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"Mom." Nate let the door slam as he entered the Florida ranch home. The thermometer read 76 degrees, but Nate had grown up in Miami and the scattering of Christmas lights outside no longer seemed quite so ridiculous.
"Back here." Madeleine's voice, rough with cigarette smoke, called to him from the kitchen and Nate stepped around the discount store fake Christmas tree, pausing long enough to set his two small packages under the tree next to the wrapped presents already waiting there. A quick glance at the tag on one of them made his jaw clench, but he forced himself to relax.
It was Christmas.
"Hey, mom." Nate stopped next to where Madeleine was chopping vegetables and awkwardly kissed her cheek. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas to you, too. Help yourself to a beer from the fridge."
Nate glanced at the clock. "It's only 11."
"So?" Madeline stopped chopping to look at him, a cigarette hanging from one side of her mouth and the knife held in the other. She used it to gesture at him. "It's Christmas for Christ's sake. Have a beer if you want one."
Uncomfortably, Nate went to the fridge and snagged a can of Bud Light. "Do you want one?" he called over his shoulder.
She grunted. "No. I've got things to finish up for lunch."
Sighing, Nate took the unopened beer back to the table and sat down. The house as silent except for the sound of Madeleine's knife on the cutting board and the crisp snap of vegetables. Finally, Nate stirred. "What are you making?"
"A vegetable tray." Madeleine answered.
Surprised, Nate stared at her, his brows furrowed. "Why?"
"It was your father's favorite." Madeleine answered automatically. She deliberately avoided Nate's eyes and he felt a hot anger burn in his belly.
"Not the way I remember it. He liked the eggnog best – or the rum, at least."
"Nate, don't!" Madeleine slammed the knife down on the cutting board and turned to the sink, carelessly flicking ashes in the dishwater. "Don't be like that. It's Christmas."
"So we're supposed to lie today then?" Nate asked, leaning back and loudly opening his beer. "Dad was the sort of guy who ate carrots and broccoli from a veggie tray and Mike is the sort of son who comes home for Christmas."
"Nate." Madeleine's voice was frigid, but Nate ignored her.
"Christ, Ma, did he even call you? He couldn't be bothered to come home for dad's funeral. Do you really think he gives a damn about Christmas?"
"I'm sure he's just busy." Madeleine picked up the knife again and attacked a green bell pepper. "He'll call."
Her voice cracked and as suddenly as Nate had grown angry, he cooled off. He thumbed some of the condensed moisture from the side of the beer can and drew a smile face on the plastic tablecloth. He watched as it dried and faded.
"Sorry."
"Not today," Madeleine smiled at him. "We don't have to be sorry today. It's Christmas. I made a pie."
"What kind?" Nate asked.
"Pumpkin. Your favorite." Nate's smile froze, but he nodded his head. His silence must have given him away, though, because Madeleine looked up suddenly.
"Oh my God. Pecan is your favorite. Pumpkin is Micheal's."
"I like pumpkin pie just fine," Nate lied. It was Christmas. Why change the habits of a lifetime?
Madeline's face crumpled and she turned away. The knife clattered into the sink and she lifted one hand to her eyes. For as long as Nate could remember, his mother had used dramatics to get what she wanted. This was different. She didn't even make a sound as her shoulders shook with grief.
"Mom, it's okay." Nate stood up and walked to her slowly. Awkwardly, he touched her shoulders, pulling her into a hug from behind when she didn't resist. "Don't cry."
She didn't answer, but she lifted one hand to clutch at his forearm. After a moment, she patted his arm and he let go. "Sorry," Madeleine began, but Nate stopped her.
"Not today. Today we don't have to be sorry." Nate repeated her words back to her and she smiled. "I miss them, too."
"Your father tried hard," Madeleine answered, automatically. Nate didn't correct her. "It was a disease, Nate. He loved you."
"Sure."
"He loved Michael." Nate snorted, unable to keep his silent promise to keep the peace. Madeleine glared at him. "He did! He just didn't show it very well."
"Sure, Mom."
"Michael knows that his father loved him." Madeleine insisted, stubbornly. She stepped away from him and reached for a plate. Carelessly, she dumped the chopped carrots and broccoli and green pepper strips on the plate. Moving to the fridge, she opened it and pulled out a bottle of ranch dressing. Squiring some into a bowl, she set it beside the vegetables. "Here, eat."
Obediently, Nate took a carrot. It crunched loudly in the silence. After he swallowed, Nate cleared his throat. "What else are we having?"
Madeleine shrugged. "A ham."
Surprised, Nate stared at her. "Dad hated ham."
"I know." Madeleine smiled at him. "So does Michael. But you always loved it."
Touched, but not willing to show it, Nate snagged another carrot. "Thanks."
"No problem." Madeleine poured herself a glass of wine and went to sit across from Nate at the table. "I think you should shave. You look better without that silly goatee."
Nate grinned. "That's not what the ladies say."
Scoffing, Madeleine returned his smile. Then she leaned forward conspiratorially. "I bought you an automatic razor for Christmas."
"Oh really?" Nate chuckled. "I got you the Nicotine Patch. Maybe this year you can stick to your resolution to quit smoking."
"I can quit whenever I want." Madeleine sniffed. Then she broke. "I didn't really get you a razor."
"Too bad, because I really did get you the patch." Nate deadpanned. Madeleine swatted at him and he stood up and danced out of her reach. "You said it was what you wanted. I could have gotten you a vacuum cleaner, though. I know this guy…"
She stood up and he laughed and hastily beat a retreat into the living room. She followed him with her wine and after a vehement argument about whether to watch the Dolphins Game or It's a Wonderful Life, they settled in to wait for the oven to chime and tell them that dinner was ready.
Nate caught his mom glancing at the old family photo on the wall from time to time and he looked at it dispassionately. They were all smiling in the photo, but Nate could see the bruise on Micheal's cheek and both of his parents had red eyes for different reasons. Of them all, Nate was the only one with a genuine smile as he proudly held out whatever toy Santa had brought him that year.
"Mom," he said suddenly. "Thanks."
"For what?" Madeleine asked, startled and a bit wary.
Nate shrugged. "For always doing your best to make Christmas special."
She smiled. Later, when the phone rang unexpectedly during dinner, Nate forgave her for the hopeful look that flashed through her eyes before it turned out to just be one of the neighbors. After dinner, they moved back into the living room.
Shoving the stack of presents for Michael behind the tree, Nate handed her a small box. "This is for you."
"Nate, you shouldn't have." Madeleine protested, even as she gleefully ripped through the paper. Nate forked up the last bite of his pumpkin pie and grinned as she opened the box and gasped. "Is this real?"
"Yeah," Nate set his plate aside and reached for the box. He turned it upside down and dumped the watch into his palm. Carefully, he opened the clasp and helped her put it on. "I know a guy who does watches, too."
Madeleine blinked back tears and reached over to pat his cheek. "You were always the sweet one, Nate. Michael was hard, even at a young age, but you… you were always the one who tried to make everyone feel better."
Nate's smile faltered. "So, thank you, Nate. For everything that you did for this family. For everything that you did for me."
Embarrassed, Nate shrugged. "Michael…"
"Isn't here now and wasn't here for a long time before he left." Madeleine admitted. "But enough of that. I want to go outside and look at the Christmas lights."
"That sounds nice," Nate lied again, to please her. After all, it was Christmas and that is what families do for each other.