145:Holiday Hockey Pucks

December 9

“Why do people do this?” Charlie demanded, scraping another tray of holiday hockey pucks into the trash. 

It was the second burned batch after suffering through two that were disgustingly undercooked in the middle.  That didn’t count the sugar cookies that spread out so far that it was a single monstrous cookie when it came out of the oven, rather than a dozen individual ones.   This oven was messed up.

“Some people actually enjoy it.”

The droll humor earned Lilah a glare as the pan clattered in the island sink of the Edison kitchen.  At least it was Lilah’s house reeking of flambéed festiveness and not Jon’s.  His tolerance of her cooking deficiencies was proving to be pretty amazing, but this might push him over the edge.  Hell, it was pushing her over the edge.

“Some people are idiots,” she grumbled, much to Lilah’s amusement.  

All she’d wanted to do was surprise him with a simple batch of cookies to prove that baking wasn’t beyond her capabilities.  Everybody baked at Christmas, right?  How hard could it be?  That’s why she flatly refused anything from Lilah but the use of her kitchen.  She wouldn’t have asked for that if Jon wasn’t permanently lodged in his office on the Navesink. It was hard to surprise him when he wouldn't get out of the damn house.

Other than spending all of Monday in the city – the morning on business appointments and the afternoon shopping with her – his ass had been parked in that desk chair or upstairs in the studio for a solid week.  Even when Jake and Romeo came for the weekend, he spent as much time taking calls, texting and emailing as he did with the boys. 

Charlie didn’t know what was going on, but it was something big that wasn’t going smoothly from what she could tell.  He was starting to get cranky, which was the reason she thought to try her hand at cookies.  They were meant to sweeten his disposition.

“What’s that yucky smell?”

The question came from a dark-headed urchin whose nose was wrinkled with distaste.  Behind her was the equally snarled nose of her little brother who stood beside Nana in a party dress.  The dog escaped the stroller earlier, but the party dress was buttoned in the back and there was no getting out of it.

“Aunt Charlie is bakin’ cookies, Micah Jane.”

Arching one eyebrow at her new and unexpected title, Charlie wondered if Lilah even realized what she’d said.  The familiarization fell off her tongue so effortlessly that it was hard to be sure – at least until the other woman gave her a sneaky grin over M.J.’s head.

“Please don’t bake those cookies for us, Mama.  I don’t like them.”

“I don’t like them either, sweet girl,” Charlie sighed as Lilah tittered in delight.  “What do you say we ask your mama to bake us some good cookies, so I can take some to Uncle Jon?  He’s not in a very good mood and those will cheer him up.”

“Uncle Jon likes suckerpoodles, Mama.  Make those.”

That prompted a new fit of subdued giggles from Lilah as she stuck her head in the refrigerator to take out more eggs. “Oh, Lordy.  I never dreamed they’d latch onto that, but I guess it’s better than his favorite four-letter word.”

“Want suckapoodles,” Lucas echoed from the floor, where he was trying to yank the dress over Nana’s head and doing an excellent job of choking her in the process.

“Micah Jane, Nana doesn’t like wearin’ doll clothes,” the girl’s mother announced sternly after closing the refrigerator.  The egg carton went on the counter and identically hued mother and daughter eyes connected.  “Now y’all take her back to the playroom and undress her.  I’ll call you when the cookies are ready.”

“Yes, Mama.”  M.J.’s brother and the dog were far more excited about being exiled than she was, and they frolicked behind her trudging feet.

“That child,” Lilah lamented theatrically, organizing her measuring cups and taking a visual inventory of her remaining ingredients.  “So what’s got Jon’s shorts in such a wad that he needs cookies?”

“First things first.  What’s with ‘Aunt Charlie’?  I’m not their aunt.  Why are we confusing them with that?” 

“Can you wash those cookie sheets for me while I’m mixin’ this up?”  Butter, eggs, sugar, flour and a few other staples were tossed into a big bowl.  “My kids are gonna find ‘Aunt Charlie’ far less confusin’ than ‘Uncle Jon’s live-in girlfriend’, so unless you just find it offensive, I think we’ll stick with ‘Aunt’.”

“What was wrong with ‘Miss Charlie’?”

The stand mixer whirred to life, leaving Lilah to hold up one finger in a silent gesture to wait.  The break in conversation provided the opportunity to scour and dry the abused cookie pans, and Charlie slid them on the island at about the same time the mixer's whirred to a halt. 

“Nothin’s wrong with it,” Lilah picked up as though they hadn’t been interrupted.  “For a stranger, teacher or distant friend of the family, but you are family, regardless of your marital status.  The kids have already been indoctrinated, so there’s no un-brainwashin’ ‘em.  Let it go and tell me what crawled up Jon’s butt.”

Biting the inside of her lip, Charlie found no reason to argue the point further.  Lilah was going to do what she wanted to do, and had from the day the two of them met.  This was really inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. 

“Nothing crawled up his butt.”  The denial was firmly offered while pulling out a stool.  Perching upon it and leaning elbows on the counter, she qualified, “I don’t know what kind of business deals he has going on and I haven’t asked, but whatever they are…  Things aren’t going well.  He’s frustrated.”

“In other words, you’re fightin’ and hopin’ cookies will put you back in his good graces.”

“Not at all.  Things have been great since we started living together on a regular basis, and we only fight for fun.  I can just tell he’s edgy.”

A disbelieving cackle shook Lilah’s shoulders but didn’t disturb her rhythm of placing perfectly rolled balls of cookie dough on the baking sheet.  She peered skeptically up at Charlie to mock, “If I think Tony’s mad at me, I’m a nervous wreck until we get stuff worked out.  You two are the only people in the world who fight for fun.  That ain’t right.”

“Okay, so maybe ‘fun’ was a more socially correct way of saying ‘foreplay’,” she amended in an undertone.  “We like the excitement, and that’s more than I should say, so don’t ask questions and for God’s sake don’t say anything about it to Jon.  Give me some ideas on what to get the kids for Christmas.  Jon has no clue.”

Their shopping afternoon had actually turned into more of a browsing afternoon.  He truly was clueless about what would please his nieces and nephews and wasn’t much better with ideas for his own kids.  

Sixteen days until Christmas and they had yet to buy the first gift.  Charlie was normally finished shopping by this time so this whole thing was starting to make her twitch.

“I’m gonna have to reconsider my stance on arguin’,” Lilah drawled.  “But I won’t ask.  Now are you talkin’ about my kids or his?  ‘Cause I’d love for mine to have horseback ridin’ lessons.”

“Really?  I thought you were already doing that?” 

The expert baker was sprinkling a cinnamon mixture on top of the cookie forms as her head shook in the negative.  “We were only talkin’ about it for the future, but if Jon wants to gift them with a couple of lessons, Tony isn’t going to refuse.  Might even consider the same for Matt and Des’s kids, although they’re old enough to be more adventurous.  I heard Rocco tellin’ his daddy he wanted a snowmobile.  He won’t get it, but that’s the mindset of a five-year-old boy in this family.   Oh, who am I kiddin’?  That’s the mentality of any male in this family.”

Charlie believed her.  Since Thanksgiving, Jon had been subtly suggesting that Noah and Caleb needed cars for Christmas.  Both got the chance to drive his Viper over the holiday break, and to say they were ecstatic with the experience was like saying Bon Jovi had sold a couple of albums - it was the understatement of the year. 

Excited by their excitement, Jon took up the crusade that boys their age should have vehicles, and since there was that bank account with all of Owen’s life insurance money…  Well, the bottom line was that he thought Charlie should buy them a couple of testosterone-laden deathtraps, also known as sports cars.

She thought they should both get jobs and buy their own non-deathtrap cars.  At the very least, they should get jobs and pay their own insurance, because it was astronomical amount of money for teenagers who drove second-hand sedans.  She didn't want to think about what it would cost for her sons to carry coverage on a vehicle like Jon’s. 

It was a discussion that had managed to turn into foreplay twice so far. 

“Riding lessons it is,” she told Lilah, who was sliding cookies into the oven.  “I could use suggestions for Jon’s kids, if you have them, but I can talk to Des about Isabella and Rocco.”

Charlie also needed to find something for Jon, other than four million dollars.

It might seem like a grandiose gesture to present it as a Christmas gift in front of the families, but they all knew what she’d done during his divorce settlement.  At one point or another, most of them had mentioned how little she had to offer in comparison to what Jon gave her.  

It would be best to clear the air once and for all, and besides...  He might not throw an ugly fit in front of their families.  Disguising it as a Christmas gift was her best chance of getting him to accept it.

“You know, speakin’ of Des, I have a huge favor to ask of you.”  Lilah’s colorful potholder came to rest on the counter, and she began fashioning more cookie balls as the oven timer ticked away.  “Tony accidentally found the perfect gift for his dad.  Some fancy golf doodad that Papa B has been eyein’, and it was on sale wherever Tony was, so he bought it.  I understand you have Papa B’s name in the Christmas drawin’, and since we’re limitin’ our givin’ this year, I need to trade with you.”

“I’d like to help you out, but I’m almost finished with a portrait of the grandkids for him.  I can’t.”

“Well, shoot.  You can’t save that for Father’s Day?  Better yet, we’ll pay you for the portrait and give it to him from the whole family for Father’s Day.  That would be perfect!  Please, Charlie?”

Ugh.  She didn’t want to do it, and if had been anybody but Lilah asking, the answer would’ve been an uncompromising “no”.  Since it was Lilah, who had gone to bat for Charlie since day one and was sticking out a pouting lip at this very moment…

“Fine, but the score is officially even between us,” came her begrudging sigh, hoping that she was at least giving in for someone easier to shop for.  Any of her brothers would be fine.  They all liked booze.  “Whose name do I have now?”

The persuasive southerner’s smile was radiant as the oven timer beeped.  “Matt.”

Tremendous.  The one Bongiovi who still didn’t like her.  It wouldn’t matter if she got a gold-dipped Maserati he'd probably find something wrong with it.  Maybe she could talk Jon into taking Matt and she would take Lilah.

Then she remembered his sinister plot for revenge over the pile of ugly sweaters in his closet.  There was no way he would give up Lilah’s name.  Charlie was stuck with Matt.

“The score is no longer even, Lilah.  You owe me.  Big time.”