Cooked Goose

wasn’t feeling the magic. She was being a bit of a Scrooge this morning, moping around the house in a black T-shirt and sagging, bagging shorts of the same colorful hue.
    Savannah had threatened to withhold food and water from her if she didn’t help trim the tree. So she had tossed some tinsel in its general direction, and now she was expressing her sentiments about the festivities from her seat on Savannah’s freshly polished mahogany coffee table.
    “This sucks. It’s dumb. And it sucks.”
    “I see. And while you’re expressing your opinion in such an articulate, erudite manner, why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”
    Savannah readjusted the teddy bear with the bright green vest, hanging him closer to the girl teddy bear with the crimson bow. Okay, she was a bit sappy, but only for a few weeks each year. The rest of the time she was reasonably cynical and hardbitten, so she figured she was entitled to a little Yuletide levity.
    And any killjoy teenager who wouldn’t get into the swing of things could just go enjoy the holidays with her brimming’ with-cheer father.
    Naw, she wouldn’t do that to the kid, but she did expect her to make a small effort toward holiday spirit. Even if it wasn’t “cool.”
    “Listen you,” she told her. “I like Christmas. And one of my favorite Christmas activities is decorating my tree. So, get off your butt—and more importantly, off my coffee table— and pretend to enjoy doing this with me.”
    “Or else?”
    “Or I won’t teach you how to make fudge later.”
    Margie eyed her skeptically. “Is it, like, real fudge? The kind you buy in a candy store?”
    “Of course it’s the real thing.” She pointed to her ample rear. “Does this look like the butt of a woman who doesn’t know her sweets? I wear only the best.”
    Margie giggled and dropped some of her “disgruntled adolescent” act. “Can we put nuts in it, too?”
    “Not just nuts... Georgia papershell pecans, sent to me by my own dear grandmother for exactly that purpose. String on some more of that tinsel and hang it straight. It’s supposed to be icicles, for heaven’s sake. And they hang straight down.” Margie actually got into the spirit of the activity, until she was even adjusting and readjusting the ornaments Savannah had hung. “Wow, it’s really pretty,” she said as they plugged in the lights and sat down on the sofa to admire their handiwork. “I never did that before.”
    “Did what?”
    “You know...” She waved a hand toward the tree and looked a bit embarrassed. “...like, put things on a tree that way.”
    Savannah caught herself just before blurting out “What? You mean you never trimmed a Christmas tree before?” Instead, she swallowed the question and silently cursed Harvey Bloss and his ex-wife. What was wrong with those people? As poor as Savannah had been, growing up in a family of nine kids, raised by an aging grandmother, there had always been this shining symbol of Christmas, a celebration of hope and love. “Is your family Jewish?” Savannah asked.
    “Nope. We aren’t anything.”
    “Well, now you know how to decorate a tree yourself if you want to,” Savannah said softly, understanding some of the girl’s previous crankiness. “And next year, wherever you are, you can bring one into your home—even if it’s just a tiny one that sits on a table—and decorate it.”
    Margie said nothing for a long moment, then surprised Savannah by reaching over and nudging her shoulder. “When I do that... next year and the year after that... I’ll remember you and how we did this today.”
    Savannah smiled, more than pleased, then she stood and walked over to the tree. Picking the carousel horse off its branch, she said, “Then I want you to have this fellow for your tree. My grandmother gave him to me the Christmas I turned sixteen. And one of these days you can give it to some sixteen-year-old who has touched your heart.”
    Margie took the horse in her hand and stared down at it without looking up for a long time. When she did, Savannah saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
    “That’s like... you know... really cool,” the girl said. “Thanks.”
    “You’re... like... really welcome. Is it time to make fudge?”
    Margie jumped up from the sofa, all smiles. “Any time is fudge time!”
    “A woman after my own appetites!”
    But they were only halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
    Before Savannah had time to open the