Dachshund Through the Snow by Rosie A. Point

Author:Rosie A. Point [Point, Rosie A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rosie A. Point

11

That evening…

* * *

“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me this was going on.” My mother stood beside her Christmas tree in her tiny living room, holding a string of lights. She’d tied up her dark hair, the same shade as mine, in a messy bun and wore a set of striped cotton PJs. “I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me, Holly.”

“Ma, I wasn’t keeping secrets from you. I didn’t want you to worry.” Dixie scratched at the base of my mom’s sofa. Ma didn’t seem to mind, so I didn’t correct the doggo. “Besides, I didn’t want to bring you down.”

“Bring me down? The only thing that brings me down is not hearing from my daughters enough.” Ma circled the tree and gestured for me to hold the end of the string of lights.

I did as she asked, feeding it to her as she circled the tree, placing the string carefully. “You clearly have stuff on your plate, Ma. It’s nearly Christmas and you’re only putting up the tree now.”

“Excuse me, it is fifteen days until Christmas.”

“That’s nearly Christmas.”

“You always had a sassy mouth, Holly,” Ma said, with a sigh and tugged gently on the lights.

I fed more of it to her. “Anyway, I’m fine.”

“You say you’re fine then fine.”

“Ma.”

“How would I know if you’re fine or not? You never call.”

“I do call,” I said. “I’m here, aren’t I? You know how much I love being around you. Dixie, would you stop that?”

Dixie dug obsessively at the sofa and gave me a doe-eyed look before continuing.

“Let her dig at it, for Pete’s sake. It’s not like that sofa’s an antique. Besides, I’m fixing to get a new one soon,” my mother said, and shot Dixie a smile.

Dixie wagged her tail and returned to her scratching.

“Still, it’s a bad habit,” I said. “I think she needs training.”

“She’s a free spirit. No use in dampening a free spirit.” My mother continued circling the tree, and I followed her, helping her put up the lights until, finally, she stood back and dusted off her hands. “Now, the baubles.”

“I like this part,” I said. “And the Christmas chocolates.” Every year, we hung chocolates on her tree, and she’d allow me and my sisters to pick them off whenever we visited. It was a fun game we’d played as kids—trying to hide the chocolates when we trimmed the tree, placing our favorite ones in spots only we’d remember.

Silence prevailed, and my mom put on some Christmas music while we decorated. Her living room was all creams and blues, same as it had been back in the day, and I had to say, it was weird being back in our childhood home. Good memories. Bad memories. Mostly happy memories. Ma had done her best.

“It should be a law that children have to call their mother at least once a week,” Ma said.

“I do call you once a week!”

“My mistake, I meant once a day,” Ma continued, as she hauled a box of Christmas decorations into the living room.

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