A Red Queen Christmas Special

Underneath the Tree

"Missus Barrow." Cal puts out a pleading hand. "I have enough. Really. Please don't—"

Mom puts yet another spoonful of gravy on Cal's beef roast.

"Cal, sweetie," she says, assessing Cal's plate. "You have to stay big and strong to be Mare's ballet partner. And I know that my boys worked you hard today, trekking through the woods to find our family the perfect Christmas tree. I also know how excited you were to make gingerbread houses. You didn't have to go with them, but it was very kind of you."

Bree, at another counter in the kitchen, takes another spooning of potatoes. He gives Mom a look, as though he thinks that Cal could have worked harder. My brother now seems to go back and forth between hating Cal's guts and wanting to talk football with him. It's better than just hating Cal's guts, though.

"The good news is that I have an extra set of Tramy's pajamas in the wash for you," Mom continues. "Mare's father and I have talked about it, and you can even sleep in Mare's bed tonight. But the door had better stay open. Davidson and Carmadon are sleeping in the room next over to monitor you."

Mom gives Cal a warning look.

At the kitchen counters, filled with all of Mom and Farley's masterpieces, Cal and I stand in line. The scents just keep getting better, and I smile in contentment as Maven drops another cheddar biscuit onto my plate. Mom, Farley, Maven, and Thomas seem to be the lunch ladies running the show.

"I made these myself, Mare," Maven tells me, grinning. "I put a little arsenic in yours."

"How kind of you, Maven," I quip back, glad to see him. We've been around each other all day but haven't had the chance to talk. I glance at Thomas. "How's your boyfriend?"

"Cuter than yours," Maven returns, winking at Thomas, who gives me and Cal a little wave.

"Hey," Cal says, scowling at his brother. "I'm super cute."

Maven shrugs. "If you say so, Cal."

Cal holds out his paper plate to Maven, even though with the amount of gravy Mom gave him, he probably needs a new one. Maven just glances between Cal and the plate. "You don't get one."

My boyfriend narrows his brows. "Why not?"

Maven looks at his brother as though he's the dumbest guy in the world.

"Because you haven't given me a Christmas hug yet, Cal."

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In the end, Kilorn just dragged the tray of pigs in a blanket into the living room. When it cooled down enough, he put it right atop his lap.

I have to go on the treadmill for at least two hours tomorrow.

Mom and Farley are currently basking in their food's praise. Every dish was a hit, and half of the room is currently groaning from gorging themselves on beef roast, potatoes, and pie. Maven, for one, either from the wine or the food, is about to pass out in Thomas's arms on the couch. Bree and Tramy look onward at the TV with delirious expressions, their hands at their stomachs.

In the background, some Christmas movie that I'm not paying attention to plays. Half-finished paper plates are littered all across the room. And then there's the tree, glowing with golden Christmas lights and tacky ornaments. Presents fall down around it, arching around the tree like a small moat.

The living room is warm and cozy in contrast to outside. The winds are whipping, drifting, and tossing hordes of snow wherever they like. The white stuff pounds down as hard as rain, turning our suburban neighborhood into more of a Christmas nightmare than a winter wonderland. Farley cusses as she watches her F-150 get swallowed by snow. It might very well be stuck tomorrow morning. The weathermen say that we're expecting two feet of that crap.