Free A Christmas Arrangement by Annie Adams Page A

Sandy glanced at me as if to tell me not to speak.
    “They’re lovely,” Aunt Lynette said.  “Sandy, are you sure you’re expecting, honey?  You’re not showing at all.”
    Sandy glowed while she fielded pregnancy questions and provided a nice distraction from the intentional slight Eleanor Cooper and thrown my way.  She didn’t want me making her family stuffing and she definitely didn’t want me making her Christmas centerpiece gifts either.  She was making it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me and I’m sure my relationship with her son was the next thing she intended to eliminate from her life.
    “At least she didn’t buy them from another florist.  They’re too expensive,” I muttered.
    “I didn’t know,” Alex whispered.  “She already had them when I got home from work.  Sorry.”
    I flashed a quick smile.  “I know, it’s not your fault.”
    Once all the food was placed on the table, my father, who sat at the end, offered to say the prayer.  The silence once everyone quieted for the blessing on the food was startling and peaceful.  The perfect tranquility was shattered about halfway through the prayer when Ned broke wind in a high-pitched screech that rapped about on his wooden chair.  Not to be outdone, Great Aunt Sadie threw her hat into the ring with a thunderous expulsion that surprisingly, didn’t knock her out of her seat.  My eyes flew open and I watched my father struggle to maintain a straight face.  His eyebrows were peaked and he increased the volume as his nearly deaf aunt mumbled about how something smelled. 
    I stole a glance at Alex.  His mouth twisted and his eyes squinted shut as he tried not to laugh.  The sight of it made me giggle.  Allie looked at me and shook with silent laughter.  Finally, my father said amen, sweat pouring down either side of his bright red face and the rest of the table shouted their amens with the force of all the pent up laughter. 
    Ned didn’t look like he was hiding from embarrassment.  It seemed more like he beamed with pride at his accomplishment and even Alex’s father grinned despite his wife’s chiding.  My mother switched on “The Little Drummer Boy,” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, loud enough that we had to shout to speak to the person across the table. 
    I watched Alex and his parents exchange reluctant glances as the parade of Jell-O salads began.  Troopers that they were, they dished a little of everything onto their plates with one exception.  As the stuffing made the rounds I noticed that everyone but Eleanor tried a spoonful.
    “Annette, who made the stuffing?” Uncle LaDell asked.
    A large rock seemed to have settled in my stomach.  Or perhaps it was a serving of Aunt Lynette’s version of “Ambrosia” salad.  Mayonnaise in Jell-o?  Really?
    “Are those water chestnuts?” his wife, Marie asked.
    Things started to rumble in my belly.  I glanced sideways at Alex.  I didn’t dare look at his mother or Aunt Marie’s probably grimacing face.  He shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth and stared at his plate.  He grabbed my hand under the table and put it on his leg after a reassuring squeeze. 
    I was too nervous to eat anything. Visions of later that evening, after the Christmas party, danced in my head, but the visions involved vomiting and trips to the ER rather than sugarplums.
    “This is so good,” Marie said.  “Can I get the recipe?”
    I froze, unsure I’d heard her correctly.  Once it sunk in, despite the desire to stand up and scream “In your face,” at Mrs. Cooper then pump my fists in triumph, I kept my composure. 
    “Quincy, isn’t this Eleanor’s delicious recipe?”  Mom asked in an obvious attempt to keep things civil.  The problem was, I’d changed a few things, added a new ingredient, left out one or two as well.  It wasn’t Eleanor’s recipe and she knew it.  In her opinion I should never have had it in the first place.
    “Well, I…” I