Dedication
To all vacation mishap sufferers, may something good come out of your misfortunes…
One
Wendy
“Christmas is ruined!” my sister declares over the phone the moment I pick up.
“Hold on a second,” I say, moving away from the stage so as not to disturb the rehearsal. From Amy’s dramatic opening, I’ve got a feeling this conversation is going to take a while.
The notes of the main theme song fill the theater before I can get to the dressing rooms area, and my sister asks, “Are you at work?”
“Yes, Amy, it’s what people do on a Wednesday morning.”
“Not you, you usually live like a vampire: write at night and avoid the light of day at all costs.”
I meander down a narrow corridor, zigzagging among dancers stretching against the walls. “That’s when I’m writing, but today’s the last rehearsal before opening night on Friday. I sent you the tickets, didn’t I?”
“Yes, yes! Sorry, I’m sleep deprived and scatterbrained. But Friday night is the light at the end of the tunnel. Thank goodness! Trevor booked the babysitter like a month ago and he also has a replacement lined up in case Jodie bails on us at the last minute. We need a night away from the twins. And nothing beats having tickets to ‘the most anticipated, sold-out-for-months, Broadway musical of the season,’” Amy says, quoting an article that came out in the New York Times last weekend.
I smile as I finally reach my tiny office on the theater’s lower level. I shut myself in and sit behind the ancient wooden desk. Forgotten Dreams is the first musical I’ve written that has been produced. It’s going to make or break my career. The marketing team has done a stellar job building the hype, but until I read an actual good review, I’ll be a bundle of nerves.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Are you free to talk?” Amy asks, her voice turning anxious again.
“Yes,” I say. “They’re still rehearsing the choreographies. I’m not needed. Why is Christmas ruined?”
“Oh, Wendy, Mom has lost it. She’s saying she doesn’t want to host Christmas this year.”
“Has she given you a reason?”
“Yeah, she claims she’s too old to cook for ten people—”
I do a mental indexing of our family. There’s me and my boyfriend, Brandon, and that makes two. Joshua, our younger brother, three. Mom, four. Amy and her husband, five and six. Their two older kids bring us up to eight. But ten? “Is Mom counting the twins as eating guests?” I ask aloud. “Did you tell her making a bottle of milk doesn’t count as cooking?”
“Yes, I did. She’s using it as an excuse. The situation is serious. She’s even refusing to put decorations around the house.”
“Why?”
“Because then they’d just have to go back in a box after a month and what a waste of her time that would be.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“No, Wendy, she said she doesn’t want a Christmas tree.”
“The decorations, the tree… all things Dad used to do,” I say, thinking Mom loves Christmas, and we’ve spent the day at her house for as long as I can remember. December 25th has always been her favorite day of the year, at least while Dad was with us. “Could that be why she’s rejecting all those traditions?” I ask.
“Of course. What else could it be? Mom lost the love of her life and she’s heartbroken, but it’s no reason to cancel Christmas. I’m sad, too, Dad is gone, but this is also the twins’ first Christmas and I was looking forward to it.”
I grab a pencil and doodle candy canes on the front page of the Forgotten Dreams script. “What if we cooked everything, brought the food to her house, and cleaned up afterward?”
“Wendy, you can’t boil an egg.”
“Well, okay. But I could be your scullery maid and clean all the pots and pans after you’ve cooked and tackle some basic tasks like peeling potatoes. And Joshua could take care of the tree and the decorations. He should get off school in time to set up the house.”
“I offered to cook, but she said she doesn’t want to spend Christmas in, I quote, that house.”
“Okay, that makes sense. I’m not saying I’m happy about not spending Christmas at home, but I can see her point. The house is still full of Dad. They spent a lifetime there together. The memories might be too hard to endure at the holidays.” I add a broken heart to my drawing. “What if we did it at your house? I’d offer my apartment, but my dinner table wouldn’t fit half of us.”
“Mom says she doesn’t want to be in New York at all.”
“But what’s the alternative?”
“She says she wants to take a family vacation.”
“To go where?”
“She tried to suggest we go on a cruise to the Caribbean, but that’s where I dug my feet in. If we have to spend the holidays in some random place, I want to go somewhere wintery, with snow.”
“That isn’t such a bad idea. I haven’t gone skiing in forever. We could make it a family vacation, like old times when we all still lived at home.”
“Except we never went at Christmas.”
“What did Joshua say?”
“I haven’t called him yet,” Amy says. “I wanted to talk to you first.”
I draw snowy mountain peaks. “I bet he’d be on board with a ski trip.”
“Yeah, pity we’re never going to find a decent place with only three weeks to go before the holidays.”
“Let’s have a look first, and despair later. Mindy might be able to help,” I say, referring to my best friend and also the best travel agent in the city. “If someone can make the impossible happen, it’s her.”
I hang up with my sister and speed-dial Mindy.
She picks up on the third ring. “Wendy?”
“Hello, how is my favorite person and best travel agent in the world?”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re about to unload one of your ‘when hell freezes over’ requests on me?” she accuses.
“Can’t I just call my best friend to say hi with no hidden agenda?”
“Not when it’s opening week for the most important play you’ve ever worked on and you must be neck-deep into the last rehearsal.”
“Okay,” I confess. “I need a favor.”
“From your tone, you sound more like you need a miracle. Shoot.”
“Kinda,” I say, and relate the mom drama. “In short, we need a cabin or a chalet somewhere nice and Christmassy with snow and a decent ski resort nearby that can accommodate Brandon and me, my mom, Joshua, Amy and her husband, and their four kids.”
Mindy low-whistles. “Would you also like the moon?”
I bite on a fingernail. “That hard, uh? I promise the twins don’t take up much space, they can sleep in the same room with Amy and Trevor.”