The Great Christmas Bowl by Susan May Warren Page A

hat.”
    Mike’s legs disappeared into the mudroom and emerged a moment later with a hat. I heard him adjust the back before he held up the fish’s mouth and plunked the cap on my head.
    Then there was light. The top of the mouth rested on the brim, and although I could feel the googly eyes bearing down on me, I could see enough to walk.
    Mike grinned. “That was a close one.”
    Foiled again. I pulled off the head and plunked it onto the counter.
    Clearly I couldn’t escape my fate.
    Mike stepped close, his strong hands rubbing my arms. I’d dressed in a thermal shirt and sweatpants, not wanting to dig out Mike’s hunting gear and add to the padded effect. “Are you okay?” he asked.
    I sighed.
    â€œYou can do this, you know.”
    I nodded. “That’s not it.”
    â€œYou’re a good mom.”
    â€œI know.” I sighed again.
    â€œThen what is it?”
    I made a face. “I think you’re going to have to help me get dressed.”
    He laughed and pulled me to himself. “Oh, you cute little trout, you.”
    We arranged to meet at the game, where he would dress me. I felt like I had when I was pregnant, near the end, and I had to ask him to tie my shoes.
    He loaded the Trout into my SUV, and I dropped him off at the EMS station. He didn’t have to work today but wanted to check in. He would ride out with some of his EMS pals and meet me at the game.
    Which gave me an hour to sit and ponder my life as I drove.
    I’d seen Jenni Simpson in the store yesterday, the day after our meeting. She cornered me next to the lunchmeat section. She had her baby in a car seat propped on the shopping cart.
    â€œI just don’t understand why we can’t have something different for our tea theme. We young moms never get a chance to get out. It’s our one chance to dress up, and we have to eat Swedish meatballs?”
    I reached for the sliced ham, trying to be a peacemaker. “I know, Jenni. And I appreciate your suggestions. I’ll talk to Gretchen. It’s just that she’s put a lot of time—”
    â€œI thought it would be different with you,” Jenni said, arms folded. “I thought you would figure out that this tea is for everybody. It’s supposed to be an outreach, something everyone would enjoy going to. Not just Gretchen and her cronies.”
    â€œJenni—”
    â€œWhatever.” She threw a package of hot dogs into her cart. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
    Well, maybe not in those exact words. But they contained enough truth around the barbs to stick with me, make me think.
    Why, exactly, did we have a Christmas Tea? Was Jenni right? Or did Gretchen and her “cronies” deserve to keep their traditions? After all, they were the backbone of the church, and most of them watched the babies in Jenni’s Mother’s Day Out group once a month. That seemed to merit some recognition.
    As I pulled up to the stadium, I could taste the excitement. From the band unloading from the bus, to the football players chanting on the field for their warm-ups, to the smell of hot dogs grilling on hibachis, football fever ladened the air.
    The Miller Creek Moose would fight the Big Lake Trouts at a mutual location—a meet-in-the-middle city stadium twice the size of ours. Thankfully, we’d drawn home-team status.
    I opened the trunk and grabbed the box of my cheering paraphernalia, then trekked toward the field. I waved to one of the offensive line coaches, who opened the gate and let me through to the sidelines.
    I had never been on the sidelines, not during a real game. I’d never made the cheerleading squad—not that it mattered to Mike—but I’d always longed to be one of those girls who could jump and touch her toes, climb on each other’s shoulders, do a flip in midair.
    I didn’t even want to think about the way I’d be making my debut cheering