You Make It Feel Like Christmas

by Francis Ray, Donna Hill

Genres: Holiday Romance

Synopsis

You Make It Feel Like Christmas is a 2-in-1 bindup of two novellas filled with holiday magic by Francis Ray and Donna Hill…

Release date: October 12, 2021

Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

ONE


Denise Morrison could have cheerfully strangled her husband, Edward, a man she’d loved for more than half her life. Enough was enough. Minutes earlier, she’d been elbow deep in dishwater and he’d asked her to refill his coffee cup while he leisurely read the Atlanta Journal before going to work. The only reason he wasn’t trying to wrestle her apron from around his neck was that he’d said “please.”

Men! They had the sensitivity and the single-mindedness of an ant.

“Good coffee,” Edward mumbled.

Denise rolled her eyes as she continued to wash the breakfast dishes. Once they’d had so much to talk about, to plan. Those days had somehow slipped by and in their place was complacency.

Denise paused to stare out the window of their rambling two-story home on an oversize lot in the Atlanta suburbs. The large, well-manicured yard was still green with rye grass in late November. The four seven-foot oak trees they’d raised blisters on their hands to plant now towered forty feet and gave shade to the winter-hardy petunias and the hammock that hadn’t been used in years. The trees and grass thrived, but their marriage had lost its magic. The knowledge hurt deep inside her. Love like theirs should have lasted a lifetime instead of twenty-seven years. They had accomplished so much and now seemed to share so little.

“I went shopping for the kids yesterday,” Edward said.

Denise glanced around at Edward sitting across the room at the dining table instead of at the end of the island directly behind her. He used to sit there to be closer to her when they’d first built the house twenty years ago. She tried to remember the last time he had eaten his meal on the island while she worked in the kitchen, or the last time they had sat side by side on the two stools on the end, arms and hips, hearts and minds touching—and couldn’t.

“Denise, did you hear me?” Edward asked, his gaze still on the business section of the newspaper. His dark head tilted to one side to pitch his voice in her direction. She wasn’t even important enough to take his attention from the newspaper.

“I heard.”

He nodded and turned the page, then put the newspaper down and swiveled toward her. His handsome chocolate-hued face was animated as always when he spoke of their two children. “I got the diamond earrings Christine has been hinting at and Anthony the newest Palm Pilot. They’re wrapped, so you won’t have to worry about it. We’re finished with their big gifts.”

For a moment Denise was at a loss as to what to say. “I thought we were going shopping for them together?”

Edward turned back to the newspaper. “Christine called yesterday to say hello and mentioned she had seen the earrings on sale. I didn’t want them to sell out since she had her heart set on them. There was an electronics store across the street, so I decided to take care of Anthony’s as well.”

Denise placed the plate in the drying rack and reached for the skillet. He took care of too many things. The sad thing was, he wasn’t doing it maliciously. He’d been brought up to take care of his family. He was, in her grandmother’s words, a man’s man.

“It will be great having them home for Thanksgiving,” he continued. “Aunt Etta and Uncle Eddie will be here too. I left you some extra money on the dresser to get anything you need. I want the dinner to be the best ever. This will be the first Thanksgiving with the children here since Christine got married and Anthony moved into his own place.”

Denise’s slim fingers tightened around the skillet handle. So, now she was needed! She could cook for the family, but her help wasn’t needed to help pick out her own children’s Christmas presents. For one wild moment she thought of seeing if the skillet could sail like a Frisbee. “I went grocery shopping last week,” she said evenly, keeping her temper in check.

“Good.” He stood, shoving the ladder-backed chair beneath the round oak table. “And another thing, you know I don’t like you sewing for other people. I hope that wedding dress you were working on last night is the end of it.”

She spun around. Dishwater dripped from her hands onto the spotless hardwood floor. Sewing was the only thing she did that was strictly her accomplishment. “I like sewing. People are beginning to call me.”

He paused in pulling on his black baseball cap with the name of his construction company emblazoned in gold lettering. “I hope you told them no. You have a family and a house to care for. And you certainly don’t need the money.”

I need to be needed, she almost said. “Is it so bad that I want to earn my own money, to want to be able to buy you or the children something without first going to you?”

Impatient lines radiated across Edward’s strong forehead. “I take care of my family, Denise. If you need money, all you have to do is ask or write a check.”

“I’d rather have my own,” she said with an unconscious tilt of her chin.

“It is your money,” he told her with a brisk jerk of his cap. “I can’t see why you’d think otherwise. Have I ever said anything about how you spend money or asked you about a check you’d written?”

“No, but you write the checks for all the bills and the expenses.”

“So you won’t have to worry about it,” he told her. “I do it for you.”

She shook her head. “But remember how I wanted to buy a new sewing machine after people started asking me about making clothes for them, when they saw how beautiful the dresses I designed and made for Christine and her wedding attendants were? You said no.”

“You shouldn’t be sewing for people. They just want to get it cheap because they know you won’t charge them full price,” he said, picking up the insulated lunch Thermos she always prepared for him when he planned to work in his office.

“That may be true, but it also gives me the chance to do something I love,” she said, trying to make him understand. “You and the children certainly don’t need me sewing for you. I completely redid the house before the wedding. Sewing helps fill the day.”

“With the holidays coming, you’ll be busy enough,” he said, a hint of exasperation in his deep voice. “I don’t want my wife sewing for people and being taken advantage of.”

Edward always had enough pride for two men and was more stubborn than a mule when he’d made up his mind. “They’re not taking advantage of me,” Denise replied. “I get the pleasure out of seeing my ideas come alive, and they get a beautiful dress. The customer and I both win.”

His brown eyes narrowed. “If you want to sew, then sew for yourself or Aunt Etta.”

“Neither one of us needs a wedding gown nor any of the other designs I’ve been thinking about lately,” she told him, her hands pressed against the cool ceramic tile on top of the island, trying to tease him back into his usual good humor. It didn’t work. His mouth remained in a thin, disapproving line.

Unwilling to give up, she tried another tack. “Sewing makes me feel the same way you feel when a design for one of your projects is finished.”

He tsked dismissively. “You can’t compare what we do.”

Denise realized it would be useless to continue. He didn’t think what she did was important. She looked at him and wanted to snatch the lunch Thermos out of his hand. He was almost a stranger. He used to listen to her, even if he always made the final decision. Perhaps it was her fault for always being a follower instead of being more assertive. If she had been, perhaps he would treat her as an equal in their marriage.

“What am I supposed to do with my time while your behind is glued to that ugly orange chair watching TV?” she asked with growing irritation. Not for love or money would he let her get rid of or reupholster the bulky lounger that was covered with an atrocious bright orange tweed. “We haven’t gone out to dinner or to a movie in months.”

“My chair is not ugly and I’m tired when I get home. I’ve never forced or stopped you from doing anything, have I?” he challenged.

“No, but you made it so obvious that you didn’t want me to do it that I felt uncomfortable.”

He gave the baseball cap another impatient jerk. “I’m just trying to look out for your best interests. You didn’t come up as rough as I did. You don’t know how harsh the world can be, and I don’t intend for you to find out. You have a nice home, all the bills are paid, a new car. I work hard to give you everything you want.”

Everything but the freedom to make my own decisions and run my own life, she thought silently. She was no longer a teenage bride, unsure of herself and looking to him for guidance and approval. She was a grown woman who needed to live her own life and make her own mistakes if necessary.

“Denise.”

The unyielding way he said her name was a command for her to fall in line as always. She could argue, but she’d promised herself long ago that she’d never get into the screaming matches her parents had while she was growing up. Edward wasn’t being mean; he was just doing as he always had, taking care of his family by handling all the finances and solving all the problems. He didn’t seem to understand that making all the important decisions made her feel like a bystander in her own home.

Her shoulders slumped, and when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “All right, Edward.”

He nodded his head in satisfaction. “If you get any more calls about sewing, just tell them no. You’ll be too busy preparing for the holidays. I’ll start putting up the Christmas lights tonight so Anthony can throw the switch after Thanksgiving dinner.” He stuck the business section of the newspaper under his arm. “I won’t be home until late. Good-bye.”

Denise watched him walk out of the kitchen toward the front of the house where his SUV was parked. No good-bye kiss, no hug, nothing, just instructions to make Thanksgiving dinner the best ever and not to sew for anyone. She had the childish urge to stick her tongue out at his broad back. She was his wife, not his housekeeper.

It used to be that they couldn’t be in the same room without touching. Now they seldom touched unless it was in bed, and then they’d burn up the sheets. But she needed—wanted—that same loving feeling when her feet were planted firmly on the floor. Her mouth quirked as she thought, With my clothes on.

They’d met when she was seventeen and he’d come as a carpenter’s helper to repair her grandmother’s wooden back porch. She’d answered the door, seen Edward with a two-by-four on his broad shoulder, and fallen hard. Deeply muscled and lean-hipped, he’d made her body shiver and her heart pound.

She’d made excuses to go outside while he was working. No matter how busy he was, he always stopped to get the back screen door for her. She’d heard the other worker teasing him, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. That night he had called and they’d started going out. For her, there had never been anyone else.

Their closeness was cemented even more when he helped her during her parents’ messy divorce. After years of making each other and everyone around them miserable, her parents had finally decided to move on. Denise had been sent to Atlanta to live with her maternal grandmother because her mother worked at night and her father was moving to another city. She had looked at the move as a punishment until she’d met Edward.

Walking over to the table, she picked up his coffee cup and took it back to the sink. He had always been so sure of himself, so assertive. Since she had lacked those qualities, she had admired them in him. But Edward had to accept that she was capable of making her own decisions, of running her life. She desperately wanted to do both.

The phone on the counter rang and she picked up the receiver without much enthusiasm. “Hello.”

“Good morning, Mama.”

A smile blossomed on Denise’s face on hearing her daughter and eldest child’s voice. “Good morning, Christine. How’s Reese?” The happy laughter she usually heard when she mentioned her daughter’s husband of five months didn’t materialize. A frown worked its way across Denise’s brow. “Is everything all right?”

“Sure, Mama,” Christine quickly said, but the words sounded forced. “It’s just that since Reese started his second-year residency at the hospital, he’s been spending a lot of extra hours there. I miss him.”

Denise tried to relax, but couldn’t. If there was a problem, would her daughter tell her? Both Christine and her brother, Anthony, sought the counsel of their father more than hers. Another area over which Edward thought he should have dominion.

Christine bubbled over with life and the men she’d dated were usually the same way. Denise had been surprised when she first met Reese, a first-year surgical resident at Atlanta General. He was a tall, lean, good-looking young man with a serious face and a disposition to match. They’d met when Christine, a social worker for the city, had gone to the hospital to visit a child in her caseload and Reese had been the attending physician. “All marriages go through a period of adjustment. Reese is a wonderful man and he loves you,” Denise said.

“I know. Is Daddy around?”

“No, he just left. Can I help?”

“Thanks, but I need to talk with him.”

Denise tapped her fingernails on the countertop. “If it’s about the furniture you and Reese have stored in the garage, it’s not in the way.”

“It’s not that. Daddy already said we could leave it there until we decide what we want to do with it,” Christine told her, sounding a bit distracted.

Denise might have known. Daddy had decided, therefore the opinion of her mother didn’t matter. She continued to tap out an agitated tattoo. Typical, she thought. Just typical.

“I gotta run. Bye, Mama. I’ll see you in a couple of days for Thanksgiving. I can’t wait for some of your broccoli and cheese casserole.” She smacked her lips.

“Hmm,” Denise murmured. She could cook, but not help with anything else.

“We’re going to see Reese’s parents this weekend,” Christine continued, unaware of her mother’s growing irritation. “She’s a terrible cook.” Christine giggled. “Even Reese says so, but she’s a wonderful woman.”

Denise couldn’t recall Christine ever calling her wonderful except in terms of her cooking or sewing. Her initial happy mood on hearing her daughter’s voice declined sharply. She knew she had to get off the phone before it came through in her voice. “The roads will be heavy with holiday traffic. You two drive carefully.”

“We will. Bye, Mama.”

Denise hung up the phone. For a long moment, her hand stayed on the receiver as she tried to push away the recurring thoughts that had plagued her these past months. Her family loved her, but they didn’t need her.

She looked around the bright lemon-yellow kitchen with blue accents. The yellow ceramic tile on the countertop gleamed, as did the hardwood floor extending to the family room to her right. A competent housekeeper could replace her and no one would probably notice.

Tired of her own unhappy thoughts, Denise made her way out of the kitchen, up the stairs to the second floor, then farther to the attic. The large room was as scrupulously clean as the rest of the house. In the very center beneath track lighting and between two elongated windows was her grandmother’s old Singer sewing machine on which Denise had learned to sew, and continued to use. A few feet away was the scarred oak kitchen table upon which she and her grandmother had shared so many wonderful meals and good times. The table was now used as a cutting surface for Denise’s designs.

Usually, when she was in this room, along with her grandmother’s two most prized possessions, Denise felt her nearness and her unconditional love. Today was different. She felt every one of her forty-five years, and then some. She felt old and tired; even worse, useless.

On a dress mannequin was the wedding gown she was sewing for the daughter of a friend. The young woman and her mother had been by yesterday for her final fitting and were scheduled to pick up the dress that afternoon. The bride-to-be had glowed with happiness.

Denise absently fingered the floor-length skirt of heavy white satin. People had said the same thing about her when her wedding day approached. She had just finished high school and Edward had completed his freshman year at Grambling. Neither wanted to wait to get married. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other and had been so in love, so sure of themselves and their happily ever after.

When had the glow begun to dim?

Was it when Edward had to drop out his junior year to get a full-time job after her unplanned pregnancy with Christine? Or was it her planned, but complicated, pregnancy with Anthony, a math wizard, two years later? Or had it begun later when Edward’s construction business started taking off and he was more and more often gone from home?

Or did the cause really matter? The outcome was the same. The magic was gone from their marriage. That thought brought a pang to Denise’s heart and carried her to the old trunk on the other side of the attic.

Kneeling, Denise lifted the lid. Inside were the treasured quilts her grandmother had sewn by hand, the first dress Denise had made by herself, the table linen for the first tiny apartment she and Edward shared, Christine’s and Anthony’s christening gowns. So many warm memories were wrapped carefully in tissue paper, and that was exactly where her life would remain if she let things continue the way they were.

Edward saw her as a wife and mother, not as the independent woman and partner to him she yearned to be. Part of the problem, she knew, was that the few jobs she’d held before she became pregnant with Christine were a way of making ends meet and had nothing to do with establishing a career. After her daughter was born, Denise had never gone back to work. Taking care of her family became her focus and goal in life.

But now that her children were grown and Edward was successful, she had begun to think about how she might focus her time and energy. After receiving so many compliments on Christine’s and her attendants’ dresses, Denise had realized what she wanted to do.

Only Edward refused to listen. He knew very well other women had successful, fulfilling lives outside the home, but he wanted her chained to the house with a spatula in one hand and a vacuum cleaner in the other. Even their daughter had a career she enjoyed and could look at what she did with pride.

Edward might not see her sewing as measuring up to what he did, but Denise did. She loved Edward, but she didn’t want to continue going through the motions of marriage. She wanted the juice, the fire, back in their marriage; she wanted what they’d shared when they were fiercely in love and stood side by side.

Edward needed a wake-up call. He needed to understand that he couldn’t run her life or take her for granted. If she thought the knothead didn’t love her, she’d have packed his bag and sent him to live with his eccentric aunt and uncle. That would get his attention.

She paused as the thought swirled around in her head. What if he really thought she wanted out of their marriage? Would it shock him enough to make him really listen to what she was saying? She swallowed. Was she courageous enough to jeopardize her marriage? Despite everything, she loved Edward and couldn’t imagine life without him.

Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. She’d never been a gambler, but did she have a choice if she wanted Edward to see her as a partner and not as a cook and housekeeper, if she wanted their marriage to be what it had once been?

Her arms drew the quilts and christening gowns to her chest. She really didn’t have a choice. Tonight, when Edward came home, she was going to shake things up. She was going to ask for a divorce.


YOU MAKE IT FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS: ROCKIN’ AROUND THAT CHRISTMAS TREE.