Page 6 of Mistletoe All the Way

Gramps’s on the porch, wearing well-worn jeans and a flannel shirt as always, impervious to the cold. With his thick white beard, he’s Santa meets lumberjack. His thumbs are hooked into his pockets, and when he spots us, he gives a small nod, then bends slowly to pet Rusty, who’s already bounded up the steps and is shamelessly begging for attention. Barely even knows the man, but apparently loyalty’s overrated.

“The party’s about to start!” Gramps calls to us. He’s never met a gathering he didn’t want to pop into, host, or crash.

“Now that we’re here,” Chris shouts back with a hearty wave. As we head toward the steps, Chris leans in close. “He’s been talking about his retirement party since his birthday last month. Apparently he’s got a special announcement to make.” His voice drops. “But I have to warn you.”

I narrow my eyes. “About what?”

He scratches his jaw—it’s scruffy, but not as good as my beard. “Stephen’s going to be here.”

Snakes crawl down my spine. I’d figured as much. But hearing the name of our least favorite cousin out loud? Yeah, that has a way of tightening every muscle in my body. Ever since Captain Smarm cheated his way through college—funded by Gramps’s hard work—I’ve never trusted him.

Gramps holds the door open for us, and the scent of sugar cookies drifts past my nose chased by another scent that makes my mouth water.

“Is that Grams’s special punch?” I ask. I swear it’s some kind of recipe witchcraft. No idea what the woman puts in it, but it’s heaven in a glass. Or a mug, since she loves to serve her holiday concoction in her collection of quirky Christmas mugs.

“Special punch for a special announcement. You’re here just in time,” Gramps says as he ushers us inside, his lips quirking up like he just can’t wait to share his news.

“Gramps, I’ve been counting down the hours all day,” Chris says as he toes off his boots and lays on the charm with a shiny smile that shows off gleaming white teeth.

He just can’t help himself.

Gramps claps my brother on the back, then pulls me in for a hug once my boots are off too. He gives a contented sigh as he embraces me. He’s always been a hugger. And a softie. “Good to see you. It’s been too long, kid,” he says, like I’m the prodigal son.

“I was here last year,” I point out since someone’s got to defend me. “Helping with sleigh rides. Like I did the year before and the year before.”

“Like I said, too long.”

Fair enough. I toss my hat and coat on a hook, then follow him inside, across the hardwood floors, worn with footprints and paw prints over the years, and toward the kitchen.

“Finally!” Grams rushes over to me, her eyes crinkled at the corners but sparkling behind her glasses with a zest for life, like Mom had. Brown hair tinged with streaks of gray here and there that she likely touches up herself every month with hair dye from the store. Just like Mom did too.

Every time I’ve seen my grandmother lately, I imagine she’s what Mom might have looked like if she’d reached her age. My throat tightens, and I clamp my lips shut for a few seconds till the emotion passes as we hug.

“Good to see you, Grams.”

“You too,” she says, then narrows her eyes at me when we break the hug. She lifts a hand to my hair, ruffling it. “But you need a haircut.”

That’s so very her. She’s never not thought I needed a trim. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

In the kitchen she offers me a mug from the midst of the crowded island. “This one’s just for you.”

I eye the Grinch’s sourpuss face on the mug. “I’m sensing a subtle message?”

“What? Me? Never,” she says, playing up the innocent act to perfection before she gives Chris one with the words I’m a Holiday Ho, Ho, Ho on the side.

Yep. I always know where I stand with her, even when she’s sending subtle messages.

Gramps motions to the living room, where a tall Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, ornaments from over the years already hanging on the branches—family photos, ceramic cutouts of pets, as well as Santa head after Santa head. Gramps has always said that sleigh rides are all about celebrating the Christmas spirit, and that spirit starts at home. “We’ve got Grams’s cookies and Nat King Cole’s pipes and Stephen’s popcorn balls to make. But first—I have big news to share.”

“So I hear,” I say, and as Gramps hustles ahead of us, I give Chris a What’s up? look as we walk through the dining room, my brother lingering at a model train set that’s traveling through a Christmas village, complete with decorated shops and twinkling lights on the little locomotive.

“What’s this big news all about? He already announced he’s retiring. This is a literal retirement party,” I whisper out of the side of my mouth.

Chris shrugs. “No idea.”

Before I even reach the living room, a voice booms. “And then I said to the crowd, ‘Call Guinness, since I think we just set a world record for the most people wearing ugly Christmas sweaters in one room.’ ” A pause, then he adds, “Which means… we sleighed.” Another pause. “S-l-e-i-g-h-e-d.”

Yep, that’s Stephen, telling a bartender joke, and I hate that it’s not a bad one, even though I’m pretty sure we all got it before he spelled it out. My cousin’s holding court by a roaring fire, decked out in a red sweater with a smiling illustration of the jolly old man on it, like the Santa heads on the tree.