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Christmas Eve morning, my better half departed for the grocery store via public transportation. She was due to pick up the rest of the supplies for that evening's dinner and maybe a bottle of red for some sipping after.
I was busy snagging my rubber hose on household objects and trying to resist the unnatural attraction that the tube has for the underside of large black Hefty bags and checking facebook for messages in between bouts of tug-of-war when I noticed that my stepdaughter had put up a very piteous status message about not being part of the family and being lonesome and cold.
She has a dramatic streak, and usually doesn't get along well with her two younger brothers, so I thought little of that. Filed it away in my memory banks and went back to reassembling the contents of the middle shelf of the fridge, which I had taken out in order to locate the pineapple.
That done, I resumed poaching the ham in a bath of honey and pineapple juice, in a large blue enamel pot. When I had my hands as full as possible of gooey mess, the phone rang. This was no surprise, as the inanimate objects always rebel at the most inappropriate time.
It was my wife. The cab driver was apparently trying to kidnap her and had driven two miles past our driveway. He had turned off his radio and was refusing to take the dispatcher's calls. The fare was already three times what it should have been as the cabbie had started the meter at twice the usual rate.
I listened as she persuaded the hackpusher to convey her to the intended destination and explained how she would pay only the appropriate amount. Then I hung up with her, went outside to help carry the groceries and deal with the cabbie.
She got on the horn with dispatch and explained what was happening. They said to pay him the charge for one mile (that had been her idea also).
So. The cab pulled up after a few minutes. The trunk popped open. We grabbed everything in sight and barely managed to move out of the way as the driver starting turning the car while we were still rooting around in the trunk.
Thought we had everything. He ended up getting no money at all because he wouldn't open the window to accept the funds.
Nerve-jangling stuff. We unpacked.
A giftbox of Jagermeister was unaccounted for. That cab ride sudden;y got more expensive.
I called the office.
"Yeah. I hate to ask this but can you get ahold of your rogue and send him back? One, he didn't get paid, and two, he's driving around with booze in his trunk. That bottle could bust easily..."
The dispatcher promised to try.
No go. I called the police to mediate.
They got the guy's address, went to his house, and got our giftpak with the cute little glasses that she had liked so well. Went the extra mile on this holiday eve, We appreciated it and told them so. They left. Somehow we resisted the urge to open the thing and guzzle it down.
The love of my life sits down in her special chair and opens up a facebook page. She finds that she has a message from the mother of the fella that her daughter is staying with, threatening to throw the woman and her seven-year-old out in the snow at Xmas midnight, and saying that the sender would be keeping the two-month-old issue of that blessed union.
My honey pie got on the phone and began moving rocks around the way only she could do. Within the hour, she had mobilized Child Protective Services, the Western NY Women's shelter, the NY State police, and had alerted several friends of hers who lived in the area that they may be called upon to serve as witnesses/cabdrivers/moral support/temporary housing.
The idea was that the cops would get on the scene and whisk the three females away to a women's shelter, thereby protecting them from any harm or additional abuse (it turns out that there was no heat or food in the trailer and that there were no plans to provide either).
We sat back in fear and trembling and waited for the phone call that would say that the kids were safe.
Still didn't open the bottle, though by now I had stashed in in the freezer, next to the Absolut where it belonged.
The call came. Rescue Fail.
The cops wouldn't do it because there was no booster seat for the seven-year-old. they had left, amid ominous threats to return and clap all parties in irons if so summoned.
So Plan B was unwrapped and set to working. A friend from the area collected the trio and got to feeding and warming them. We sent money via PayPal to get diapers and foodstuffs.
At this point it was five pm. We'd spent the last five hours doing what.
Since I'd collected so much holiday spirit that I hadn't even put the tree up, it didn't drag me down. But she was near tears. Just sitting there fizzing.
I snuck some Bailey's into her next coffee (we drink the stuff by the gallon) and got the feast ready. I'd completely forgotten about the toothpicks and pineapple slices and maraschino cheery and clove thing. The scalloped potatoes had some burned bits. I'd neglected to cut any veggies, so we had honeymoon salad. But it was grand.
She stopped visibly fizzing and instead sat glaring at the tv with the steam wafting gently from her earholes.
I took the next step in her treatment and mixed Absolut with judicious portions of pineapple juice, lime, simple syrup, and ice. A dash of triple sec completed the maneuver.
My air hose got caught during this all, but I didn't spill a drop. I had a mission.
She began to speak of her experience with the cabdriver.
The sun went down.
She continued to speak of her experiences, now with the taxi driver and dispatch office. I fixed another round of drinks.
"It's a Wonderful Life" began and ended. I took her lukewarm drink and threw it down my gullet where it would be safe, took her sleepingly to the bed and made her comfy, and went into my office to perform some green magick.
Her daughter, my stepdaughter, the perpetual motion motormouth, is coming to live here, next year, it looks like. And I've signed on to this program.
The things we do for love.
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Originally Posted by Foxee
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