Author's Note: I want to let everyone know that updates will likely become less frequent. MLTS is nearly complete and I originally intended to finish by the end of this week. However, I've started a new job and am working like crazy. Plus, uni resumes in a week and a half. Just so everyone is aware. Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, and especially for e-mailing me present-day photos of Kathleen Turner.
...
There isn't a reason to get up early on Christmas morning, but Tiffany, Maria, and I do anyway. We wake at eight o' clock, brush our teeth, and dress, all the while pretending to be full of holiday spirit. We aren't convincing, but we pretend that, too. In their bedroom, Mom and Dad are passed out after pouring themselves into bed around three a.m. We're unsure where Dad's been all this time, but honestly, it doesn't even matter.
Tiffany, Maria, and I sit around our half-decorated tree with Astrid, surrounded by meager piles of gifts. Mom and Dad's gifts have yet to materialize. Certainly, the gifts are in the same unopened boxes they arrived in from Karbergers, Macy's, and Bellair's. Perhaps, we will receive them someday. And then, perhaps, it doesn't matter at all.
Tiffany, Maria, and I exchange our gifts to and from one another. I'm shocked that I ever finished my shopping, but then, it's not like I had many people to buy for this year. From Maria, Tiffany and I receive a set of a knitted scarf, hat, and gloves. Mine is raspberry and navy-colored, Tiffany's is black and red. I'm pleased that after everything Maria even bought a gift for me, and I am even more pleased that she appears excited when I put on the hat and wrap the scarf around my neck. I take baby steps with Maria, sometimes forward, sometimes back, but I take what I can get.
"This is a bit daring," I remark to Tiffany, pulling the sweater she's given me on over my long-sleeved t-shirt. "It's kind of...low."
Tiffany shrugs. She's busy messing with the mascara and eyeliner set I gave her. "You need daring," she replies, twisting off the top of the liquid liner and smearing it on the back of her hand. "Good shade," she says.
"Thanks for the sweater," I tell her, even though I realize she's not paying much attention. I look down at the sweater. It's forest green with a scoop-neck that scoops dangerously low. Tiffany would consider this an appropriate Christmas gift. At least I can wear it over another shirt. I don't think I'm ready to be so daring. I may never be ready.
"This make-up kit is fabulous," Maria informs me, picking through the case.
"I'm glad you like it," I reply with a smile.
"I do."
In the kitchen, the oven timer dings.
Tiffany jumps up. "The turnovers! I'll get them," she announces and dashes into the kitchen, as if an extra twenty seconds may cause the turnovers to burn beyond edibility. That's our special holiday breakfast - apple turnovers and cherry turnovers. Maria found the box buried in the freezer. Tiffany and Maria have eaten nothing but junk for the past three days, but I let it slide. We're getting along - mostly - getting along better than we have in weeks. Even if we don't have our parents, at least we have each other. I hope that I am still some small consolation.
Christmas Eve was lonely. I stayed at Mrs. Bryar's for the better part of the afternoon. She's different than I thought. Not in a bad way. Just...different. I don't know why I never realized. I guess all these years that I've seen her as our cleaning lady and as my personal sounding board that, perhaps, I haven't truly seen her at all. That's something I need to work on. How to be a better listener and a better person. I've not been much of either lately. Maybe I've never been that great at either. I don't know. But I don't think I've ever seen myself clearly. I wonder who I really am and who I used to be and who I have become.
When I returned from Mrs. Bryar's, Tiffany and Maria were already gone. Tiffany didn't come home from Tyler's until almost ten o' clock. Maria wandered in a few minutes later, loaded down with food and bursting with stories about the Thomas-Brewers. I had spent the evening on the couch watching holiday cartoons with Astrid. I drank half a container of pineapple juice. I ate, too. A bowl of cereal. A small bowl. But I ate. Baby steps, like with Maria and I.
"Where's Tiffany with breakfast?" Maria asks me. She's smeared lime green eye shadow over her lids and peacock blue eye shadow beneath her eyebrows. Certainly, she does not intend to wear that outside. "We're supposed to be at the Thomas-Brewers' by twelve-thirty," she reminds me. "So, don't eat too much."
I almost laugh. Me eat too much? "Don't worry about it, Maria," I assure her and take off my new hat. I fold it neatly into its box along with the scarf and gloves. "And I don't think I'll go to Kristy's," I say. Kristy and I may be friends again, we may even be good friends again, but there are certain members of her family I cannot face. I may never be able to face them again. "Maybe I'll go back over to Mrs. Bryar's. She's all alone."
Maria sort of scowls. "I've never been to Mrs. Bryar's house," she says, testily. "Why hasn't she invited me over? I've always been nice to her."
"She didn't invite me over. I just showed up. I told you that," I reply and lean back against the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me. I nudge Maria's knee with my foot. "Hey, did you know Mrs. Bryar's Jewish?" I ask.
"Of course," Maria answers with a withering look. "I sent her a Hanukkah card."
"Did you know she has a boyfriend?"
"Yes," Maria says, giving me another look. She begins stacking her new cosmetics back inside their case. "His name is Malcolm and he's an airline pilot. I think she's in love, but she won't admit it. And I think he must love her because he helped pick the nits out of her hair after we gave her head lice."
Oh, dear Lord, we gave Mrs. Bryar lice? As if our family hasn't done enough to her. What a horrible parting gift. And she never said a thing about it yesterday!
"How do you know all this?" I ask Maria.
Maria shrugs. "I don't know," she says. "I used to help her clean before you and Tiffany would get home from school. We would talk."
"Oh."
"Someone needs to load the dishwasher!" Tiffany announces, coming back into the living room, carrying a serving tray. "I had to hand wash these plates and forks," she explains, passing a plate from the tray to me and then one to Maria. "I don't know how to use that dishwasher."
"Neither do I," I admit. We had a new dishwasher installed a couple years ago and I never bothered to learn how to use it. I knew how to use the old one. We also have a newer washing machine and dryer. I can't use those either.
Maria sighs. "I know how to use it," she says.
"Well, I'm sure I can figure it out," I say, hastily. It can't be that difficult. "We need something to drink though. Are there any clean glasses?"
Tiffany shakes her head. She's already taken a mouthful of steaming hot apple turnover. I sigh and rise to my feet. I can hand wash three glasses. I am not completely incompetent. I am interrupted on my way to the kitchen, however, by shrieking. It's somewhere in the distance, outside, but finds its way into our house just the same.
"What is that?" Tiffany asks, startled, jumping to her feet.
The three of us race out of the living room and across the foyer to the front door. Maria makes it outside first.
"Kristy got a car!" she shouts.
In the Thomas-Brewers' driveway, tied with an enormous red bow sits a white Jeep Wrangler. Kristy's running in circles around it, shrieking and waving her arms. David Michael, Karen, Andrew, and Emily Michelle run behind her, also shrieking, also waving their arms. Watson, Elizabeth, Nannie, and Charlie stand a few feet away, laughing.
"I want to see Kristy's car!" Maria yells and takes off down the front walk, sliding in her sneakers in the slush.
"Don't break your neck!" I warn, taking the steps more cautiously.
Maria reaches Kristy's house much sooner than Tiffany and I. We walk slowly. I walk hesitantly, but am not sure if Tiffany does, too, or if she's simply matching my pace, knowing my awkwardness. I wonder if she's also unsure where she stands with the Thomas-Brewers, how she reflects in their eyes. She never has told me what Elizabeth said to her after finding out about her and Sam. I wonder now. I glance over at Tiffany, walking cautiously through the slushy snow, arms hugging herself as she shivers slightly within her thin gray sweater. Perhaps, I will never know.
"Did you see what I got for Christmas?" Kristy screams when I reach her driveway. She's finally stopped running. Her face is flushed from the excitement and the cold. She grins wide and breathes heavily, her breaths bursting out in visible puffs.
"I see," I tell her.
"I got a car!" she shouts, perhaps to confirm for herself more than for me.
"You got a car!" I exclaim, laughing.
"Come here!" Kristy cries, grabbing my hand and pulling me nearer. "Look! Isn't it awesome? In the spring and summer, I can drive with the top off! Isn't that cool? Okay, first day of school, I'm driving!" Kristy giggles, absolutely giddy. She turns toward her mom and Watson. "Where are the keys? I need the keys!"
Watson removes a key from his pants pocket and holds it out, dangling it by a red metallic key ring. He tosses it to Kristy and she catches it. She shrieks again.
"You're excited," I observe with another laugh.
"I know!" Kristy agrees, also laughing. "Okay, test drive! Test drive! Who's going?"
She doesn't require an answer. David Michael, Karen, Andrew, and Emily Michelle are already sitting in the Jeep with their seatbelts latched.
"I'll come back for you guys," Kristy tells my sisters and I.
"No, that's okay. You can take us out later," I say.
"Yeah, later is fine," Tiffany says. "Great car, Kristy."
"It's super cool," Maria says, awed, peering in through a window at the black interior.
"I'll see you later!" Kristy shouts, rushing around to the driver's side. She almost forgets to open the door before attempting to jump inside.
From the sidewalk, we watch Kristy throw the Jeep into drive and peel out onto the street. The Jeep roars down McLelland and disappears, skidding around the corner, practically on two wheels. Watson and Elizabeth don't look quite so pleased anymore.
"Maybe...maybe we should have waited until graduation," Elizabeth suggests.
"She'll be fine," Watson replies.
"Are you girls having a nice Christmas?" Nannie calls to us. We're a fair distance apart from them.
Tiffany shrugs, but Maria calls back, "As good as can be expected!" It's a huge effort to not be completely mortified. I love Maria, but she really needs to learn to censor herself, at least a little bit. Of course, I suppose maybe that comment was censored. Surely, Maria could have thought up something much worse.
"Are you coming over for lunch?" Elizabeth asks, very casually. "It'll just be us. Janet and her family went to visit relatives out of town."
I'm unsure if that last part was for my benefit or Tiffany's. Both of us, I suspect. While I blush slightly, there's no change in Tiffany's expression. Her face remains impassive. I must wonder if she feels any guilt or remorse or shame for what she did with Sam Thomas. She hasn't said, I haven't asked, and I doubt either of us ever will.
"All right," Tiffany replies with a shrug.
"Maybe," I say, hesitantly.
Elizabeth nods. She doesn't say anything else. She doesn't push. When has she not pushed? She's giving me my space. Or perhaps, she's given up on me altogether. There's a flicker within myself, faint but panicked, that perhaps, Elizabeth has written me off as a lost cause. Not that I would blame her. I've been worse to her than to almost anyone. Kristy and Mrs. Bryar forgave me. But Elizabeth isn't like Mrs. Bryar and in some ways, she isn't like Kristy either. And then, perhaps it doesn't matter. I don't think I'll ever look Elizabeth Brewer in the eye again, let alone manage a conversation with her.
"We'll see you girls at twelve-thirty," Nannie tells us and turns to go back inside the house.
"Merry Christmas!" Watson and Charlie call out with a wave.
Elizabeth sort of smiles at us, then turns to follow the others into the house. Tiffany and Maria return the Christmas wishes. I don't. Christmas doesn't seem very merry. Maybe for other people it is. But not for my sisters and I.
Our turnovers are now lukewarm, just barely, but we eat them anyway. Tiffany and Maria lie on the floor while I lie on the couch. When I'm halfway through with my turnover, I go into the kitchen and find three clean coffee mugs in the cabinet. I fill each mug with milk and then return to the living room. Tiffany and Maria have turned on the radio and tuned to the all Christmas station. Presently, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers are singing to us about how they believe in Santa Claus. It's a cheery, upbeat song that does not exactly match the atmosphere. Tiffany and Maria lie on the floor again, chewing on bits of turnover while messing with their gifts, and between bites sing quietly along with the radio. I sit on the couch, plate resting on my knees, sipping my milk and watching them. It's nice, in its own way, but not exactly Christmas. I don't know if I'll ever feel the same about Christmas again. It will always have a dark mark hanging above it. It will always come right after an anniversary that I'll want to forget.
I wish I could be completely happy again.
Or not even happy. Satisfied or content would do.
Right after Maria goes upstairs to shower, Dad finally comes downstairs. He's wearing a suit and tie. He doesn't wish us a merry Christmas. I suspect that somehow between last night and this morning he forgot.
"Hey!" Dad says, stopping underneath the archway into the living room. "I'm meeting Phil and Cal at the club. I'll be a few hours."
"Whatever," Tiffany says without looking up from her new book on bulbs.
"Bye," I say, just as absently. There's no use making any effort.
"Have a nice morning, girls," Dad says, then crosses into the kitchen. A few seconds later, the door into the garage slams shut.
"Merry Christmas," Tiffany mumbles.
"The Greenvale Country Club is open on Christmas?" I wonder aloud.
"I don't think that's the club he meant," Tiffany informs me, still not looking up from her book. "I think he's going to the Juniper Club in Stamford. You know, that strip club."
On Christmas? Nothing surprises me too much now, not when it comes to Dad. I can't even work up any disgust. I can't even waste too much thought on why Dad's wearing a suit and tie to a strip club, or how Tiffany knows about Dad and the Juniper Club in the first place. Does any of it matter? No. Not really. I am resigned to that fact. So resigned I am almost numb.
"Why aren't you guys dressed?" Maria screeches from the archway twenty minutes later. Damp curls frame her freshly scrubbed face. She's dressed in black pants and an emerald green sweater with little gold studs scattered across the chest. "It's twelve o' clock! We can't keep the Thomas-Brewers waiting!"
"Yeah, yeah," Tiffany answers and rolls onto her side, then rises into a sitting position. She glances up at the clock on the entertainment center. "I have time to shower. I'll be fast." She hops up and leaves the living room. Apparently, she's not nearly as worried about how she looks to the Thomas-Brewers as she is Tyler and his family.
"You know, Maria..." I say, hesitantly. "I think I'll stay home. Maybe you could bring me something back. And when you and Tiffany come home, maybe we can all go visit Mrs. Bryar. You can finally see her house!" I hope that softens the disappointment of my staying home alone.
It doesn't.
Maria's face sort of crumples. "But...but...it's Christmas," she whispers.
"I know and we've been together all morning. You'll only be gone a couple hours, right? I'm really tired, Maria, and I'd like some quiet time to rest. But we'll have most of the afternoon and all the evening to spend together."
"But..." Maria says, quietly. "But...that's not the same. I want to spend all of Christmas Day with you and Tiffany. With you and Tiffany and David Michael Thomas and all the Thomas-Brewers. And if we get to see Mrs. Bryar, that's even better. Even if she is Jewish."
"Oh," I say, just as quietly. "Well..." I don't know what to say. I'm torn. I want to avoid Kristy's family, but I want to be with my own as well. Tiffany and Maria are my family. Really, they're the only family I have. The Thomas-Brewers used to sort of be our extended family, our pretend family, but like so many things, that has crumbled away in the last several months. And now...
"Please, Shanny?" Maria says, her eyes large and pleading. "I really want to be with you."
My heart begins to melt. Maria, who has been so angry with me - with everyone - actually wants my company, my nearness. She wants that and doesn't deserve to be denied.
"Sure," I say. "I'll go to Kristy's." I stand up from the couch and dust a few crumbs off my shirt.
I expect Maria to smile, but instead, her eyes fill with tears. She crosses the room to me and hugs me. She's only about an inch and a half shorter than me. Sometimes I forget she's not a little girl anymore. "I love you, Shanny," she says. "You know that, right? You'll always remember that, right?"
"Of course," I say and hug her back. "I love you, too, Maria."
Maria hugs me a long time. It feels like we're sisters, real sisters, again.
I don't bother to shower. I showered yesterday evening and figure that's good enough. I put on a little make-up, but still look pale and tired. It will take time. It will take time to feel like myself again, to feel complete and normal. Mrs. Bryar is right. These feelings, this doubt and numbness and confusion, cannot last forever. Someday it will all fade away, fade into the background of myself, and I will move on. I hope it's someday soon.
We're on the Thomas-Brewers' front porch at three minutes past twelve-thirty. I intend to knock, but Maria opens the door and barges right in. She calls out for David Michael and Kristy and Elizabeth. She calls out for all the Thomas-Brewers, their names running together in a string, hardly separable or coherent. In seconds, David Michael appears and together he and Maria race upstairs to join the other kids in the game room. After they've disappeared up the stairs, Tiffany decides she wants to play air hockey, too. She runs up after them. Kristy appears then. She looks absolutely ridiculous in a white sweatshirt with dancing elves across it. But she looks like Kristy and that's all that matters.
"Merry Christmas!" she exclaims, grinning, obviously still high from her Christmas gift.
"Merry Christmas!" I reply, trying to sound much cheerier than I feel. Maybe I'll fake myself out. Maybe it'll become real. "How's the Jeep?"
"Fantastic! I think I may be in love. Seriously, I'm in love with my car. We'll go for a drive after lunch. I can't wait for you to see how nice and smooth it drives. And I can't wait to show Abby! I wish she was home. She'll die! And I can't wait to show everyone else - Greer and Amanda and Al and Karl and Mary Anne and Lindsey when she's home again. Man, I even want to show Sally White! I hope she jealous." Kristy grins again.
I laugh. "Oh, before I forget, this is for you," I tell her, holding out a gift wrapped in holly-print paper. "It's not a new car, but I hope you like it." I am very thankful that I bought Kristy's gift before I started to hate her.
Kristy shakes the gift. "Yeah, it's all right that it's not a new car. I already have one and it's perfect. Come on, I have a gift for you, too."
I follow Kristy into the living room, which is filled with unwrapped gifts that are scattered across the floor. There's a number of unwrapped gifts still under the tree and Kristy searches through them until she finds mine. It's a medium-sized square box wrapped in candy cane-print paper. We sit side by side on the couch and unwrap our gifts together.
"I love it!" Kristy exclaims, pulling the multicolored-striped sweater from the box. I knew she'd like that ugly thing. "The colors are great. Thank you, Shannon."
"And...thank you..." I reply, lifting my gift from the box. It's a hot pink nightshirt covered in glitter and bowling pins with the words Rock And Bowl! written across the bottom in black.
"I remembered how much you admired the sweatshirt I bought Nannie," Kristy explains, seriously. Then she laughs. "So, do you still think Stacey McGill's mother should be fired?"
"No. I think she should be shot."
Kristy laughs again. "Look at the bottom of the box. There's something else," she says and seeing my skeptical expression adds, "It's your real gift. It's from my whole family."
At the bottom of the box I find an envelope. Inside is a booklet of gift certificates to Stoneybrook Cinema. Impersonal and safe. But still more than I deserve. "Thanks, Kristy," I tell her. "But I'm never wearing this nightshirt."
"Oh, you jest," she replies and laughs once more.
We eat fifteen minutes later. The kids sit at the table in the kitchen, but Kristy, Tiffany, and I sit at the dining room table with the adults. I make sure to sit at the opposite end from Elizabeth. I avoid eye contact with her. She speaks to me a couple times, casually, nonchalantly, about things of unimportance. She pretends I'm not purposely avoiding her. I know she knows. After lunch, Maria goes around showing everyone the locket David Michael gave her for Christmas. It's silver and has a M engraved in fancy script on the front. I worry that such a gift may be a bit much for an eleven-year-old boy to give to his twelve-year-old girlfriend. Of course, David Michael's proudly wearing the cologne Maria gave him. Wearing it after much teasing from Charlie and Kristy, naturally. I spend most of the next two hours with Kristy going through her Christmas gifts and then, lying around the living room, chatting. Tiffany and Charlie join us a couple times, for a while, then pop out again. Nannie and Watson do the same. Elizabeth mostly stays away.
It makes me feel very guilty.
When my sisters and I finally leave and are walking across the street in the freezing wind, I realize that no one ever mentioned Sam. It's strange. It's suddenly like Sam never existed at all. I can't say I'm sorry. I will only be sorry if Sam ever comes back again. Just thinking it makes me reach out and hook my arm through Tiffany's. She smiles at me. She doesn't know what I'm thinking. I'm glad.
As soon as we get home, Maria's on the phone with Mrs. Bryar. Maria doesn't waste any time. She claims it's because it's Christmas. She's on and off the phone before I even unbutton my coat. It's a good thing since Maria informs me that Mrs. Bryar just got home and said we can come straight over if we want. Of course, Maria wants. So, that's where the three of us head. I think to myself while we drive that it's kind of nice. It's kind of nice that we have places to go on Christmas even if Dad ran off to a strip club and Mom never materialized from her bedroom before we left for Kristy's and was already gone when we got back.
"Does Mrs. Bryar have cats?" Tiffany whispers to me, as we walk up to the front door. "I've always pictured her with lots of cats."
"I never saw a cat," I reply.
"Really?" Tiffany says, surprised.
Mrs. Bryar opens the door before I can respond. Unlike yesterday, she's dressed and wearing make-up. She looks much more like I'm used to seeing her. Of course, in a way, I'll never see her the same again. She's someone different now, a different someone I never bothered to really know.
"Hello, girls," Mrs. Bryar greets us, holding open the front door. "How has your Christmas been so far?"
That one question earns her a fifteen minute non-stop answer from Maria. Thankfully, Maria doesn't know about Dad and the strip club. When Maria finally finishes rambling, Mrs. Bryar goes into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. Immediately, Maria sets to work rifling through Mrs. Bryar's bookcase. She doesn't find anything of much interest. Although we do learn that Mrs. Bryar enjoys mystery novels and crotchet.
Tiffany picks up a magazine from the coffee table. She studies the front a moment, then turns it around to me. It's some woman's magazine I've never heard of. Tiffany raises an eyebrow. "Her name is Tracey?" she hisses.
Suddenly, I don't feel quite so bad. At least I knew Mrs. Bryar's name, even if I couldn't spell it.
"What did you think her name was?" Maria demands, irritably.
"I don't know. Some old person name. Like Margaret or Evelyn."
"You know, I hope she can't hear you," Maria comments, pulling another book off the shelf.
"And I hope she doesn't catch you snooping through her stuff," Tiffany shoots back.
"It's all sitting out in the open!" Maria protests.
I lean back in the armchair and smile. It's like old times.
"Are you girls fighting?" Mrs. Bryar asks, returning to the living room with a tray. She hands us each a mug of hot chocolate. After the half of an apple turnover I ate this morning and the light lunch I managed to eat at Kristy's, I'm uncertain if I can handle even hot chocolate. But I accept the mug anyway and know I must drink at least some. Not simply out of good manners, but also because I know Mrs. Bryar will be watching.
"Mrs. Bryar?" Maria says, setting her mug on the coffee table. "May I use your bathroom?"
"Of course. It's right through the bedroom. Right behind you."
"Can you show me?"
"Of course."
Tiffany and I sit in silence as Mrs. Bryar leads Maria into her bedroom. The door shuts behind them. They don't return for almost twenty minutes. It's bizarre.
"What were you and Mrs. Bryar doing in her bedroom?" I ask Maria when we're driving home an hour later.
"Nothing."
"For twenty minutes?"
"Yes."
I drop the subject. It's Christmas and not even a horrible one. I would like to preserve the peace for at least the rest of the day. We drive the remainder of the way home listening to the Christmas station. Tiffany hums and Maria sings. I don't feel like either, but occasionally, I crack a small smile. When we get home, Mom and Dad's cars sit in the garage. I glance at my watch. Not even five o' clock. I don't know whether to be impressed, concerned, or indifferent.
I settle on indifferent.
"Hello," I greet Mom and Dad when we walk into the kitchen.
Mom's at the counter messing with the coffee maker. She looks as immaculate as always dressed in a short crimson red skirt and a white blouse with a deep neckline. Every blonde hair on her head it perfectly in place. It looks like she had it re-colored recently. I wonder if she's noticed the kitchen is an official disaster area. Probably not. Just like Dad's apparently not realized he's eating soup out of Astrid's extra dog dish.
"Merry Christmas," I say, dully.
"Merry Christmas," Mom echoes back to me without turning around.
"It is Christmas, isn't it!" Dad chuckles. He puts down the dog dish and whips out his wallet. "Merry Christmas," he says and hands us each a crisp hundred dollar bill.
"Are you all out of singles?" Tiffany asks, innocently.
I giggle.
Dad looks confused.
"Thanks, Dad," Maria says, filling the silence. She opens her purse and takes out her own wallet. She slides the hundred inside. When Dad turns his back, I hand Maria my hundred dollar bill. I don't need the money. I don't want it either.
"I've had a wonderful Christmas," Maria announces.
"That's great," Mom says.
"Do you want to hear about it?" Maria asks.
"That's great," Mom says again.
Maria scowls. But only for a moment. Her expression changes, melting quickly into something new, something I can't quite read. "Well," she says, loudly. "I'm grateful I got to spend the whole day with my sisters and I saw all the important people in my life."
"That's great," Mom says.
"Hey...why are there painted bones on this bowl?" Dad asks no one in particular.
There's an odd silence that only my sisters and I detect. Our parents might as well be on another planet. Even when they're here, they're not really here. And no matter where they are, they don't really care.
"I'm grateful, too," TIffany finally says.
"Me too," I tell Maria.
Maria nods. She looks at Mom and then at Dad, then leaves the kitchen. Tiffany and I follow. We put away our coats and scarves, then settle back in the living room. We find some made-for-television Christmas movie on the t.v. and begin watching it. Our parents clatter around in the kitchen, not speaking and not existing where we exist, or even where the other exists. After awhile, Dad wanders into his study and takes out some paperwork. I hear him in there, turning pages in a book, gliding his pencil over a legal pad. Mom stays in the kitchen. I hear her briefcase pop open, followed by the shuffling of papers. Our parents are still hard at work on Christmas Day two hours later when the movie ends. Another starts and my sisters and I watch it through to the end, too. It's silly and cliched, but we watch all the same. I feel numb and drained, disappointed at the end to our day. Tiffany lays on the floor, expressionless as usual. Is she disappointed, too? She must be. And Maria...I can't read her either.
"That was dumb," TIffany grumbles when the credits roll after the movie. "Santa Claus vacationing in the Bahamas? Playing matchmaker? What a waste of two hours!" She sits up and struggles to her feet. She shakes her right foot like it's fallen asleep. "I'm going to call Tyler," she announces and sort of limps out of the living room.
I glance at the clock. It's almost nine-thirty. I yawn. I am exhausted. I could sleep right now. Maybe I will.
"Someone's here!" Tiffany calls out from the foyer.
"What?" I call back.
"Someone's here!"
Mom comes out of the kitchen. "Why is Tiffany yelling?" she demands.
"She says someone's here," I answer, ignoring her tone. Mom strides out of the living room with me on her heels. Maria follows beside me, taking my hand. She squeezes it. Dad comes out of his study as the three of us cross the foyer into the formal sitting room where Tiffany's peering out through the blinds. A pair of headlights shine through.
"Are you going back to Hawaii?" Tiffany asks Mom when we enter the room.
"No. Why?"
"There's a taxi outside."
The five of us peer through the blinds. In the dark night, the dim light of the street lamps barely breaking through the blackness, all I make out is a shadowy taxi cab. There are hardly ever taxi cabs in Stoneybrook.
"Who is that?" Mom demands. "Maria, hit the outside lights."
Obediently, Maria goes out into the foyer and flicks on the front lights. They flood the yard and driving, spilling out bright and far, blanketing the taxi with their brilliance. The taxi is completely visible now. The back door opens and a woman almost falls out. She straightens and shuts the door, readjusting the strap of her carry-on bag over her shoulder. She's average height, average weight, totally average all around. Mid-forties, maybe older with light brown hair falling just past her shoulders. I don't know her.
"Ted!" Mom screeches. "What is your sister doing here?"