Where the Stars Still Shine(49)

The best Christmas—also the worst—was when we lived with Frank. He took us to a Christmas-tree farm out in the country, where we chopped down the biggest tree on the lot. He tied it to the roof of the car with twine, and when we got back to the house, Mom put on holiday music. We sang along with Brenda Lee as we decorated the tree, and for Christmas Eve dinner, Frank fixed baked ham and my favorite cheese potatoes. I went to bed that night buzzing with anticipation of what I’d find under the tree on Christmas morning. But when I woke up, not even the American Girl doll whose dark brown curls and brown eyes matched mine could erase the memories of what happened in the night.

We left a month later. It was sudden and immediate because Mom was having what must have been a manic episode. I was building a snowman in the front yard when she came out of Frank’s house with our suitcases already packed. As I followed her to the car, my mittens soggy from the snow, I asked about my doll.

“We don’t have time for your stupid doll.” She slammed the trunk and snapped that I needed to get in the car before Frank came home from work because it was his car.

As we drove to the bus station, I started to cry. Mom thought it was over the doll, and she made a promise—that she never kept—to buy me a new one.

“Just like it,” she said. “Or, an even better one.”

But it wasn’t about the doll.

I was crying because I was so goddamn happy to be leaving.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Kat asks, interrupting my memories.

I want traditions. Eggnog. Peace on earth, goodwill toward man. I want to kiss Alex Kosta under the mistletoe. I want memories untarnished by ugliness. I want all of that without feeling guilty about wanting it. And I want my mom to get help—although peace on earth is probably a more realistic goal.

“I don’t know.” I stick my finger between the pincers of the plastic crab I’m holding and swing it back and forth. “Maybe I’ll ask Santa to help me design a website, so Theo will stop asking me if I’ve finished it yet.”

Kat’s eyes roll back and she shakes her head at me. “Dude, why are you still torturing yourself over learning code? This is not something you need to know, especially when the Internet is full of do-it-yourself website builders. Google it and move on. Do you want to go Christmas shopping this weekend? We could go down to Tampa after work on Friday.”

“Okay.” I nestle the crab on one of the branches. “The idea of Christmas shopping is a little—”

“Surreal?”

“I’ve never really done it before. I mean, it was always just me and my mom, and I didn’t have enough money to buy her anything.”

Kat smiles wide. “It’s kind of exciting, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So, beside your mom, who are you going to buy presents for this year?” She wriggles beneath the tree and plugs the cord into the outlet. As I settle the last crab into place, the lights flicker on. Our ocean-themed Christmas tree is one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.

“Well, you, Greg, Phoebe, Tucker, Joe, Yiayoúla, Al—” I catch myself before I say Alex’s name. “And, um, maybe something for Theo.”

Kat doesn’t seem to notice my misstep. “That’s cool,” she says. “Maybe you can help me pick out a present for Nick. I’m totally stumped.”

“Sounds good.”

I gather up the empty decoration boxes and stack them in a corner of the back room. It’s about time for my lunch break and I’ve been thinking it might be time to try something other than hummus and Coke. When I come out, my grandma is standing in the middle of the shop, admiring the tree. She’s wearing a pair of jeans with a celery-green cardigan open at the neck to reveal her fine clavicle bones, and again it strikes me that I am a younger version of her.

She smiles when she sees me. “There’s my sweet girl. I’ve come to take you to lunch.”

“And me?” Kat makes puppy-dog eyes and tucks her hands up under her chin like paws. “I’m hungry, too.”

Yiayoúla pats her cheek. “Next time, Ekaterina. There are things I need to discuss with Callista.”

Kat shoots me a “what does that mean?” look and I answer with an “I have no idea” shrug, although I suspect my grandma wants to talk about Alex and his mom. I was hoping she’d forget, but it seems like she has a very long memory.

“Bring me back a Coke?” Kat asks, and I nod as I follow Yiayoúla out onto the street. She tucks her hand in the bend of my elbow and leads me to a narrow restaurant that smells of char-grilled meat and olive oil. We’re seated at a table near the back and my grandma waves off menus, placing our order in Greek.

“Today we try something different. A specialty.” She folds her hands primly on the table and gives me a look loaded with questions.

“I’m not going to do it.” I don’t look at her as I unwrap my silverware. “You can tell my dad that I’ve been seeing Alex if you want, but his relationship with his mom is none of my business.”

Yiayoúla doesn’t say anything, and it feels as if the volume in the restaurant has gotten louder. In her silence I can still hear what she wants from me. I scrape the tines of my fork down the place mat, leaving score marks on the paper as I avoid her eyes. She unfolds her napkin and places it on her lap as the waitress returns with glasses of water. It all feels so heavy.