Midnight and Mistletoe at Cedarwood Lodge: Your invite to the most uplifting and romantic party of the year!

On the kitchen bench sat Aunt Bessie’s donut tower, and I gasped. I’d been expecting something extravagant, but not this. It was truly a marvel, iced donuts in festive red and green stacked atop each other in the shape of a Christmas tree. Edible diamonds twinkled on each layer. A golden star gleamed from the top. “What on earth…” In the window of Puft she’d had something similar but on a much simpler scale, this was another level!

“Your mom helped,” she said, her eyes shining with pride. “She sure has a steady hand for it. It took us just over four hours to assemble, and that doesn’t include making the donuts.”

“Mom helped?”

Aunt Bessie grinned. “She sure did. She’s becoming quite the baker, you know. Her visits to Puft are more frequent. Sure, to start with she just helped out the kitchen hand, cleaning and sorting the fridges, but now she’s learning to bake too. And decorate. She’s got the patience for the finicky work.”

My eyebrows shot up. I knew Mom went to Puft and ‘helped’ but I thought it was just a reason to catch up with Aunt Bessie, and have some time outside the house with someone she felt safe and comfortable around. I never for one second thought she would be learning to bake. Also, I’d inherited my terrible cooking skills from my mother… or so I’d thought! I stared at the tower again, fresh pride coursing through me.

She gazed in the direction I looked. “Oh, the star? It’s made from tempered dark chocolate and covered in golf leaf, cost a pretty penny, but it’s worth it, don’t you think?”

“Aunt Bessie it’s totally amazing. It’s so grand!” The stack of donuts had been truly transformed. It was a piece of art. “You’ve got such an incredible talent, sometimes I think you’re wasted here in Evergreen,” I said.

“Well funny you should say. About that,” Aunt Bessie said, dipping her head as if shy, which was out of character for her. “I’m not technically minded, I’m more a ‘get your hands dirty in the kitchen’ type, as you can clearly see, but I’ve had a lot of the emails recently…”

“The emails? Go on.” I bit down on a smile.

“Yeah, so the emails are all basically asking the same thing. Where can they see pictures of what I make, what’s my handle on Instagram,” her face went blank, “I replied I don’t have a handle on it, I don’t have a handle on technology at all.”

Laughter sputtered out of me. “Oh Aunt Bessie! They mean what’s your name on Instagram, so they can follow you! Not whether you have a handle on using it! Handle means name – for example, it could be something like: @PuftArtisanDonuts.”

“OK, OK, I understand, but what exactly is Instagram?” Her eyebrows pulled together as she poured out enormous candy cane milkshakes, decorating both with white and red sprinkled donuts and a spiral of whipped cream.

I laughed in spite of her bewildered expression and took my milkshake before I pulled out my phone to teach her the intricacies of Instagram. “So, social media looks scary, but really it could take Puft to the next level. Introducing it to more customers, from, well, pretty much anywhere in the world.”

“So,” her nose wrinkled. “You’re telling me I’ll post pictures of my artisan donuts and strangers are going to like them? With a click of the button? And this will sell more donuts?”

I nodded and took a gulp of my milkshake, relishing in the minty freshness. Puft definitely deserved more fans, even if demand in Evergreen was pretty high. I just knew New Yorkers would love to ‘discover’ those artisan creations.

Still confused she asked, “But how will they find me?”

“Hashtags.” And I tried to hold back the laughter as I caught Kai’s gaze. Explaining social media seemed completely mad – hashtags, handles, likes?! “Okay, so let’s not worry about all the terms or anything, let’s just get you an account set up. It’s easier to show you that way.”

With a big smile, and a lot of dramatic sighing and exclaiming over remembering passwords and how her nails were too long to click-clack at a phone, we set up an Instagram account and I promised to help her with Facebook and Twitter once she got a handle (!) on using Instagram first.

“So these strangers will like my posts and send orders through my website? Seems pretty crazy to me…”

“It’s the way of the world, Aunt Bessie,” I said, smiling. “Amory will design you a stunning webpage that will suit Puft and she can link your social media accounts to that. Then when you get an order you simply ship it. Easy peasy. We better sort out some nice packaging for shipping too, because I bet it won’t take long for the word to spread.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Clio, believing in me like that. This all came about after Cedarwood was written up in the newspaper, you know. It’s more to do with you than me.”

I kissed the top of her head. “It came about because you’re exceptional at what you do. It has nothing to do with me.”

Looking up at the clock Aunt Bessie suddenly exclaimed, “Look at the time! We best get a wiggle on now or this Christmas lunch is going to be a real turkey!” she cackled at her bad joke and I followed her back to the kitchen.

I sat at the counter and watched Aunt Bessie work as she pulled out vegetables and instructed me to stay well away from any pot or pan. But she called Kai over to be her helper and I watched as he confidently chopped and prepared the carrots. I was almost jealous – seeing as Aunt Bessie had been able to teach Mom how to bake, I wondered if she could teach me how to boil water without burning the pot…

“Where’s Mom?” I asked

Aunt Bessie stopped stirring and checked her watch. “Should be on her way.” She paused, turning towards me and catching my eye. “Clio, you know it’s a big thing for her, coming here today when there’s going to be people she doesn’t know.” She motioned to Kai, who seemed to be in his own world meticulously julienning carrots to the same length.

I nodded, my mom could hide out in the kitchen at Puft, stick her head into the bakery and say hi to a friendly face, but real socializing – sitting down, eating, drinking and making conversation for hours on end – was another thing entirely. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my mom handle a social situation well – I guess she just used the avoidance tactic, or made excuses and we left it at that.

“I know Aunt Bessie, they’re all really sweet people. No one is going to make her uncomfortable.” She nodded and turned back to her stirring.

It was nice to be spending Christmas with family this year. Of course last year – spending it with Amory in a Chinese restaurant in Brooklyn – had been amazing in its own right, but I sensed things were changing for all of us. Family should’ve come first, and I vowed it would from now on.

Chapter Three (#ulink_219f1bfb-51e3-555b-b821-051a45d3c177)

A car crunched on the icy driveway, interrupting our rendition of Last Christmas with Kai pretending to be awed by our singing but probably wanting to cover his poor ears from the abuse he was suffering. None of us could sing, not a note, but still, we enjoyed caroling, so what did it matter if it sounded like nails on a chalkboard? I leaped up to see who had arrived. Mom. She made it.

After Mom’s aborted visit to Cedarwood a few months ago, she hadn’t returned. But our relationship had taken a better turn recently, or it had until I’d discovered the photographs… I knew today would be difficult for her, but I remembered the advice I’d given to Kai. I needed to start dealing with things head-on too. So I went outside to greet her. As I got closer she started, and then gave me a tight-lipped smile.

I opened the driver’s door. “Hi Mom! Merry Christmas,” I said brightly.

Her eyes widened at my exuberance. “I was… just organizing my thoughts,” she said as she pulled her handbag into her lap.

“OK, well, great! Let’s go in and get out of this cold.” She didn’t move, so I said as soothingly as possible, “There’s only Kai and Aunt Bessie here so far.”

She flashed me a small smile and undid her seatbelt.

I reached out and took her hand and led her inside, chatting away about this and that to put her at ease. I sensed she was trying hard to appear relaxed, but although her smile was stiff it was still a smile, and she wasn’t so folded in on herself. She’d made an effort to dress up, and wore a slick of lip gloss and some blusher. I debated whether to mention how pretty she looked, or if noting it would make her feel self-conscious. In the end, I just gave her hand a squeeze, and hoped she could read it in my face how happy I was she was here.

“Merry Christmas!” Aunt Bessie said, kissing Mom’s cheek, and giving her the once-over. “Don’t you look nice, Annabelle! That color suits you.” She motioned to Mom’s teal colored shirt.

Mom tucked a tendril of hair back and smiled her thanks.

“Help me get these vegetables chopped, would you? I didn’t dare ask Clio in case she lopped a finger off or some other disaster, she’s quite hopeless in the culinary arts.”

“Hey!” I protested halfheartedly, knowing Aunt Bessie knew how to put Mom at ease without it being obvious. Mom took an apron from the hook and put it over her head, her demeanor changing now she had a job to do.

“Mom, this is Kai, Kai my mom, Annabelle.”

Kai gave her a wide smile, and shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Winters.”

With a tentative smile, she said, “Likewise, Kai. I’ve heard a lot about you, and it’s all good.”

He laughed. “That’s a relief.” Mom’s charming side surprised me, it bode well for the day. Maybe she’d always wanted to be around people but just didn’t know how to after hiding away for so long.

Mom and Aunt Bessie pottered around the kitchen, continuing to prep for lunch. They refused our offers of further help, and ushered us into the living room. “Go watch a Christmas movie, relax, unwind, you’re my guests,” admonished Aunt Bessie as she handed us two fruit mince donuts – to keep us going!

In Aunt Bessie’s living room we went through her alphabetized Christmas movie selection and decided on Love Actually and I pressed play, before sitting next to Kai on the lumpy red sofa. We sort of fell into each other as the cushion sagged beneath us, and we brushed hands as we tried to scramble back into a sitting position. I sent a thank you to the universe that Aunt Bessie hoarded her old things and refused to upgrade.

When Hugh Grant’s character danced around, an impromptu concert for one, we laughed when he was busted by a steely-faced aide. It had to be a sign – a man who liked a rom-com had to be of the finest order, right? Emma Thompsons’s Joni Mitchell scene played, and I felt her sadness as sure as if it was my own. Surreptitiously I wiped a stray tear, but Kai caught me.

“He’s a bit of a bastard for doing that.”

I bit down on my lip, and let out a half-sob, half-laugh. “I love her, and even though it’s fictional I still can’t quite help thinking it’s real and he’s such a fool for hurting her. And for what? A passing flirtation with scarlet lips. It’s just the worst!”