The Plight Before Christmas(8)

“And just like that. I need a drink,” Mom says, rolling her eyes.

“I’ve got you covered,” I chime. “Smart move putting me in charge of the booze.”

“Give it back,” Gracie squeals, and it’s then I realize it’s my sister she’s pleading with. “Mom, please, I need it.”

“We discussed this on the ride here—no cell phones. Grammy and Gramps want us to be present. And the reception here sucks anyway.”

I can picture Gracie planting her hand on her hips. “What am I supposed to do!?”

“First, keep it down, immediately. Second, I don’t know, kid, maybe spend time with your family?”

“You’re ruining my life!”

“Well, that’s tradition, so I’m doing something right.”

“Dad!” Gracie groans, and I smile when my brother-in-law, Thatch, replies. “No way in hell I’m getting in the middle of this. Stop screaming, Gracie, and listen to your mother.”

“Here we go,” I sigh through my grin. Mom and I collectively cringe as the screeches become impossible to decipher.

“I think I’ll wait for the mushroom cloud to disperse before I announce I’m here. Where’s Dad?”

“He’s out tinkering with more lights. He’s not going to be satisfied until he’s strung up everything in the shed. He’s already fallen off that ancient ladder.” She shakes her head. “Half his ass is purple.”

“I could’ve done without that visual.”

Mom laughs and nudges me with her shoulder. “I’m just about to start dinner.”

“Need help?”

“Nope, It’s lasagna. I prepped it last night. Why don’t you grab the booze and your suitcase and get settled in.” She winces.

“What?”

“You’re in the attic. Sorry, your brother and sister need more space with the kids, and…”

“It’s cool. I’ve made peace with my place in the Raggedy Ann and Andy room.”

Her eyes soften. “Honey, it’s not a punishment. They just need the room.”

“No worries. I’m happy to take it.” My mood has lifted dramatically in the last few minutes. Even as Gracie shrieks from above, an octave below shattering glass.

“Mom, you can’t do this to me!”

Mom leans over to me in a whisper. “She just got her first period.”

“What!? She’s only nine.”

“God has a sense of humor, doesn’t he? She got it last night.”

“Wonderful.”

“Oh, and your brother is bringing someone.”

“What?” I frown at her. “I thought this was going to be family only.”

“Some guy he works with. Apparently, they’ve become great friends. We’ve set him up in the den.”

“It’s Christmas, and he’s bringing some stray here?”

“Not a stray to Brenden.”

“Please tell me this isn’t some attempt to set me up.”

“If only, but your brother is not that forward-thinking. Apparently, Eliot, I think that’s his name, was planning on spending Christmas alone. It’s sad, really. One more won’t hurt us, and he’s got to be feeling out of sorts coming into a co-worker’s house for the holiday. Can you imagine? So, you’re going to make him feel welcome, do you hear me, Sweet Pea?”

“Will there be anything else, Ruby? Are you going to tell me Santa isn’t real?”

She cringes.

“Oh, no. No. No—”

“Your aunt is coming on Wednesday to spend the day with us.”

“Oh, come on!” I throw my hands up. “You should have saved that bomb for drink two.”

“If I can tolerate your father’s sister for an afternoon, so can you. She’s his last living relative, and we all have to make an effort. Time is precious, and besides, it’s Christmas.”

“Right.”

“Oh, look, it’s starting.” I follow her line of sight to the wall of windows in the living room to see a flurry of large snowflakes cascading toward the frozen ground.

“Weatherman said it might not stick, but I’m hoping it will linger this round so we’ll have a white Christmas.” Mom exhales dreamily before jumping out of her skin when Gracie fully begins to meltdown above us.

“Dad, please don’t let her take my phone!”

Mom sighs. “You better get your things and get back in before it really starts coming down, and please don’t forget the booze.”

“No chance of that.”





After sneaking my suitcase past my sister’s fighting family on the second floor, I take the steep steps up into the tiny attic bedroom. Walking over to the twin bed, I plop my suitcase on the mattress and eye my mother’s childhood dolls, Raggedy Ann and Andy, where they sit situated on the pillows. Running my fingers over Raggedy Ann’s yarn hair, it warms me from inside out that four generations have made memories in this cabin.

For me, family is the definition of gravity.

After ditching my suitcase, I haul my wrapped presents in and place them neatly under the tree before lugging the box filled to the brim with booze into the kitchen.