My Wrath is a Mirror | ONC 2022

Twelve

After wrapping the last of the presents and loading them up into the largest tote bag I own, I finish up the picnic basket I'd been working on and top it off with an extra bottle of wine.

"Janine will be here in a few," Mom informs me. I bring over a second picnic basket filled to the brim with her and Janine's favorite culinary Christmas delights. Mom is staying with Janine tonight on Christmas so there's no reason for them to be on the roads after dark. Likewise, Wesley, Loren, Tyler, and myself will be staying at the cabin. Loren insisted on throwing our own little Christmas party and there was no way I could refuse the exuberant glow in her eyes. She and Tyler are probably there now decorating for the event. I stayed at Mom's apartment today to pack up food for us all, and a second basket for Mom and Janine. I'm double-checking my bag when there's a knock at the door.

"Wesley Biltmore," Mom sings as she opens the door, revealing Wesley donned in a heavy brown parka and plaid scarf holding a small potted plant. There is a blanket of snow on the ground from last night's weather, and the humidity makes the cold seep into me, so I'm grateful when Mom closes the door behind Wesley.

"Merry Christmas Mrs. Dumont," he tells Mom, smiling sweetly and handing her a beautiful red poinsettia. Mom thanks him and takes the flower, setting it down in the middle of the breakfast table. The biggest leaf is the size of her palm.

"Go on, sweetie," Mom says to me, making a shooing motion. "You all have fun." Wesley comes over and grabs both my huge bag of gifts and my picnic basket, leaving me to slip on my coat and scarf.

"Love you Mom," I tell her, pressing a small wrapped gift box into her hand. "This one is for Janine. Yours is on the coffee table." With that, I kiss her cheek and follow Wesley out to his truck.

Wesley, ever the gentleman, opens the door for me even with his arms full. I blush and insist on taking a bag, but he refuses, instead putting the bags in the back himself. As I settle into the passenger seat, I notice he's turned on the seat warmers beforehand. This man...

"Ready for the best Christmas party ever?" he asks, slipping behind the wheel. I can only beam at him in response. He is handsome in his coat and hair combed to the side in a fancy style. Even the subtle fragrance of his cologne is perfect like the rest of him. I'm lucky I remembered to brush my teeth this morning with how busy things are right now, but it didn't stop me from wearing my nicest dress and tights for tonight. I even managed to swipe on some mascara before he came to pick me up, so at least the illusion of me trying is there.

On the way to the park, Wesley tells me how his mom gave him and his sister enough cookbooks to fill a library for Christmas, since they both live on their own now. I laugh, picturing Mrs. Biltmore lecturing her children about eating enough and taking care of themselves. Even if they don't live under the same roof anymore, she's still their mother.

It's almost dark when we arrive, the last of the sunlight glinting off the snow dripping from the eaves of the cabin's roof. I can hear Christmas music from inside before we even step onto the porch, the chorus of Michael Bublé's Cold December Night playing in muted tones. I pause on the step, feeling Wesley's warmth against my back. Turning, I search his eyes, unsure why I'm suddenly nervous. It would be easy to tell myself that I don't belong here with them, that I don't deserve their friendship. It's as if a door in my heart has been unlocked and I'm hesitating to cross the threshold. But when Wesley grabs my hand, weaving his fingers into mine, I have the courage to take that step. I choose to walk through that door and surround myself with my friends, some I never thought I'd be welcomed by again. And it's not even a decision to open my heart to them, grieve with them, and laugh and love with them, because I finally realize I deserve this happiness for myself.

Loren and Tyler are hanging what looks to be the last of the streamers when we enter, and I smile at the glittering gold decor. When she spots me, Loren skips over and wraps me in a big hug.

"Merry Christmas ya filthy animal!" she croons dramatically, and I wonder if she broke into the Christmas wine without me. I slip off my coat, relieving a gold sequin dress beneath, and Loren giggles with delight. "You match the decorations!"

My smile mirrors hers, and I turn to see Wesley's eyes drifting down my body, taking in my outfit from head to toe. My entire body flushes beneath his gaze.

"Tyler, why don't you go help Wesley bring their stuff in?" Loren calls to her boyfriend coolly. He immediately does as she says, and the two of them file out the front door. Then Loren turns mischievous eyes on me. "He could not tear his eyes off of you!" she exclaims with a cheshire cat grin.

If possible, my blush deepens. "Is it bad I feel kind of powerful in this dress?"

Loren giggles like a crazed schoolgirl. "I would be too if I had legs like that!" She inspects my dark nylon tights. "Are those mine?"

Then it's my turn to laugh. "Remember junior year when I borrowed your tights for our ring ceremony?"

Loren gasps, pinching my thigh. "I've been looking for those for six years!" We are still giggling when the boys walk back in, each carrying a bag in their hand.

"What do you have in here, bricks?" Tyler hefts the oversized picnic basket onto the solid oak table and peers inside. "There's a whole freaking ham in here!" he says, incredulity pitching his voice up.

Wesley sets my bag of gifts down, but Loren intercepts him and motions for us to follow her. She leads us to the den where they had brought in a small Christmas tree. The room is warm and filled with the sharp scent of balsam and pine, and every inch of the tree is decorated with ornaments glinting in firelight. I turn to revel at the huge stone fireplace now roaring with life. Tyler and Loren must have cleaned it up at some point and chopped some wood because the fire pops merrily.

Loren sets our gifts beneath the Christmas tree where they join half a dozen others, one wrapped in paper shaped suspiciously like a bottle. I raise an eyebrow, not having to wonder who wrapped that one. Taking my hand, Loren drags me back to the dining area just as the next song starts. She begins singing I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas entirely off-key, and I decide it's time to break into the Christmas wine myself.

The guys work on setting plates out and carving the ham. I put Loren in charge of pouring the wine for everyone while I plate the sides of mashed potatoes and homemade cranberry sauce. When we finally sit down to eat, we all stuff our faces and share stories of our best and worst Christmas presents, each of us agreeing that Wesley's cookbooks from his mom are pretty high up on the list of terrible gifts. Between the hearty meal and the chilled wine, dinner lasts well over an hour as we sit around the table chatting and reminiscing, and soon we venture into conversation about the future of the park.

"Have you thought about what else you want to do with the property?" Tyler asks me, breaking into the Christmas fudge. "Do you plan on bringing in new playground equipment or anything?"

I shake my head. "With the way society is evolving, I don't think this would be a place where a lot of children spend their time. More people live in the city now rather than in the rural parts of the county like this." I chew my lip, thinking. "Actually, I could see this location as more of a memorial arboretum or botanical garden than a playground, to be honest." As I speak the words aloud, something clicks into place. It is a desire to see the work we're doing here complete, and for there to be people just like the four of us cultivating a place for beauty and remembrance. The trees here are beautiful and the property is historic, making it easy to transform this place from a lump of clay into a work of art.

"I love that idea," Loren says. "I can design some garden footpaths to run through the area. Though it might have to wait until springtime, or the beginning of Summer."

"We may not have that long," I say soberly. "The town council will vote on our project on the first day of Spring."

"So we work with what we have until then. I can do some research on the pre-existing plants and trees and maybe Loren can get some placards drawn up and staked," Wesley says, a plan coming into place. "We have less than three months, but if anyone can make it happen, it's us."