thing can set him off.”

“Hey, there’s no reason for such talk now,” Doralisa said. 

“Oh, then when?” Carly said, glowering.

“It’s Christmastime,” I said. 

Carly was still eying Doralisa. “But have you ever crossed him? Have you ever tried anything so much as having a life of your own? Then, one year, accidentally or otherwise, your house is set on fire for some reason.”

“Hey, none of that,” I said, feeling a salty-sour taste in the back of my throat. “For one thing, I didn’t burn down the house, and I’m certainly not a menace.”

“Why, Carly, I’m surprised at you,” Mom said. 

“Me, too. I’ve had just about enough,” Doralisa said.

“I don’t blame you,” Carly said.

“Hey there little missy, get a grip,” Doralisa said with a blazing glare.

Mom wrung her hands. “Perhaps a glass of plum wine some other time,” she said.

I decided to pretend nothing had happened beyond running into my horrible ex-wife. Maybe Doralisa would think Carly’s remarks were just a load of shit. 

Doralisa pushed me toward the kitchen. “It’s the only area of neutrality,” she said, peeking in at her banana bread. I went back to make sure Mom was really saying good-bye to Carly.

We sent Carly out into the cold, and Bobby, with three fingers of whiskey, also went outside. He spoke to her, and she said something back, shaking her head. Bobby’s wife, Bridget, came out with a throw blanket around her. She said something that got a laugh. They looked toward the front door. I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me, specifically, or just at the door and I happened to be there. It pissed me off that they might be messing with me. When your brother is a total asshole, there’s not a hell of a lot you can do about it. Carly proceeded to her car and headed down the street. After she was out of sight, and Bridget went into the house, Bobby asked me to stay outside for a minute. Once more, he gouged me in the shoulder with his thumb. 

“Hey, Marv, wait. I gotta say something.”

“You always have something to say, so this time, just cram it up your ass.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Not taking the bait this time,” I said. “I don’t ruin things. I am not a menace. I don’t make people mad. But I’m steamed now.” When I said I was mad, I got madder. A part of the walk down to the street was icy. I really didn’t try to shove Bobby on the ice, but down he went. Then he tried to push me, but luckily I remained vertical. 

“Why did you shove me on the ice?” he asked. “What’d I do?”

“You’re the only person here worth body-slamming to the ice. Carly wasn’t here anymore.”

“Oh, it hurts. My ass! Don’t tell Bridget. She’ll be pissed. I always mess around with the kids, and I end up going to urgent care. Don’t say it’s horse play. Just say it’s an accident.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Hey, I wanted to say something, before you shoved me on the ice. Your girlfriend, you know, she’s cool.”

“I know.”

“I mean she’s really great. Don’t let her get away. Don’t fuck it up!”

Bobby and I slogged our way back into the warmth. Doralisa grasped my arm and muttered in my ear. “Wow, I’m really glad that Carly left.” I refused to say anything. She nodded firmly. “That’s it, chin up. Go with the flow. You’ll be glad you did.” At a moment when I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d decided to leave, she patted me on the back like I was some kind of old pal.

Mom clutched Doralisa’s arm. “How are you progressing in the kitchen, my dear?”

“Good news,” Doralisa said. “I am pleased to announce that my good friend Toby has donated a substantial quantity of his private M&Ms stock to underwrite a highly experimental and yummy form of banana bread.”

Mom looked pleased at the smell of banana bread, and she told everyone in the kitchen that Bridget would be working on supper. “Now, Marvin, you be nice. Carly is good to me,” Mom said. I felt her cold, bony grip tightening. “She comes in and helps with the little things you and your brother can’t do because of the distance.”

I knew this was as much explanation as I would get. Basking in the burned-off fog of Carly’s departure, I was willing to think about forgiving Mom. I was lost in these thoughts when Bobby approached. 

“By the way, Marvin wants to get the tree this year,” Mom said. I had almost decided I didn’t care about the tree anymore. Then I decided I really did care.

Bobby stepped back theatrically. “Really,” he said, frowning with mock sternness. “Don’t get sentimental like Charlie Brown and choose a pathetic tree.” 

“You should think more about the true meaning of Christmas,” I said.

“All right,” he said, “I pass along the mantle. Find a tree for us. Go in good health.” 

After Doralisa pulled the banana bread out of the oven, she came up and locked arms with me. “We’re off,” she said and escorted me to the front door. We threw ourselves into our coats and went out into the refreshing cold.

I didn’t talk to her as I drove, and didn’t mind the awkward silence. But she started talking. “You know, your mother had plenty of time, once she stuck us in the kitchen, to get rid of Carly.”

“Mom was probably trying not to be impolite to her.”

“Politeness seems to come and go in your family,” she said. 

My temples pulsed. No pain yet, just throb. I listened to my head until we were standing in the middle of the Christmas tree lot, where sale tags showed the market was in a Christmas Eve free fall. 

“At these prices, we can get a redwood,” I said. We walked along one of several rows of trees resting against sagging temporary fences.

She found a scrawny Scotch pine, grasped it near its top, and held it upright. She studied it and finally said, “Who cares? My cheeks are brittle right now.”

“We need a really impressive tree,” I said.

She seized a pine branch and shook it in my direction. Brown needles sprinkled the asphalt. “You know, there is one good thing about not holding the hot potato on Christmas: freedom from trees.” She flung the tree against the fence. The warm, fuzzy effect of baking seemed to be wearing off. “I’m not saying it’s all that much of a crime to kill a tree for Christmas. That’s why they’re grown. But it sure is easier to leave all the memories packed away in a box in the attic.”

I was listening, kind of, while browsing, trying to find the biggest tree that would fit through the front door. “I wish I could do that,” I said. 

She hurried down the row of trees, slapping branches as she went. When I caught up, she raised herself on her toes, took my face in her hands, and gave me a great big kiss. Then she asked me a question. “That pyro stuff Carly hinted about. True?”

Ever since I’d met her, I’d been anticipating this moment. “I resolved long ago that if I ever met another woman I liked, I’d share the story. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“This is what happens when you procrastinate,” she said. 

“You know, year after year, you take the Christmas tree for granted. Then, one year, you accidentally set it on fire.”

She moved toward the Douglas firs. They looked like good, healthy trees—green, not brown. I tagged along. “It’s all right. You can keep talking,” she said. I think she was trying to outmaneuver the guy selling trees, who was now bearing down on us. I waved him off. She pointed to me with her full hand, as if she were giving me the floor. “And?”

I decided to press firmly ahead. “I hated Carly’s friends. They were making money, and I wasn’t, which didn’t have to matter, except they made it matter. She invited dozens of them for one of those holiday open houses. I’d have to face them for a whole afternoon. So that day, just after lunch, I started a fire in the fireplace and I went into the kitchen for a moment or two. Carly had gone out for some extra wine. The tree was too close to the fireplace. There was one of those big pops that I did not tend to. A wayward spark was all it took, and it landed on the tree. You’d be surprised how fast one of those things goes up. It ruined the open house, it ruined Christmas, the house and my marriage. But it was an accident!”

She spotted a really nice fir tree. She looked at it, not at me. “My God, I’m surprised you wanted to pick out the tree given what happened.”

She set down the tree and twisted the sleeve of my coat. “I always tell myself, when I see I’m making a mistake with a man: Don’t worry. Nothing’s happened yet. We aren’t married. We don’t have kids. We haven’t even had sex yet.” Even as she said this, she pulled me closer, which I wasn’t expecting. We spent a few moments like that. Then she said, “So you want to get a tree to atone, symbolically, for the one that was incinerated. Is that it?”

“She made it sound like I set the tree on fire on purpose,” I said. “My family sided with Carly after she told them about my carelessness. But she didn’t tell them, or at least I doubt she’s told them, that she kind of blackmailed me.”

Doralisa raised one eyebrow. “What now?”

“Yes, it’s bizarre,” I said. “She told me, while we huddled under Red Cross blankets, later that fateful afternoon, that she would claim I did it on purpose, unless I divorced her and gave her a hefty settlement. Our marriage was over anyway. All things considered, it was a pretty good deal for me.”

“That’s just screwy.” Doralisa closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know whether I should say this, but I kind of like you. Just make sure you stay away from fire.”  

“At least I’m telling the truth about what happened,” I said.

She covered her mouth, then she took her hand away. “All right, Marvin, here’s the deal. You’ve been over to my place quite a bit, and it’s still standing. But listen up: You owe me, big time. And I’m a blackmailer of sorts, too. It’s going to cost you more than what Carly sucked out of you. If you don’t pay up, that’s it.” She smiled a small smile of encouragement. 

“What do I owe?” 

“You think about it,” she said. “Come up with a payment. If it’s not beautiful enough and truthful enough, the deal is off.” I looked at the tree she had picked out. 

“This tree is perfect. It will impress everyone when we bring it home.”

“Keep in mind, your brother is going to eat you alive, no matter how beautiful the tree is.”

“But maybe not,” I said. “Let’s just see what happens.”

 “So what? This is the tree. Come on.” I was glad she was caught up in the Christmas spirit, or whatever kind of spirit you want to call it, even against what seemed to me her better judgment. 

“So, I need to make a big downpayment on generosity and honesty in just a few hours,” I said. We hoisted the tree, me by the base, she close to the tip where the star would go, ready to carry it off while a million little needle pricks demanded immediate action. But we weren’t going anywhere. She looked back at me because I had stopped, lost in thought. I was going to say something. I was trying to formulate words, something about how I felt abnormally blessed and glad she was with me. 

She cut me off. “Shut up. Buy it. Throw it in the trunk. Let’s go.”

“I hope there’s some banana bread left,” I said. 

As for Doralisa, she said, “And lots of plum wine.”