Excerpt from How to Host a Holiday by Kathleen Kitson
Excerpt from How to Host a Holiday by Kathleen Kitson
Stella and I take up stations on opposite sides of the counter and start peeling potatoes.
“I can only stay for maybe an hour and a half, though,” she says. “I still have to wrap presents for my family’s Christmas, and I have to leave no later than nine. I talked to Grant and he’s really excited to come. Oh, and he’s bringing a ham.”
I stop peeling. “A ham? What am I going to do with a ham?”
“I don’t know. Someone gave him a smoked ham and he was so excited about being invited to the Christmas party, he said he would bring it with him.”
I think about this for a few moments. For the past few weeks, I have painstakingly put together the perfect Christmas dinner–not too sweet, not too savory, not too traditional, not too gourmet. The menu walks the fine line between comfort food and culinary masterpiece. And I do not need a rogue ham in the mix. Ham is predictable. Ham is boring. Giuseppe hates ham.
“Stella, just let him take the ham to your family Christmas dinner.”
Her face pales at the suggestion. “Are you kidding me? You know my mother’s a vegetarian and the Christmas salmon is an extreme concession on her part. I can’t bring a date who brings a ham.”
“Ugh. Then you keep it. Seriously, Stella. It doesn’t work with my menu, either.”
Stella puts her hands on her hips and clears her throat.
“This is about Giuseppe, right?”
“What?”
“You have a crush on him again, don’t you?”
“I have not had a crush on Giuseppe for a long time. Not even six months ago, when he asked me out.”
Stella shakes her head. “You guys are so weird. You’re best friends in high school, then you date for five minutes in college, but you break up because you’re scared dating might ruin your friendship. And then, for the next ten years, you take turns having crushes on each other–but you never like each other at the same time. It’s annoying. And you’re only flipping out about the ham because Giuseppe hates it.”
Guilty as charged. “Ok, I have a little crush on him right now.”
“Then you need to get over it. You’re only in this mood because it’s Christmas, and you’re single and lonely. I mean, why am I even talking to Grant? He’s not my ideal husband–he wears pleated khakis and he Facebook friends every person that he meets, and sometimes he whistles through his nose when he breathes.”
Stella runs to the nearest mirror and grimaces at her reflection. “It’s happening, Ivy. We’re 30. We’re not married. And now, we’re resorting. Plain and simple.”
“We are?” I ask.
“Of course we are. And I only have myself to blame,” she wails. “Oh, why didn’t I get braces when I was 14?” she says, leaning closer to the mirror. “And now I need Botox. And probably a boob job in like five years. How am I ever going to buy a house when I need a whole new…everything?”
I don’t even try to hide the fact that I’m rolling my eyes.
I stand next to her in the mirror and take in our reflections. Despite Stella’s nitpicking, we are not quite the old and decrepit spinsters she thinks we are.
At five foot nine with brown hair and brown eyes, I don’t necessarily stand out in a crowd, especially not next to Stella with her shiny black hair and blue-violet eyes.
She sighs. “See? We have no choice but to resort, Ivy. Just look at us.”
To humor Stella, I look in the mirror again. Neither of us is model-thin. On a good day I’m a size ten to Stella’s eight, but she’s also a couple of inches shorter than me.
And yes, we have laugh lines and what might be the beginnings of crow’s feet–but that’s what happens to a face that knows how to laugh and laugh often. The only way to end Stella’s rant is to simply agree with her.
“You’re right. Just look at us. Arsenic and Old Lace. In the flesh,” I say in a somber voice.
“Spinsters for sure,” Stella agrees, with a twinkle in her eye.
I giggle.
Stella smiles.
Moments later, we are laughing to the point of tears, peeling potatoes once again.
To find out more, How to Host a Holiday can be purchased from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, and Kobo
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