Leah's Perfect Christmas

By Catherine Beck

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Leah loves the trappings of Christmas, but as a nice Jewish girl in New York, she's always felt like an outsider looking in. So when she gets invited to a picturesque Connecticut Christmas with her adorable new boyfriend's parents, she can't wait. The fact that she'd never quite gotten around to telling him that she's Jewish isn't going to stop her—she's going to finally have the Christmas of her dreams. 

 

Graham's head-over-heels for Leah, but he learned early that asking for what he wants just leads to disaster. Now she's about to be exposed to the picture-perfect, passive aggressive nightmare that's a weekend at his parents' house. And he's terrified she'll run screaming for the exits.

 

In the Westwood household, the only thing stiffer than the drinks and the upper lips is the family pride. Will Leah ever get to experience the magic of Christmas instead of the magic of Pinterest? Or will the combination of cutthroat Monopoly, overcooked goose, and veiled comments be enough to tear them apart forever?

 

In this romantic comedy novella, discover that sometimes the true meaning of Christmas is Chinese food dinner with your family on Long Island. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catherine Beck
• Release date: Nov 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798985022902

Book preview

Leah’s Perfect Christmas

Catherine Beck

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Leah’s Perfect Christmas

Edited by Kaija Rayne

https://www.chimeraediting.com/

Cover by Nicole Peterson

https://nicole-lee-peterson.myportfolio.com/

Published by Peacock’s Quill Press

Copyright © 2021 by Catherine Beck

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

ISBN: 979-8-9850229-0-2 (EPUB)

For Chuck, without whom this would have never happened.

Contents

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 1.

The unmistakable blatt of hundreds of tubas didn’t so much waft over as flatten the holiday crowds surging along 5th Avenue.

Leah grabbed Graham’s arm in a fit of giddiness. Oh my god, do you know what that is? Did you know it was today?

Graham didn’t look nearly as gleeful. A very good reason to get off this street? I feel like a salmon. One of the unfortunate ones that isn’t going to make it up the fish ladder this year.

It’s Tuba Christmas! She’d heard of it before, but she’d never actually experienced it. And here was her chance. Hundreds and hundreds of tubas, taking over Rockefeller Center to play Christmas carols. This kind of completely bonkers thing was exactly why she loved Manhattan. Come on, we don’t have to stay for the whole thing, but we have to at least go listen to a song or two.

My sister is going to be waiting for us— Graham started.

Leah checked her watch. We’re terminally early. We have plenty of time to listen to the world’s most ridiculous Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and still get our butts over to Second Avenue for lunch with your sister.

Graham sighed, but it was the long-suffering sigh he used when he knew he was supposed to be feeling long-suffering but wasn’t actually suffering all that much. Leah was right—they had plenty of time. Mostly because she’d insisted on meeting on Fifth Avenue way too early, so she’d have an excuse to check out what remained of the big window displays. They used to be better, before so many of the department stores went out, but the ones left were still worth seeing. She had to admit to herself that maybe she’d underestimated the crowds a little. But still. It was New York. At Christmas. It was magical.

She had to hold tight to Graham’s sleeve as she dragged him through the crowd, ducking under tourists holding up phones as if they could capture video of anything other than the backs of other people’s heads. They had the hometown advantage of not being encumbered by either backpacks or massive shopping bags. She finally managed to snag them a spot crushed up against a concrete planter. It wasn’t a good view, but she could at least make out a preposterous number of tubas in front of the statue of the golden naked dude. She basked in the sparkly lights and very enthusiastic notes produced by hundreds of musicians who had never practiced together and also usually didn’t get to play the melody.

Graham wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck. She leaned back into him, utterly content with the moment.

If I admit this is actually kinda cool, will you admit that that tree is kind of misshapen? he murmured into her ear.

She blew a raspberry at him. I’ll give you misshapen. It’s sort of stubby at the top. But it’s very sparkly. It would be prettier if it were white lights, though.

Are you one of those people who have insanely strong opinions on colored versus white lights? He gave her some side eye.

Colored lights are also nice and all; I just think the white lights are more tasteful, she protested.

Huh, he said. I would have thought you were in the white-lights-are-boring camp.

Shush, said the random stranger who was wedged nearly into her armpit. Also, white lights are classic.

Classically boring, replied the little old lady craning her neck over his shoulder. Also, shut up both of you, they’re playing my favorite.

I love New York, sighed Leah. Graham full-body cringed.

As the last dulcet-ish tones of a very rumbly Silent Night faded away and the crowd erupted into applause, Graham leaned down again. You know what I also love? Lunch. And not having this guy next to me’s umbrella handle poking me in the solar plexus. C’mon, Lee, it’s time to go.

She sighed, but it was his turn to be right. They pushed and wove their way back through the crowd, which spit them out of the claustrophobically dense plaza and back onto the still-deeply-crowded but now moving stream of people on 49th Street.

There wasn’t quite as much time as she’d wanted for window-gazing, but the tubas had been worth it. They hurried east, which thankfully grew less congested as they fought free of the packs of roving tourists. Graham checked his phone a couple times as they made brisk time, searching his email for the cross-street of the restaurant his sister had recommended. Most of his restaurant recommendations actually came from her—she was apparently a major foodie, and always knew where the hot new thing was about to burst out. Although the grasshopper tacos had been a bit much for both of them.

This one was a little hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese place, it turned out. Really hole-in-the-wall, from the look through the window. Four tables, eleven chairs—all plastic—and metal napkin dispensers. Which, in Leah’s experience, could bode pretty well, if the restaurant could afford Manhattan rents on takeout orders. There were two couples already sitting, eating from styrofoam containers. Everyone in the restaurant was Asian, another excellent sign. When the majority of the patronage was of the same ethnicity as the food’s origins, it usually indicated it wasn’t a tourist trap.

They’re not going to appreciate us hogging a table before we order, I think, Graham noted. Let’s wait for Madeline out here.

I like the non-asshole option, especially when you’re about to ask people to make you food, Leah agreed.

Graham leaned against the thin strip of metal that would support the roll-down storefront. So you’re super into the Christmas thing, huh?

She shrugged, a little self-conscious. I just think it’s fun, you know? It’s cold, and it’s dark. Having an excuse for lots of lights and decorations and music and elaborate food and traditions and excuses to dress up and everything—it’s nice.

He didn’t look convinced.

What, are you not a fan? she teased.

I just don’t get the hype, he said. It’s so full of so many expectations, and if you somehow don’t do it all perfectly, people get very touchy.

That reminded her. She’d meant to bring this up before and had chickened out. But it would be so awkward otherwise. Speaking of expectations. Umm. Are we doing presents?

His gaze darted to the side. Uh. What do you want to do?

She bit her lip. They’d been dating since the summer. What was the protocol for presents at the five-and-a-half-month mark? She’d never actually made it this long. There had been some awkward birthdays in previous relationships, and one truly excruciating second-date-Valentine’s-Day-blowout. She’d dumped that poor dude halfway through an ill-considered and extremely cold and smelly carriage ride in Central Park; when he pulled out a diamond necklace she absolutely could not see herself accepting, let alone wearing. It had been like he was following a program—IF girl AND Valentine’s Day THEN necklace. And girl was an interchangeable variable. She couldn’t get out of the carriage fast enough. Then she’d had to stumble through six blocks of slush in stilettos to get to the subway station. She swallowed. Maybe little ones? Like, to be completely unromantically transparent, $40 or less?

He smiled. You’re the best girlfriend ever, you know that?

Because I let you get me a cheap present? She made a show of making a face.

No, he said, cupping her face. Because you’re honest and you tell me what you want, and you don’t play games.

He kissed her gently and then pulled away. You want to come out to my place to swap gifts next weekend? My roommates are leaving town.

Oh, ah. I’d like to, but I can’t. I have to go out to Long Island for an extended family thing.

Oh, does your family do a big Christmas thing with all the relatives?

...sort of. It was a big thing, with all the relatives, all right. There was just one problem. It wasn’t Christmas. It was Chanukah.

She knew this was the point where she was supposed to tell him. But she’d been down this road before. There were two ways it could go. Well, four, if you counted 3) the straight-up proselytizing route and 4) the mouth-foaming rant about how the Jews secretly controlled the world route. But she knew him well enough to feel pretty sure he wouldn’t pick those routes, or she wouldn’t have been dating him in the first place.

But no, the well-meaning and not-obnoxious-but-still-totally-obnoxious options were these. 1) He could be baffled. Why would a nice Jewish girl like Christmas? Shouldn’t she be draping menorah-covered silver garland over things, or at very most, putting up a Chanukah bush? (There was an extra judge-y option 1a that involved accusing her of being a self-hating Jew and a traitor to her people. That one was extra fun.) Or there was option 2) Operation Introduce-the-Poor-Little-Jewish-Girl-to-Christmas.

The folks who chose option 2 were almost the worst. Well, not the actual worst, because they weren’t straight up racist. But the most annoying. Because they partially got it. Chanukah was not a substitute for Christmas. Chanukah was a minor holiday at best, that got over-inflated to be a cultural counterweight so people could feel inclusive and so seven-year-olds didn’t feel left out. Christmas was its own thing, and it was awesome. Leah loved everything about Christmas except the Christ part, and she could be respectful of that bit without actually having the slightest interest in converting. And the Operation-Poor-Jewish-Girl folks got that. They didn’t try to make her become Christian. They themselves thought the most appealing parts of the holiday were the Hallmark movies and mint hot chocolate and day-long cookie baking sessions. And lights and presents and eggnog. They weren’t trying to convert her. They were just condescending as hell.

Leah didn’t need to be introduced to Christmas. She was born in the United States; she grew up breathing in aerosolized Christmas in the atmosphere with everyone else in the goddamn country. She didn’t need someone to sit her down and hold her hand and explain to her the significance of the stocking, she’d seen Rankin Bass specials on AMC. She didn’t want her Very First Ornament; she didn’t have a tree to put it on. She understood the concept of an ugly sweater contest. She’d had