Jessica glanced over at her grandmother from the stove, where she was scraping and folding eggs in Marie’s big cast iron skillet. She’d never made eggs this way—scrambled in a little of the leftover bacon grease—and eating them was going to cancel out what little good she’d accomplished at the gym yesterday, but they were going to be worth it. She hoped. When Marie made them, they were delicious, but this was Jessica’s first attempt without help. “You mean a real tree?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to have an artificial one?” “Easier, maybe, but we both like the look and smell of a real tree, so as long as we have Rick to help Joe carry one in and set it up, we’ll stick with tradition.” Marie pushed another four slices of bread into the toaster and smeared butter across the slices that had just popped. “I know you have to go home for the holidays, but if we get a tree now we can at least share a little Christmas spirit while you’re here.” “What are you scheming now, woman?” Joe asked as he walked into the kitchen, no doubt lured in by the smell of bacon and coffee.
