Christmas Gold

Part 1

The Thornton family was polishing off the last of their pumpkin pie when Nicole, the oldest daughter, set her fork down and said something that greatly upset her grandfather.

"Now that Thanksgiving's over," she began, a knowing smile resting on her lips, "it's time to make Christmas requests. No oranges at the bottom of our stockings this year."

Before Nicole noticed her grandfather's grimace, she saw her mother's jaw drop in feigned amusement, and she heard Julia clap her hands in agreement.

Since she didn't mince words, Nicole deliberated, "Last year's stockings were the worst. What was it...we got one or two pieces of chocolate, and then there's that orange." She uttered that last word as if it were something distasteful instead of citrus and sweet.

"Yeah, Mom. There's room for improvement in that department," Julia agreed, reaching for the small compact mirror in the Prada purse at her feet. Once she'd unclasped it, she glanced at her reflection and ensured there wasn't a trace of pumpkin on her straight, white teeth.

Nicole's gaze fell to the purse her sister had brought, and she quickly averted her eyes. In a few weeks, she'd turn in her two weeks' notice at the corner salon and begin her life's work as an interior designer on the other side of the mountains. It wouldn't take long for her to gather her things from her shabby studio apartment and find some roommates willing to split a condo in Bellvue. Despite their move to Moses Lake three years ago for their father's new position at REC Silicon, Nicole still felt like she belonged on the west side.

"I've always liked those mandarin oranges," said Kyla, the youngest, "even if they're to be expected."

"You can have ours then," Nicole offered, determined to show their mother this piece of fruit was not wanted or needed as part of their gift repertoire.

Perceptive as she was about how her opinions were being received, Nicole bit down on her lower lip upon realizing that her dad, who sat at the head of the table, was solemn and not nearly as amused as the rest of them. And that's when she caught sight of her grandfather's distress. Fortunately, most incidents when he became frustrated did not revolve around members of the family. No one wanted to be at the receiving end of one of his upsets.

Ever since they were in diapers, the girls had been on their best behavior around "Grumps." Good, honest heart though he possessed, the man wasn't gifted with a long fuse, and they all knew it. He tapped his fingers on the wheel at drivers who didn't signal and made his grandchildren snigger when he called them, "big-haired buffoons." His critical nature came out when made to wait at a doctor's appointment for any amount of time, and he'd say, "I don't have all cotton-pickin' day" while throwing a magazine on an empty seat and pacing the waiting room.

He was ringing the napkin out with his hands, which were visibly shaking a part from his arthritis. As soon as he realized his reaction was transparent, he threw the festive napkin to the table and rose to his feet. With pupils flickering and color blossoming over his throat, he said barely above a rasp, "Maybe you shouldn't get anything for Christmas then. In my day, you were fortunate enough to even get a whole orange to yourselves."

He sputtered for a minute, and Nicole feared he'd say more, but he uttered something that sounded like a "humph," and headed downstairs to watch the football game.

Loosening his top buttons of his shirt, Mr. Thornton rose from his seat and pushed his chair back. "Dad," he said, following his father's stooped gait down the hallway, willing to make amends.

Meanwhile, Nicole sat at her seat, blinking. She didn't normally betray her emotions, but her grandfather's sharp words jarred her. She'd meant to be quirky and humorous, not ungrateful. "W-what did I say?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Thornton stood so she could begin gathering the dessert plates and said, "You didn't know it would upset him, Nicky. It's part of the generation gap. I tend to forget too. Back in the ‘30s, children really were fortunate to get oranges in their Christmas stocking."

"Great Depression," Julia said, clasping her compact mirror shut with the finality of those words.

Becoming instantly defensive in spite of feeling guilty she'd said anything at all. Nicole said, "He needs to learn not to take everything to heart. Besides, I didn't mean anything by it."

Resolved not to face Grumps for the remainder of the evening, Nicole took to the storage closet and began rummaging through Christmas decorations. She unwound tangled lights, ensured all key players were present in the Nativity Scene, and found the angel that belonged to the top of the tree they'd yet to purchase.

As she brought the first decorations to the living room in silence, Nicole could still hear the football game blaring downstairs and wished it would end so Grumps would leave. At that thought, a tear pricked her eye, but she shirked it off as nothing and decided if anyone needed to apologize it was he. It wasn't her fault that he chose to remain in an era that left their country despairing some eighty years ago. If he prized his oranges so much, perhaps she'd just have to place a box of Clementines under the tree with his name attached.

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Nicole was positioning the three wise men, givers of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, on the windowsill when she heard her grandfather ascend to the landing in their house and reach for his jacket on the coat rack. It was the same jacket she'd seen him wear for at least five seasons now, and apart from the fact it was too threadbare for winter wear, she'd noticed how he'd put scotch tape over one of the inside seams where the pocket had torn. Feeling her stomach clench like a fist, she resolved to stay where she was instead of telling him "good night" as she was accustomed to doing.

Nicole dashed across the living room to turn the volume down on one of her all time favorites, Bing Crosby's rendition of "White Christmas."

She heard her mother walk down the stairs to hand him a loaf of cranberry orange bread and give him the customary kiss on the cheek. "Happy Thanksgiving, Grumps."

Nothing about his minor tantrum at the dining room table.

Likewise, she heard her two younger sisters tell him "good night" and step in to offer him a brief hug. Grumps wasn't altogether keen on affection, so hugs with him were rather stiff and brief.

"Let me walk you outside, Dad," her father said, unlocking the heavy front door so he could guide his elderly father to his Honda.

Grumps began to resist with another "humph," but he didn't say another word as his son followed him out.

Nicole slung behind the thick fabric of the curtains, but could still see her dad's hand graze the back of Grumps' elbow. Despite salting the driveway earlier that afternoon, one mis-step in the dark could easily break one of her grandfather's ribs. As her father opened the driver's door for him, Nicole noticed that they exchanged pleasantries, but didn't step in for a hug. That just wasn't her grandfather's way; besides, he lived just up the street. It wasn't like their family wouldn't be seeing him later that week. Since their grandmother passed away two years ago after 55 years of marriage, they took turns looking in on him. Independent though he longed to be, they knew there were only so many days an 86-year-old man should be by himself.

Once Grumps drove away, Nicole swallowed the lump in her throat and left the Three Wise Men to adore the Christ Child. She raked her hands through her tinted red and gold hair and waited for her dad to enter the kitchen. It had been at least an hour and a half since they'd tasted their last morsel, so she knew he'd at least peruse the refrigerator shelves for something to drink. She only hoped that he wasn't drinking the milk directly from the gallon, which she found he was as soon as she turned the corner.

Instead of wrinkling her nose and making an issue of the germs he'd voluntarily passed on to the rest of the family, she folded her arms over her chest and said, "I hope you don't think that he was right for getting that upset over my comment at the table, Dad. Who is he to say that any of us are ungrateful?"

Mr. Thornton capped the lid on the milk before turning to face his daughter. "You should try to see things from his perspective a bit, Nic."

Frustrated that her dad wasn't taking her side, Nicole furrowed her brow. "Seriously. You can't say anything about something as small as oranges in your Christmas stocking without the man getting irate. Would he have had that type of reaction if I'd complained about candy canes?"

Mr. Thornton shook his head. "Your grandfather's never cared for peppermint."

Nicole gave a throaty laugh. "You've got to be kidding me. If I'd mentioned something that he didn't like, we could all have a good laugh. But because I said "oranges," it's unforgivable. That doesn't seem to work, but no one is willing to back me."

Nicole said this, just as the rest of her family encircled her and her father in the kitchen. Also predictable: if there was any ounce of family tension, the Thorntons would sense it within two minutes no matter what room of the house they were in, and jockey for position.

Mr. Thornton held a hand up and said, "You might not realize what those words meant to him, Nic, but that doesn't mean you're right."

Despite having a tall and elegant frame, she hunched her shoulders as if defeated, and said, "Please enlighten me then. Tell me how a simple request to leave out the Christmas orange could be so offensive."

She noticed that her two younger sisters were leaning in, their elbows placed on the kitchen counter, but that her mom held her arms across her chest because she already already knew the reason.

Mrs. Thornton rose a hand to her mouth, calculating. "It was a long time ago, Kurt. What Nicky said might have conjured up images of the past, but she's not respon- "

"Of course she's not responsible," Mr. Thornton said, a bit more clipped than usual. "But it might help the girls to at least know where he's coming from."

Against her better judgment, Nicole raised her chin and said, "I want to know."

Before setting out for the living room, she searched the kitchen shelves for a wine glass and reached for the bottle of Pinot Noir. "Anyone want a glass?" she asked, imagining the liquid gold sliding down her throat.

Kyla nodded vigorously, and their mother shot her a warning look since she was only nineteen. "Just a sip then."

Nicole finished pouring her glass knowing the grape blend would be a salve since she she was in for it. If she was resolved not to apologize, she'd need to remind herself that regardless of what those little oranges meant to her grandfather, he'd taken her words entirely out of context.