How Nick and Holly Wrecked...Saved Christmas by Carla Rossi Page B

like a hillbilly mountaineer trying to be chic.
    Granny shrugs and runs her hand along my bare arm. “It was a magnificent performance.”
    “It was a nightmare of public humiliation.”
    “Agree to disagree,” she says. “And by the way, this is not an old folks’ home.”
    “I know.”
    “I heard you call it that when you were sassing your mom on the phone earlier. It’s a senior community. I’m not old.”
    She can call it what she wants, but she had to be at least fifty-five to get an apartment here. “I know it’s not like a nursing home or anything... And I was only making a point with mom. Point being I can’t eat dinner at four o’clock and I’m sure I’m the only person visiting at Christmas who’s under sixty.”
    “This is like any other apartment building. We can eat dinner when we want because we make it—or order it—ourselves. Lots of residents have visitors at Christmas.”
    “And lots of residents vacation in southern climates at Christmas. Maybe your old neighbor Carl will run into my mom and Jake.”
    Granny stretches out and rests her head in her hand. Her lavender sweat pants and matching zipped hoodie bring out the blue in her eyes. With her perfect upturned nose, shiny hazelnut-from-a-box hair color, and near-flawless skin, it is impossible to determine her age. She refuses to disclose the assumed advanced number and I refuse to make like a detective and ruin the game.
    “You know your mother and Jake are planning to arrive home on Christmas day.”
    “I know. She insists they will be back and we’ll have family Christmas at our house, but what’s the point? We will have already missed everything. Caroling with the church, Christmas Eve service... And I was supposed to sing the cantata with the chancel choir until this happened.”
    I point again at my repulsive disfigurement. Granny snatches my hand from mid-air.
    “You are beautiful, mon amour .” She reaches for a strand of hair that has dropped across my shoulder. “Look at this. Long, dark, thick. So much like your mother’s at your age. And those eyes. So blue. Everything will heal, and your mother will be back for Christmas, and we’ll have a wonderful time.” She sits up and adjusts the huge sapphire ring that has slipped out of place on her small finger. “Now. I did not decorate for Christmas because I thought I would enjoy the decorations at your house. But since you’re here for a few days, would you like to deck the halls? Would that put you more in the holiday spirit?”
    I would rather thread my eyeballs onto a strand of tinsel.
    “Fine, fine,” she says and heads for the door. “We don’t have to put up a tree.”
    “Oh no, Granny, did I say that out loud? Sorry.”
    “No you did not, but I can read that beautiful face. We can enjoy the decorations in the recreation center downstairs. There will be festivities all week for the residents. There’s a Christmas film festival with everything from It’s A Wonderful Life to Elf. There’s a Christmas dance, karaoke... You name it.”
    “I thought you said this wasn’t an old folks’ home.”
    “It’s not. But there’s an activity director who plans events to keep residents involved. And that reminds me. Don’t call me “granny” in front of my friends here.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “That word makes me sound old.”
    I gasp and fake distress. “Why Granny, are you ashamed of me? It’s this train wreck of a face, isn’t it?”
    “Oh no, cheri . You are the brightest gemstone, the most brilliant and fiery diamond of my existence.”
    Must. Stop. Her. Now. Once she’s making gemstone references, it’s only a short hop to memory lane and hours of stories about her work as an international jewelry, er, something-or-other. It remains a mystery what she actually did for a living once my grandfather disappeared.
    “OK, lady, take your foot off the gas. What would you like me to call you?”
    She shrugs. “Call me by my first name. Call me