Under the First Mistletoe

Realizations of the Heart

Lizzie lay awake that night, thinking and wondering if she did hurt Sally's feelings. She knew Sally was always the sensitive one, and she was the most likely to be a drama queen (she was after all member of the drama club during high school).

Lizzie, on the other hand, born after two practical jokers, was a practical joker herself.

Sally looked so upset and so mad that it left Lizzie with a guilty feeling. And her mom was mad too. Forget mad. Her mom was furious. The last time Lizzie had seen her mother like that was when Matt and Mark placed a pillow (that farted) on the chair of their Aunt Eloise.

Aunt Eloise turned out to be one of her mom's clients, and they ended up not making the deal of a lifetime. And Aunt Eloise (who wasn't really an Aunt of Lizzie's. They only called her 'aunt' out of respect) was the wife of a congressman, or some politician.

Mrs. Daniels was so humiliated for weeks and she vowed to lock Matt and Mark in their room, even though they were already eighteen years old. They had defended themselves, saying that 'Aunt' Eloise was a nasty old cranky woman.

And now, Lizzie was sure she wasn't going to live tomorrow because one way or another, her mom would kill her. If not her mom, then Sally would.

They'd probably bury her alive when they see tomorrow that the dye wasn't permanent and realize what Lizzie's game was.

Feeling restless, and morosely regretful, Lizzie got up and decided she'd walk around the house. Maybe she could think of a good excuse to tell her mom and Sally.

"Geez, can't they take a practical joke?" she grumbled to her pillow before throwing off the covers, and getting off the bed.

Clad only in a bathrobe, with her eleven-year-old pajamas underneath (the pants reached up to her knees, but it still fit her), Lizzie crept down the hall to the foyer downstairs. She decided she'd go to the living room, where the fire might still be burning.

Upon entering, she spotted her dad, sitting on his favorite chair, and staring at the fire. His hand on his chin, the fire sparkled against his wedding band.

"Dad," Lizzie called softly, as she moved towards him.

Her dad looked up, and smiled. "Betheliza."

Lizzie smiled back at him, as she took her place on the couch beside him. 'Betheliza' was her dad's nickname to her. He just reversed Elizabeth. "What's up? How come you're not sleeping?"

"I think I could ask you the same question," he said, his eyes twinkling. Then, his eyes traveled up to her, and his eyes widened. "Your hair!" he choked out, aghast.

Lizzie cringed. If that was her dad's reaction, what more of Sally and her mom?

"It was just a temporary dye," she mumbled, looking down and feeling childish. "I don't know, I think I caught the practical-joker's flu, and it clogged up my brain or something like that. I'm sorry, dad."

He chuckled lightly.

Lizzie looked up, surprised. "Okay, I was expecting for you to yell at me."

He chuckled some more. Then, reaching over, he took hold of Lizzie's hand. "Let your mom and Sally do the yelling. I, for one, am not mad at you."

"Oh."

"But I'm not saying that you should do it again," he said, bending over to kiss her hand. "My baby girl never fails to make laugh."

Lizzie looked at her father. He looked less tired, and more at peace. "Everything okay with the church now?"

"Well, you know Sally," her dad replied, letting go of her hand. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes half-closed. "She had everything ready a year ago," he joked.