Chapter Text
The attic at Thistle House, situated comfortably in the upstairs hallway leading to the master bedroom (which Penelope had unrepentantly taken for herself when she and Cheryl moved in), is just like the rest of the old cottage— somber and still-aired, only just a touch more frozen in time.
Among the dust-coated wooden chests, the heaps of obscure board games, and the decayed-looking scattered toys that had, no doubt, once belonged to great-grandpappy Blossom, Alice Cooper sits cross-legged, surrounded by boxes of ornaments.
“These are actually quite nice,” she says, dangling a gold reindeer in front of her eyes, “I was expecting….well, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.” She places the ornament back in its box and sets it aside in approval.
“Oh, the wilted poinsettias and headless santas are in the other box,” Penelope pipes up, rummaging through an old wooden chest for some garland.
Alice arches an eyebrow, “The fact that you’re making jokes tells me you’re feeling much better than when I last came to see you.” She picks up a red and gold ball ornament and twirls it in front of her, checking for cracks.
“I took my strongest painkillers with some peppermint tea this morning.”
“Festive.”
Penelope pulls out several strings of garland from the chest along with some stockings and stocking hooks— the last of which are adorned with gold reindeer, to match the ornaments. Laying everything out in front of her, a distressed look comes over her face.
“What is it?”
“Jason’s stocking,” she replies, “it’s not here.”
Alice makes her way over to where Penelope is sitting and starts digging through the chest to ensure the stocking isn’t just buried under some old Christmas junk. She finds string lights, some cheaper looking garland than the one Penelope picked out, and a whole bunch of tinsel, but no stocking.
“Well it has to be here somewhere,” she says, wiping her brow. The musty attic air did not agree with her knit sweater. “Maybe it’s in one of the other chests.”
Penelope scans the room, “I suppose.”
“Why don’t we switch places? You’re still recovering from surgery; you shouldn’t be poking around in these things anyway. I’ll look for the stocking while you pick out the rest of the ornaments for the tree.”
“Fine.”
It had been exactly two weeks since Penelope’s reconstructive surgery. The surgery hadn’t been anything major, and everything had gone well, but that hadn’t stopped Alice from refusing to leave her side in the days that followed. She waited on the redhead hand and foot, cooking her meals and offering to run errands for her despite Penelope never once asking. There were times when Penelope thought to herself that Alice’s incessant need to nurture was downright clinical, but she couldn’t bring herself to complain. She had grown embarrassingly comfortable having her own personal Florence Nightingale.
“This attic needs a serious spring cleaning,” Alice says picking up a raggedy, old jack in the box with a chipped nose and discolored face. It’s a creepy little thing and, suddenly, Great Grandpappy Blossom’s old Trojan horse doesn’t seem so bad in comparison. “Most of this stuff looks like it’s been around since World War I.”
“No one clings to the past with two hands longer or harder than a Blossom.”
“I’ll say.” Alice brushes aside some wooden blocks with faded letters on them, revealing a pair of embroidered initials in gold thread: JB. “Oh! I think I found—” she refrains from finishing the sentence when she realizes her mistake.
Penelope whips her head around excitedly, only to find that it isn’t Jason’s missing Christmas stocking Alice has found. Her blood runs cold.
“Where did you get that?” she asks gravely.
If Alice notes a change in her tone, she doesn’t let on. “It was buried in the chest along with all of those other toys,” she responds, holding out the sailor doll in front of her. Oddly enough, it didn’t look nearly half as old as anything else she had found in there. Its delicately-painted, porcelain face was still intact with nary a chip nor scratch to be found, and there were no loose threads on its neatly tailored clothes. Alice wonders if it was custom-made. It feels heavy in her hands, and something about it seems deeply personal.
“Put it back.”
This time, Alice picks up on the shift. Penelope’s voice sounds unusually shaky and dark, and she appears almost frozen in place as she stares at the doll in Alice’s hands— her face having lost all of its natural color.
“Was this Jason’s?” she asks softly, unable to help herself.
A single tear rolls down Penelope’s face. “Please, Alice....”
The sound of heavy footsteps coming up the creaky, attic ladder pulls both women from their thoughts, and just a few seconds later Hal pops his head in.
“The tree lights are up,” he beams proudly.
. . . . .
“The lights look wonderful, Hal, thank you.”
Hal stands next to Penelope in front of the tree, hands on his hips, as he pridefully admires his work. “Any time,” he smiles. “I’ve actually never seen a Christmas tree with just red lights before.”
“Let me guess,” she says, “the ones you have at home are white.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “That predictable, huh?” The Cooper Christmas tree this year was just like the rest of their house— understated and simple, with gold and white ornaments for that timeless look Alice cherished so much.
“Well, Alice doesn’t strike me as the multicolor type.”
“She’s not,” Hal laughs. “I try to convince her every year, but she won’t have it. She says they look cheap and haphazard.”
Penelope walks over to where the Christmas stockings are laid out on the table. “Sounds like Alice,” she says somewhat absentmindedly.
Hal follows closely behind her, “Sorry to hear about Jason’s stocking.” A part of him can’t help but feel like, if anyone’s had to have gone missing, it should’ve been Rose’s or Cheryl’s. At least they were still around to see this Christmas.
“It’s alright,” Penelope shrugs, looking down at the three she recovered from the attic. “There’s nothing to put in it anyway.”
A brief silence befalls them.
“What about Clifford’s?” Hal asks tentatively. He knows he shouldn’t pry, but his curiosity always seemed to get the better of him wherever the Blossom family was concerned. That, and being married to Alice for the past twenty years had done nothing to help his sense of restraint.
Penelope takes Cheryl’s stocking in her hands and gingerly traces over the embroidered initials with her finger. CB— the same as Clifford’s. “It didn’t feel right,” she says quietly. “Not without Jason’s.”
Hal nods. “The first one’s always the hardest,” he says recalling the first Christmas he spent after his father passed. “But Alice and I are here for you if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
A few minutes later, Alice emerges from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolates. “One Baileys hot chocolate for you,” she says handing a glass mug to Hal, “one for me,” she says setting another one down on the coffee table, “and a virgin hot chocolate for our recovering patient,” she smiles, handing the last mug over to Penelope.
“Why do I get a nonalcoholic beverage?”
“Because,” Alice chirps in a tone far too motherly for Penelope’s taste, “you took pain relievers this morning.”
Penelope rolls her eyes but sulkily takes a sip out of the hot chocolate anyway. It’s suspiciously good.
“I see the stockings are up,” Alice smiles, scanning the mantle which has been covered in garland and poinsettias and adorned with the gold reindeer hooks from which the stockings are hanging. “I approve.”
“Hal did most of the work. I simply told him how I wanted everything,” Penelope admits.
“Good,” Alice says sharply. “You’re supposed to be resting your arm.”
“I feel fine, Alice. I’ve been resting for weeks.”
“That’s not what Hal tells me,” the blonde retorts, taking an accusatory tone.
Hal shoots Penelope a guilty look.
“I would hardly call engaging in amorous congress with Fred Andrews’ foreman ‘resting’.”
“Alice—”
“Cheryl insisted on a Christmas tree and I didn’t have the heart to tell her we couldn’t afford one, so I had to get creative,” Penelope says defensively. “Besides, Vic was a perfect gentleman. I had a very good time.”
“Bedding eligible bachelors is not what the doctor ordered!”
“Vic isn’t a bachelor, he’s a divorcee,” Penelope corrects before taking another sip of her hot chocolate.
“We should really start decorating the tree if we want to make it back home in time for dinner,” Hal interjects.
“That’s beside the point!” Alice returns, ignoring her husband. “We would have been happy to provide you with a Christmas tree should you have asked us for one. Isn’t that right, Hal?”
Penelope swirls her hot chocolate casually, “And I appreciate that, Alice, but I cannot rely on your charity forever. I have to start thinking long-term.”
Hal takes a generous, generous sip of his spiked hot chocolate. Sharing the Vic story with Alice had been a mistake.
“There is nothing ‘long-term’ about becoming a woman of the night,” Alice insists, making air quotes when she says the words long-term. “Prostitution is not a career.”
“It’s the oldest profession in the world,” Penelope counters, licking some whipped cream off her finger. “Honestly, Alice, and you call me old-fashioned…”
Alice shoots Hal an exasperated look, but the look he shoots back at her begs her to stop.
“Fine,” she resigns, “but just know, as your second cousin-in-law, I think you could do better. I’ve seen Moulin Rouge and Les Mis, and I know how this ends for you.” She picks up her hot chocolate and takes a disapproving sip.
“I will do my best not to succumb to consumption,” Penelope says seriously. “But Alice…”
“Yes?”
“Clutch those pearls any tighter and, one day, they just might break.”
. . . . .
After the last ornament has been hung on the tree, Hal ties a giant red and gold bow at the very top of it. Penelope claims she’s had enough of stars and angels. Scattered throughout are poinsettias, boughs of holly, tartan red-and-green ribbons tied into neat bows, red acrylic gem ornaments, gold reindeer, and classic red balls with a variety of gold glitter patterns. It’s a far cry from the sort of tree Alice would have in her own home, but even she can admit it’s spectacularly…Blossom.
“How does it look?” Hal asks, climbing down from the ladder.
“Remarkable,” Penelope marvels. She had been fully prepared to celebrate this Christmas without a tree, but now, standing here, taking it all in, she was grateful to have ultimately changed her mind.
“The red lights work well with the rest of the room,” Hal observes. “And the tree looks great. Everything really ties together.”
“It does, doesn’t it? I think Cheryl will be pleased.”
“She better be,” Alice scoffs, “after all the hard work we just put in.” She plops herself down on the couch and reaches for the tray of ready-to-bake Christmas cookies Hal insisted she buy on the drive over. Endearing as the snowman on them were, they didn’t hold a candle to her own homemade holiday confections.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever tried those before,” Penelope says, taking a seat next to Alice.
“What? Not even as a kid?” Hal asks, helping himself to three of them. He sits in the chair across from them and Alice notes how childlike he looks feeding himself holiday-themed Pilsbury cookies in his knit sweater.
“Not unless your mother ever offered me some when I was over.”
Hal shakes his head, “She wouldn’t have. Gertrude and I always had to beg her to buy them.”
“How is Gertrude? I haven’t seen her in years.” Penelope had almost forgotten about Hal’s older sister. As a child she had been very intimidated by her, though why that was she could no longer recall. All she remembered was that Gertrude had been very good friends with Hermione’s older sister, Terry, and that there had always been rumors about her….preferences. She had never mentioned these rumors to Hal, of course, but she had often wondered if they’d ever gotten back to him.
“She’s good, moved to L.A. right after college. Betty actually stayed with her this summer when she was doing her internship. Work keeps her pretty busy so she doesn’t visit much. She’s a book editor.”
“Ah,” Penelope nods. So no husband or kids. “Well that’s good to hear.”
“Of course the one person in your family who always approved of me took off to the other side of the country before we even graduated high school,” Alice scoffs. She takes a bite of her cookie. “His mother used to hate me.”
“Hate is a little strong.”
“Mrs. Cooper?” Penelope cracks a smile. “She was so sweet.”
“To you, I’m sure. You were every parent’s wet dream. I, on the other hand…”
“You were just a little rough around the edges,” Hal cuts in. “She came around.”
Penelope wonders if the irony of Alice’s words is lost on her. Every parent’s wet dream...well, certainly not her own. She reaches for a cookie and takes the tiniest bite in case it doesn’t agree with her. Surprisingly, it does.
“Isn’t it crazy to think about how long ago all of that was?” Alice asks, her words dripping with nostalgia. “Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that I was writing for the Blue and Gold and watching Fred try and make up his mind between Hermione and Mary. Sitting in the bleachers with my pen and notepad while FP led the Bulldogs to victory at a Friday night football game, getting chastised by you for not having a hall pass and thinking what a snotty little goody two-shoes you were...”
“Charming.”
“And then I look around and I see Polly, about to have her own babies, and Betty, so close to graduating high school…and it all feels like a lifetime ago.”
“I miss it,” Penelope admits. “It wasn’t perfect, but…”
“It was ours,” Hal finishes.
Alice nods. “Now Fred’s divorced and Mary’s gone and FP’s just another Southside statistic,” her eyes fixate on the floor as she absentmindedly tugs at a loose thread on her sweater. “I just hope our children do better.”
Penelope notes how Alice conveniently leaves her out of that last woeful observation. An exercise in propriety, surely. God knows, out of all of their classmates, there was no one whose life had crumbled as swiftly and magnificently as hers had.
“Well we’re not dead yet,” she reminds the blonde. “I, for one, am still going to try and make something of myself. I did not survive the fire at Thornhill so that I could sit around and waste away in this sorry house.”
Hal offers her a smile.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Alice quips, reverting back to her usual spirited tone, “otherwise all of our efforts to get you back on your feet would be for naught.”
Penelope gives her a knowing look. “Our children will be fine,” she says, and she has to believe that. “Besides, not everything has changed since high school.”
Alice looks at her expectantly.
“You’re still a pain in the ass.”
. . . . .
Hal throws back his head and lets out a hearty laugh, “You did what?”
“He said we needed to leave out some cookies for Santa so I told him that Santa wasn’t real,” Penelope responds, holding back a laugh. “It was innocent.”
“There is nothing innocent about spoiling Christmas for your siblings,” he says playfully.
“Older siblings, and I assumed he knew. He ran to tell Claudius afterward and Claudius was so upset. Rose was furious.”
“What a mess,” Hal grins, shaking his head. He watches as Alice endeavors to hang up the giant wreath that she and Penelope found in the attic on the front door.
Alice adjusts the position of the wreath for the dozenth time and takes a step back. “I’m trying to picture skinny, little eight-year old you with your Mary Janes and freckles bluntly breaking the news to Clifford that this jolly, old man in a red-and-white suit doesn’t actually slide down the Thornhill chimney every year to leave him a dozen monogrammed socks and a pony because, as it turns out, he doesn’t, in fact, exist, and I have to say, it is very amusing.”
“How was I supposed to know he believed in that sort of thing?” Penelope defends. “At the Sisters, we always knew it was just a story. I didn’t think anyone actually bought into it. It was like...the Loch Ness Monster or something.”
“The Loch Ness Monster?” Hal repeats, the amusement evident in his tone. “You thought Santa was a cryptid?”
Alice lets out a laugh as she continues fidgeting with the position of the wreath.
“Laugh all you want, but if someone had told me as a child that a man who could allegedly see me when I was sleeping, and knew when I was awake, was going to slide down the chimney of my house once a year and help himself to a plate of my baked goods, I would have been terrified.”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
“I love coming to visit you, I really do,” Alice proclaims. “Hearing you talk is like being on a pitch-black rollercoaster. I never know what’s going to happen next, but I’m never disappointed.”
“Glad I can delight you,” Penelope deadpans, though her heart inevitably swells at the thought of Alice genuinely enjoying her company. It’s not the most conventional, or even the warmest compliment, and a part of her wishes that she could be recognized for something other than what others frequently perceived to be an inherent, unshakeable strangeness, but at least it was something. Perhaps, with time, Alice would grow to appreciate her for reasons independent of whatever unidentifiable defect seemed to separate her from other people. And perhaps, someday, others would follow. But, until then, she would take whatever it was she could get and hold onto it with both hands.
“Okay, I think I’ve finally got it,” Alice says, standing back to observe the wreath again. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Even then, Thistle House’s exterior left much to be desired in the way of holiday cheer. Luckily, the same could not be said for its interior— thanks in no small part to her creative vision and Hal’s ability to execute it.
“So what are your plans for Christmas?” Hal asks, shooting an approving nod in Alice’s direction.
Penelope shrugs, “I found some discounted mini candy canes at the store yesterday. That’s as far as the money we have left will take us.” She can feel an itching pain beginning to spread in her arm, but she tries her best to block it out. The medication wasn’t supposed to wear off for another hour or so. “I’m going to tell Cheryl that we can’t afford to buy any gifts this year when she gets home. Hopefully all of the Christmas decorations will soften the blow.”
Alice’s self-satisfied smile melts into a frown, “What? You didn’t mention anything about not being able to afford any gifts…” her voice trails off as the wheels in her head begin to rapidly turn.
“Alice, we have no money.”
Hal looks at Alice, then at Penelope. Normally, he would consult with his wife before offering to do something that would ultimately also involve her, but seeing the dejected look on Penelope’s face, he can’t help himself. “Why don’t you and Cheryl come over for Christmas dinner?” he asks, knowing it's the right thing to do. Penelope’s eyes widen and he feels himself ache for her. “Polly’s been wanting to see you again, and I’m sure she and Betty would be happy to spend the holiday with family.”
Penelope looks over at Alice, searching for the right words. “That’s very kind, but I wouldn’t want to impose. I’m sure you’ve already made plans, and what with Nana Rose Blossom to consider…”
“Hal’s right, Penelope,” Alice interrupts. “We’d be happy to have you. And Cheryl, and even Nana Blossom if you want her to come along. We’re family; we should be celebrating together.”
Penelope looks over at Hal, who nods in agreement. “I don’t know what to say…”
“Say you’ll join us,” Alice pleads. “Everyone deserves to experience a Cooper family Christmas at least once in their lifetime.”
Penelope bites back a smile. “Alright,” she gives in. “I’ll talk to Cheryl about it.” Not even the growing pain in her arm can take this moment away from her. Alice had referred to them as family before— many times as of late even, but something about being invited to step into her world, her and Hal’s world, felt like a huge milestone. And for Hal to have been the one to extend the invitation...Hal, who she had been convinced had grown to resent her after their falling out in high school, well...it felt good. Really good. Almost as if, perhaps, they were finally starting to move closer towards the friendship they once had.
She’s not sure what compels her to do it, but suddenly she finds herself pulling Hal in for a hug. First Hal, and then Alice. “Thank you,” she says, finally letting the tears spill. “For everything.”