"You know, Stella asked if I would make cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning. She remembers Katie making them for us last year."
"You gonna do it?"
"Of course. I'm no baker though. I bought a tube of them at the grocery store last night. They're the pre-made kind you just throw in a pan and bake. They won't taste like homemade, but they'll taste a helluva lot better than my attempt at homemade."
"You're a great dad, dude."
"I try, man. Well, Stella's ballet lesson is just about done. I'd better let you go. I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas. Tell Audrey, too, if you don't mind."
"Will do. And Merry Christmas to you and your little ice princess."
"Thanks. Bye, Gus."
"Later, Keller."
And just like that, my Christmas is made. That one unexpected conversation helped reinforce what I already knew; that life is all about people.
And before I do anything else I log onto Amazon and I buy Stella every Disney movie that Gracie used to watch and loved to sing along to. I don't know how many are in the cart by the time I checkout, but there are at least ten. I also throw in a few more current Disney movie soundtracks on CD and a little purple CD player for Keller. And I pay the extra shipping fee to get them to Grant by tomorrow.
Sunday, December 24
(Scout)
Audrey mentioned yesterday that she had company traveling in today from out of town, so I'm not surprised to see a cab in the driveway of her house as I'm returning from my morning run.
The driver is pulling a suitcase out of the trunk as a tall, distinguished looking middle-aged man pulls a few bills from his pocket. They say their pleasantries and the visitor starts walking toward the front door with his suitcase rolling behind him.
When he reaches the front door and raises his hand to knock, I call to him. "No need to knock. You must be Audrey's friend." I'm sweaty and out of breath, so I keep my distance.
He turns at my words and addresses me quite formally. "I am indeed, miss." He has an accent that sounds foreign, maybe Eastern European.
I approach him and extend my hand, and he reaches out with his. Slender, extremely long fingers wrap around mine and shake firmly. It's the act of someone who does this frequently, professional, yet friendly. His warmth eases my nerves. I'm always nervous when I meet someone new. I clear my throat. "Hi. My name's Scout MacKenzie. I'm Audrey's assistant."
His resting face brightens into a smile and wrinkles form at the corners of his eyes. "Ah, Scout, of course. I've heard so much about you." My nerves must show, because he adds quickly, "All good, my dear. All good."
I can't help but smile at his words, I don't know if it's his accent or if he's just so charming that the compliment is working double time on me. "Well, come in ... "
He fills in the blank for me when I pause at his name. "Gustov."
Gustov? That is not a common name. Is this a coincidence?
He chuckles at my confusion. "I'm Gus's father."
All of a sudden the names, and people attached to those names, flip in my mind—this is Gustov and Gus is Gus. I nod, "It's nice to meet you, Gustov," while at the same time taking in everything about him. I always thought Gustov—I mean, Gus— resembled Audrey. They're both tall, with the same blond hair, same nose and lips, and same commanding presence tempered by a kindness that's unmatched. But looking at this Gustov, I see Gus's same intense dark brown eyes, same bone structure in his face, same tall, broad frame, and same warmth. An uncanny ability to put anyone at ease.
When I open the door, he follows me inside. I wait while he removes his tweed blazer and drapes it over his suitcase that he's parked up against the wall. Just as I'm about to tell him I'm going to go find Audrey, she walks around the corner.
"Gustov!" she exclaims. "It's so good to see you." She's beaming.
"My Audrey. Come here." He's wearing a smile that exudes such warmth, such affection, that it must be reserved only for those closest to him. Those he cherishes.
And when they hug, it hits me: if this is Gus's father, this must be Audrey's ex—boyfriend or husband, I don't know. This officially just got weird. Until it only gets weirder when Gus walks in the room and says, "The sperm donor returns. How goes it, maestro? How was the journey from bean town?" And now he's smiling, too.
Three people.
Family.
All trading hugs and smiles.
I feel like I should leave the room because I know I'm staring. My family is certainly anything but traditional, and has plenty of skeletons in the closet, but Audrey and Gus seem so normal. Exceptionally perfect, despite the lack of a father in the picture. I've just always thought of them as not needing another man in the house, like they were so complete together, just the two of them, that Gus must've been the product of an immaculate conception.
As I start to remove myself from the embarrassing-only-to-me situation, Gus stops me. "Wanna grab some breakfast with us? Pax is coming, too."
"Um, I need to shower."
"I'm glad I didn't have to be the one to point that out." He winks.
"Gus," Gustov scolds, but he's smiling and shaking his head.
Gus turns to him. "I'm just keepin' it real, dude. She's a wicked runner. Fierce output of energy produces fierce production from the sweat glands." He turns to me. "How many miles did you run this morning, Impatient?"