Eggnog & Evergreen

13 • Gingerbread Boy

I agree to visit my aunt and uncle's tree farm today. It's less because I want to be surrounded by Christmas trees and more the fact that I need to get away from my cell phone.

After my morning video chat with Jayden and Jules, both of whom were packing for Miami the whole time, I sent a quick check-in update to Deja. She told me about this new guy she met at the bar last night. All riveting. And all not enough to keep my mind off Preston, who, according to his most recent story update, spent all of yesterday on a snorkeling excursion!

My despair (partly) soaks away in the shower. I select black jeans and a cowl neck hunter-green sweater for the day. I blow out my hair and toss in a few curls for fun. I may be miserable right now, but that's no reason to let my hair suffer. I put on an appropriate amount of mascara and eye makeup and blot my lips with a nice matte mauve.

Why am I trying so hard today, you ask? It's all for my perfectly (definitely not) planned selfie that I'll take later at the tree farm -hot cocoa in hand and twinkling lights behind me to boot. All in the hopes that Preston will see it and think I've already forgotten about him -already forgotten Hawaii is even a state.

I lace up my white snow boots and head out the door.

First thing is first: I am stopping by Stella's this morning to meet her son. He's having a gingerbread house making party and I'm invited. I expect I was invited to keep Stella company, since Dani is working at the nearest hospital an hour away.

I drive my dad's truck two blocks to Stella's new house. Uncle Hank picked up my parents early this morning. An inflatable snowman greets me at the end of their short driveway.

Stella's house is charming and cozy and smells like someone plastered baked goods all over the walls. If I didn't know any better, I'd think this house was constructed entirely from gingerbread.

"Hi, hi, come in, just kick off your shoes if you don't mind. I already mopped up Logan's snowy footprints this morning," Stella says, guiding me down the hall.

Bags of flower and sugar and eggshells litter the countertops. The kitchen table is wrapped with newspaper and surrounded by four very happy, very flour-covered boys.

"This is Logan," she says, patting the nearest boy's head. "And That's Johnny, Zander, and Evan. Say hi to Noelle, boys."

"Hi guys," I reply.

I take a seat at the breakfast bar. My fingers glide across the open bags of licorice, gumdrops, and peppermint candies. Several spoons stick out of pints of frosting. A tray of uncooked gingerbread men (and women) sits on top of the oven.

"So you look awfully nice for this place. Got a hot date later?" Stella jokes, sliding on an oven mitt.

"This is casual in New York," I tease at my own expense. "And hot date, spare me. I told my mom and dad I'd stop by the tree farm this afternoon."

"Right." Stella's eyes flash like she knows something I don't. "Well, I'm just glad you could stop over. I can only cut so much gingerbread before my hands bleed. Your turn?"

Stella hands me the silver cookie cutter that's beside the cutting board, on top of which rests a solid sheet of raw dough just waiting to be turned into men.

I scurry around the counter and take my place in front of the cutting board. Stella hands me a spare apron to wrap around my waist —good thing too since a flour shower would not help my revenge selfie I plan on taking later.

"Is this whole mess just for gingerbread men?" I ask.

"Uh-uh," she says, shaking her head. "Also making five dozen Mexican wedding cookies that I for some reason committed to."

I laugh at her. "May as well do it all at once."

My eyes wander around the kitchen. In addition to the holly wreath on the back door and the pinecone centerpiece on the table, I also spot Santa Claus potholders and Let It Snow spelled out in magnets on the fridge.

What really catches my eye -and I can't believe I didn't notice it before -is an ornately decorated gingerbread castle, complete with turrets and a chocolate syrup moat.

"You really went all out, huh?" I ask.

"It's Logan," Stella says quietly. "Every Christmas he obsesses over something different and can't stop until we've done it all. Last year it was snowmen and year before that it was all-things elf shop. This year-"

"This year he's a gingerbread boy." I nod.

"Exactly. It helps him focus though, so I don't mind. He's been a bit difficult since landing on the spectrum. Oh, stop stop," Stella says, observing my concerned head tilt. "Logan is my perfect little angel, and I wouldn't change anything."

On cue, Logan runs up to us, excitedly holding out a fist full of gum drops. "These are for the furrys."

"Are they? That's so nice of you to save candy for the fairies," Stella says. "Why don't you give them to mommy's friend, Nolle?"

"For the furrys. The sugar plum furrys. They has to only have the purple ones," Logan instructs, relinquishing his grip on the sticky, sugar-coated candies.

"Thank you so much. Only the purple ones, I got it." I take them from Logan.

Stella shrugs and points to the plate next to the sink. It's filled with sugar plums.

An hour later Stella is packing me a grift-wrapped carton full of warm gingerbread men and holy matrimony cookies.

"You know I'm not going to eat these," I tell her, scrunching my nose.

"Yeah, yeah," she says, eyes rolling. "Against your new creed I know. Give them to your parents," she adds.

"Thanks."

I put my boots back on in the doorway. It's just after noon and the sky is a swirling gray, threating snow. My ears already feel cold before I even pull up my furry hood. Loose trestles escape, framing my face.

"Enjoy the farm," Stella says, waving from her spot on the porch. I can swear I see her grinning.

"Promise not to!" I shout over the wind.